"Think you can take me?" I arched an eyebrow.
"Are you doubting me?" She answered.
//
Natalie Perkins, born in London. The FBI is after her for the assassination of fourteen men. All of them brutally murdered one day of the week, all of them left wi...
I'll get her wetter than ever Four letters are never the question She likes when I'm messy And I like when she's undressing
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I hated myself so fucking much for being this weak.
Just because I had a fucking PTSD didn't mean I had to bring strangers into the house... and Alex was currently sleeping in the guest room with Alissa.
It pained me in the heart to see other people suffering the same things I used to suffer and I had been really overloaded with emotions ever since I saw Alex back in the museum, but I couldn't understand why the hell I thought it would be a good idea to bring them into my fucking house.
I knew Harry was kinda pissed at me, but I couldn't blame him about that. In fact, I blamed myself too. Who knew if they were actually faking it all? In that case, both Harry and I would end up dead and it would be all my fault.
Fuck, I hated being this weak. I couldn't manage myself, and sometimes I wished I could sleep at least a couple hours only to clear my thoughts and relax my mind. But I couldn't, and I was still suffering the withdrawals of countless of sleepless nights.
Itchy eyes were the least of my problems. I was constantly dizzy, I sometimes even passed out because of it. My immune system was so fucking weak, which made me get sick very often. I was also very tired, I knew I had slept an amount of seventy two hours in the past three years.
It was hard and very unhealthy, yeah, but I had no other way of coping with nightmares. They woke me up anyways, were they worth an hour of sleep? No.
I was glad Harry hadn't noticed... yet. I had a feeling he'd start worrying too much and I didn't need someone else to tell me to sleep... if you tell an insomniac to sleep, what makes you think they actually will?
He was too caring sometimes, it was hard for me to cope with Zayn already and I knew deep inside he didn't really care. I didn't care myself, I didn't think I was able to sleep anymore. Was that possible? I mean, not sleeping at all?
Harry and I were together on my bed, keeping our distance, obviously. I knew he was completely out already, he was exhausted and so was I... but I was wide awake.
It was around four a.m. and it was still raining outside, which was the only thing keeping me sane besides from Harry right next to me. The smell of wet grass was like a temporary reliever and I was glad the rain was trying to make me feel better, it was making these twelve hours more bearable.
I was lying on my back on top of the covers, keeping my hands latched together over my stomach as I stared at the ceiling. On the other hand, Harry was on his back, hugging the pillow like there was no tomorrow.
