Stockholm Syndrome (Larry Stylinson) (Rewrite)

Hopeless

Hello everyone!

I'm going to basically say the same thing as when I updated Sin yesterday. It's been a minute since an update, but you will be happy to know that this story was one of the four winners to be placed on an update schedule. The four were S.S. rewrite, Sin, Scars, and Kill My Mind.

How this will work is that every week I will post 2 stories, one on Friday and one on Saturday, and they will alternate as pairs. This weekend it was Sin and now this, so next weekend will be KMM and Scars. Rinse and repeat!

I really hope that works for you all!

Trigger Warning: This chapter contains some dark themes of suicide, self-harm, and body image issues. It is pretty heavy from the very beginning in the flashback, so skip ahead if you need to or message me if you need anything.

Thank you to everyone who has stayed and waited patiently for an update. My sincere apologies!!! Now enjoy!

Chapter 11:

It all happened so fast. There was a loud crash as the blunt object crashed into the mirror's surface, splintering the glass into small shards. The glass rained down like lovely crystals, sprinkling onto the ground in the gentlest of raindrops. They were beautiful, glistening and dangerous in the low lighting.

"You're worthless," I choked out as the tears spilled down my cheeks. "Nobody could ever love you. Nobody cares. Why the fuck are you still trying?" I whimpered, sinking down on the ground and hugging my knees to my chest. The small ball of pain inside was becoming unbearable. The mask that I worked so hard to keep up and maintain was beginning to crumble to pieces.

I stared at the glass shards, some of the pieces being long and sharp. I knew the damage I could do with them, but I figured I would be unlucky once again. Someone would find me, and I would just wake up in the hospital once again. I would be reprimanded and scolded beyond comprehension. My parents would take measures to make sure I would never go near mirrors alone. I knew they could easily replace my mirrors with steel if they wanted to.

They would wonder why they had such a broken, disappointment for a son-- as if I asked to be this way; to feel this way. As if I ever asked them to abandon me and never pay me any attention.

"Why did you make me this way?" I whimpered out in desperation. "I hate everything about myself, so why is it so fucking hard to just stop feeling?"

I reached for a glass shard, hissing a bit as smaller fragments of glass embedded into my hand. I lifted up a larger shard and stared at my reflection in it. I hated the person that I saw staring back at me. He was nothing.

And I tried once again to get rid of him. And I was right. I woke up to those blinding, fluorescent hospital lights and bandages around my arms.

I could never, ever escape myself.

************************

I stood in front of the mirror in Louis' room, tears streaming down my face once more as I stared back at the stranger in my reflection. Eyes that held nothing behind them but expectations and pain, a face that was showing signs of tiring out, lips that were bitten far too many times, and hair that was only ever ruffled in affection by a family that wasn't my own.

My whole body trembled as I looked myself in the eyes, despising the fact that I was crying once again at something so foolish. I looked down at my body, hating how it was made. I was still dressed in my night clothes from the night I was taken. Had it been a week? A few days? Longer?

The red t-shirt was ripped down the middle from Vince's actions, revealing my chest and stomach. I knew that it wouldn't be up to my parent's standards or the standards of the stylist they hired specifically for me on our outings. My body was never good enough. Diet after diet was what I was forced to go through, and exercise was something they said I drastically needed. Now, I pinched at the fat of my stomach and found myself wishing I could just scrape it all off.