The Beacon [h.s]

46

Harry Styles

I've never felt so empty.

I felt it in the car ride back to the penthouse, on the walk inside the building and across the lobby, up the elevator and as I unlocked the door and shut it behind me with no one by my side, I was hit with deafening silence.

I went to bed feeling empty and woke up before dawn as that feeling tugged on my brain, searching for the one thing that's missing. As I lay on my bed with the comforter over my head to conceal the carved wall next to me, I realize how dependent I've become on having Nyla live with me.

She's kept my mind so...busy. I wasn't aware of how much I enjoyed her presence once I got my arrogant brain to focus on that feeling instead of the hatred I tried so hard to push on her. I wished I didn't waste all that time hating Nyla, we could've been doing whatever it is we're doing now, focus on the positive, because it's sure as fuck helped me. But since I didn't, that time has been wasted, time that's led us to now, where I just can't seem to stop hurting her.

I inhale a deep breath, the air feeling thick under the covers but I make no move to get up or even throw it off from on top of me. Maybe this is how Nyla felt when I choked her. What am I saying, it was a hundred times worse and instant pain, but as I lay here, staring into the pitch black, I focused on my difficulty to breathe, wondering if this way was somehow worse, to die I mean. It would be so slow, the heat of the air trapped under the comforter, recycling with every breath I exhale that'd simply re-enter my system. I'd start sweating, similarly to how I am now, a light layer of it on my forehead from the heat. It would get so hot laying here, the thick material above me blocking any source of oxygen until I'm yanking the blanket off my head and gasping for fresh, cool, air.

I sat under that blanket for what felt like hours when in reality was only about thirty minutes. Sitting upright now, breathing becomes a task I focus on momentarily as my panting gets slower and slower until it's silent again.

"What the fuck." I mumble to myself, running both of my hands down my sweaty face.

Kicking the comforter off my body, I decide to get up. It's not like I was attempting to sleep anymore, plus I didn't trust myself with that damn comforter anyway. It's still pitch black in my room and when I grab my phone, the screen lights up with my early start to the day.

4:33 am

Exhaustion is far from my body as I stand and stretch my sore muscles. Nyla is taking too much space in my brain for me to think about anything else.

I head for the bathroom, stripping down until I'm naked and out of my sweaty pajamas. Opening the door to my shower, I step in and feel around for the knob. I didn't bother turning the lights on, I honestly didn't feel like even looking at myself in the mirror.

My head hangs as the cold water shocks my body completely awake. I gasp as it cascades down my back, reaching my feet, coating me in a chilled liquid that erupts goosebumps all down my body. I relish in the sting of the temperature before I'm turning numb and decide to turn the knob to the middle, a room temperature water spraying on me instead.

I force my mind to focus on finally cleaning myself after standing still under the stream for thirty minutes. The water gradually increased in temperature the longer I was in there, so much that the steam made it hard to intake a breath.

Once clean, I feel around the door until I swing it open and step out, soaking the floor under my feet. The towel I always keep on the door handle is then wrapped around my waist as I grab another to shake through my wet hair. There's faint light entering from under the door to my bathroom, a hint of orange. I push it open to reveal my room as well as the sun peeking through the blinds over my windows.