The Beacon [h.s]

48

TRIGGER WARNING: Talk about S.A.
Please do not continue reading if you are easily triggered by this topic.

Nyla West

I've perfected the art of avoidance since my childhood.

Whether that be in elementary school when my friends would question why my father stopped showing up to our school gatherings after second grade, he never missed a single one before he left me. After that, Mother would occasionally attend when her drunken brain remembered to. "My mom's coming to the art show tonight, actually. What about you?" I'd ask in a casual tone, internally sighing once those so called friends would easily switched the topic back onto themselves. There were some of my classmates that'd blatantly ask me about my father, to which my answer always stayed the same. "He's really busy working." It passed in elementary school, but I'm sure everyone got the hint of what "busy" meant once middle school rolled around.

I lied about the circumstances with my father leaving me because I realized early on that it was easier to move on with your life if you avoid talking about the subject. Sure, it's mentally draining and tries creeping to the front of your mind the second you're sitting in silence and have nothing better to do, but it's either that, or think about the pain and unanswered questions you have still lingering in your mind which simply beats you up relentlessly.

I'd rather ignore it.

Which I've done since I was seven. Father abruptly leaving, Mother's alcoholism and her disregard for me, the Cole situation, and having just realized this three hours ago, Harry's manipulation towards my forgiveness.

All of which I choose to ignore.

But it's suddenly feeling a bit too claustrophobic in my mind. Like every thought I've had pertaining to any of those topics have been pushed inside a closet in the back of my mind and now they're banging against the door that's about to break at its hinges to let them all out.

Have I mentioned that my head hurts?

It's silent in Zayn's guest room, though if I really listen for it, I could hear the faint sound of a television going on downstairs that the guys might be watching. A dim glow of the lamp on the nightstand to my right helps to show me the luscious curls my hand has been combing through for the past three hours. Harry is sound asleep, still lying his head on my stomach, the side of his face squished against me as his lips are barely part, inhaling and exhaling soft breaths. 

I lied when I told him I was tired. I was anything but that, I simply wanted to be close to him, knowing that here, in Zayn's house, was private enough that Cole or Sydney wouldn't catch us.

It's been a hard day today.

I didn't sleep one bit last night, the entire job being on my mind. Seeing Cole after all that time sent me straight to a slump I didn't want to be in. And yes, I tried my art of avoidance, but this time it sadly didn't work. I thought of every moment I had with that man, every time he made me laugh, every time he touched me, every time we hung out. Then I thought about the hurt he's made me feel. The night of his unwanted touches, his persuasion that he had it all under control, the gaslighting he voiced when I was apparently overreacting.

I clench my jaw tightly and pinch my eyes closed, willing the memory to go away. I take my hand away from Harry's hair, scared that I'd fist it by accident in my silent rage.

Since last night and Cole's threat to stay away from Harry, I absolutely hated leaving him the way I did. I knew Harry would pin the blame on himself, which I was correct by the way he admitted it today. I wanted nothing more than to go back with him, let him drive us back to the penthouse where he'd probably offer to sleep on the floor in front of my bed before I'd tell him to sleep next to me instead.