Harry Styles Oneshots // english

No More Crying

As i sat there, wet gaze on the blurry image of my shaking fingers, i realized that i was done. The swollen eyes, puffy skin and snotty nose... it all was far too familiar. So was the sense of shame and weakness crushing my chest and making it difficultto breathe. Was i panicking? Maybe. Though the horrible hasps had stopped failing from my mouth so that must have meant i was calmer. Even when i didn't feel calm at all. My insides were screaming and making their pain noticed by the endless stream of tears leaving my eyes.

And all of it once more, even when the last time I'd been like this wasn't more than few weeks ago.

"I wish I would have never stayed," I heard myself whisper.

Is there any way to help you? What is it that you need?

Our brains are miraculous things sometimes. Always worried about our soul and trying to fix things with what can only be described as an 'inner voice', the voice of reason maybe. A voice that doesn't give up even when there is nothing that can be done

The bed was warm and soft but my cold skin stayed indifferent to it. The goosebumps wouldn't cease, my heart rate wouldn't slow and the tears refused to stop wetting my cheeks. I found no comfort. And I didn't want any either.

"Hey."

I'd seen Harry enter the room, noticed how slow and hesitant his movements were. His presence alarmed me.

"Leave." He wasn't surprised that my first word to him was harsh and meant to send him away.

I watched him shake his head and step closer before slowly sitting down on the bed. His lips set into a tight line when my body shrugged away from his so he couldn't touch me.

"No," Harry spoke gently, "You'll feel better if you tell me what's wrong."

As if he had any idea about what would make me feel better. As if he'd listen. Hear. Care. Or even change anything.
My swimming eyes met his clear and guilty ones. I knew I could tell him. I could sit right here, spill my heart out and tell him about all the times his words had pained me. Yell at him for being kind now, that he actually saw how deeply his careless words cut, when he'd stayed indifferent to my pain every other time before. I guessed that seeing my cry because of him, in contrast to hearing me say that he'd made me cry, left a deeper impact.
Perhaps finally he would feel something and change.

No he won't, my brain reminded me. He may care now, feel sorry, but if you're not careful with your next words he'll go back to yelling. He'll tell you that you're being silly. Maybe it's because you are? He'll never understand. And this won't be the last time you're sitting here, sad and with a heart so full with sorrow the only outlet is crying.

Maybe it was time to end the circle. Even if it meant speaking the words I had hoped I'd never have to say to him.

"I'm done, Harry," I heard myself say before I'd consciously decided to speak, "There is nothing left. I can't go on. It's over.

I could faintly hear him gasp and his breath hitch. Surprise was written all over his face as I looked at him one more time before turning to instead focus on my fingers, which finally, after almost an hour of doing so, had stopped trembling.