Stockholm Syndrome // h.s

chapter seventeen

Harry's POV

I watch Belle storm away and I don't stop her. I should have but for some reason my feet were stuck to the floor and my mouth was glued shut as if my body didn't physically have enough courage too. 

I wish I did, but it's too late, the damage is already done. She opened up to me and I shut the doors again. I didn't say anything to her to make her feel better about her most darkest secret I just made her probably feel even worst about her self. 

I had this image of Belle. A dream of who she was. I imagined what she would be like, her personality and all around flawlessness. I had never envisioned that her, like me, had a little bit of insanity. That at one point she was on the brink of losing all control.

This discovery shocked me, tarnishing my picture perfect image of her. She didn't live up to my expectations of perfection. She was flawed but I didn't expect her to be flawed. I hate myself for not being understanding and expecting too much.

That's why I acted the way I did. I knew it was wrong and I knew I shouldn't have but I couldn't go back in time and take back everything. I wish I could.

After a few hours of sitting in my self-reflection I finally get the courage to talk to Belle. To try to fix the trail of mistakes I had left.

I walk up to her door and softly knock against the dark wood.

"Belle please talk to me and let me explain," I say, my head pressed against her door waiting for a reply. After a few minutes of continually knocking and speaking without a response I open the door.

The room was empty.

Not a single thing was out of place- the room looked like it hadn't have an inhabitant in months. I frantically search the closet silently praying that all her clothes will still be neatly organized and her sent still noticeable. But my heart sinks to the floor and shatters when I see the desolate closet, not a piece of clothing in sight.

I sink to the floor to join my broken heart as I let the realization of my discovery hit me like a train-wreck.

My angel was gone.

The only good thing I ever had in my life was gone.

She was gone. Leaving me with the image of her face burned in the back of my mind.