Afterlife: Reincarnation

1

May 16

HARRY

Be careful.

That was what I had said to her. My parting words to the girl I was literally out of my mind for, were be careful.

I'm a fucking prat.

I had spent the last week thinking of all the things I wanted to say to her. All the fucking things I should have been saying all along, but was too damn stubborn to actually do it. I wanted to tell her that she drove me crazy, and infuriated me like no one else I had ever met. That from the moment she intruded into my life with her big blue eyes and fucking camera, the way she prodded into my past, and pushed me to my limits, I had wanted nothing more than her.

I was a stubborn prick to her, always pushing her away, telling her off, and making excuses. I had spent the last five years alone, and I had been telling myself all this time that it was best that way. Who would want me like this? I was mangled just as much inside as I was outside. I had nightmares, and more than once had to be woken by Niall in the middle of the night, soaked through with sweat as I screamed out in a phantom pain remembered by my mind, but felt through to my core. Who would want to deal with my mood swings, the way my mind would wander back to flashes of a night I could barely remember? The way I would never tell anyone how I really felt, because it only gave them the power to hurt you in the end. Feeling something was just a precedent to losing something.

I didn't do relationships. Not anymore. Sure, when I was younger, before everything went to shit, I fancied myself a romantic. I would watch my dad, the way he was with my mum. He would bring her flowers for no reason. He would tuck her hair behind her ear. The way he felt about her was never a secret to anyone who spent more than five minutes around them. I wanted to me like him.

But now, why bother? Why get attached when they were just going to leave you anyway? That was what they did, right? Relationships? They ended. All my mates had had girls, saying they were 'the one' or whatever bullshit they had thought at the time. But of course, after a few months and a few hundred fucks, it would be over. They would move on, and it would be like it never happened. Like all those declarations and promises were just as empty as I was.

So why take the chance?

I was better on my own. Sure, I had girls who fancied me. I would meet up with some bird at a bar, we would drink, flirt, and come home and fuck. That was all it was. Just something to pass the time, and to block out everything else. They would notice my scars, obviously. Some would ask, but I would just shut them up with my mouth. Others didn't even give a shit, just as determined to smother their own demons with my body as I was with theirs.

Yeah, yeah, it wasn't the most healthy routine. But overall, I got good grades, I was good with my mates, and didn't cause trouble. I went through the motions of living a life of sorts, like I was supposed to. Like they would want me to. But I never felt anything. It was all empty, all shallow.

Until her.

She was like a reincarnation. She brought a tiny spark of life back in to me, and the longer I was around her, the stronger the flame grew.

She came in and fucked me all up, with her persistence and determination and passion. The way she described what she wanted, the way she described how she saw me, was so different from what I was. She saw me in a way that I wished I could be. She saw that I was broken, because really, anyone who actually got their head out of their ass long enough to pay attention could see that. But she didn't seem to care.

The more time I spent with her, the more time I wanted to spend. The day I agreed to pose for her, I spent that entire night thinking about how I should back out. I had been caught up in her emotions, watching this beautiful girl on the verge of tears, knowing I could help her. I had never really wanted to help anyone before like this. I don't know what processed me to do it, but I had said yes.