Beautifully Broken (harry styles fan fiction)

chapter one

~January 8, 2015~

Depression.

When you hear the word depression, what sort of ideas come to your mind? Slicing veins open with blades cleverly hidden in the glass cabinet above the bathroom sink? Sliding your full dinner plate to the center of the dining room table because of insecurities? Downing bottles of vodka to drown out the sorrows and pain of what was supposed to be the gift of life? Or, for people with minds of great depth, do you think of the girl or boy who lays in their bed at night, crying their eyes out, screaming at a God they don't believe in to help them?

Depression takes you, it forces you to crave escaping the inhumane world that we live in. It makes you feel exposed, as if you have been turned inside out to the whole world. Our minds devour themselves in the worst way possible.

And as I sit here, describing this inhumane feeling that no creature should ever in their life have to endure, I remember that both of us, had experienced depression, and indeed, both of us, were broken.

It was October when I met him.

~October 15, 2002~

TORI'S P.O.V.~

I sighed at my aunt as she continued to rant about my eating habits, my eyes wandering outside the small window of the car.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself. I don't care what you say, you are starving yourself. Eating like a bird is doing nothing good for your health, and if you are going it for guys then it's doing nothing at all! They want you for your boobs and your ass, and you've got enough of that already. Tori, are you even listening to me?" Aunt Alice said, frowning, keeping her eyes on the road.

I rolled my eyes towards her. "I'm not freaking depressed. I'm seventeen years old, Alice. I got this. I do not want to tear my body apart or any other bullshit your accusing me of. I'm sure as hell not going to a mental ward."

Alice raised her perfectly plucked dark eyebrows, setting her jaw bone. "Watch your language. And it's not a mental ward, Victoria, it's people that have gone through what you have gone through!"

I slid my tongue over my chapped lips and rolled my eyes once more. "You want me to eat stale crackers and talk about the past? We can do that at home."

My aunt ran her hand through her shoulder length long black hair and took a deep breath.

"You're going, whether you want to or not. You just don't get it," she said, and then began mumbling about how teens these days were stupid and needed help.

About fifteen minutes of silence later, the small purple car pulled into the brick building with letters on the side of it that read "Group Therapy". I shook my head, pulled my blonde hair into a pony tail, and opened the door, climbing out.

Alice smiled, smoothing out her pink dress from the driver seat. "Tell me how it goes!"

I frowned and began to walk towards the double doors of the building. I opened the door, taking a deep breath as the cool air smacked me in the face.

"And that is what happens on the fifth season!" I heard a voice yell from a back room.

Frowning, I walked down the white hallway with dark blue carpeted floors with pictures of oceans with motivational quotes on them. I quickly noticed a room labeled "Therapy Session 3", and before opening the wooden door, leaned my forehead against it, breathing slowly.

I pulled away, sighed, and opened the door, revealing a group of teenagers sitting in a circle around a purple round carpet. A man sat in the chair in the very front, wearing a red shirt and blue jeans with odd looking brown shoes, his blonde hair fading at the top, making him look older than thirty. He seemed to look like the leader of the therapy session.