Reaper [Zarry]

Harry

"Wait, Zayn!"

He freezes, hand still on the doorknob.

I wrap my arms around him and gently peck his cheek.

"Have a wonderful time in class, don't study too hard. You'll hurt your brain."

"Okay," he chuckles. "I can assure you I won't."

My smile fades as soon as he's gone. He's being replaced with a cool gust of air and I shiver. I release a heavy sigh and head into the kitchen to brew some tea.

I think maybe I'll take some photos today. The season is starting to change, the crisp feeling of fall is in the air. Burnt orange and rusty brown hues, leaves scattered about.

Instead I sit at my desk, lamp switched on, pouring my heart out on a sheet of paper.

Why is it that when I look up the word beautiful in the dictionary the synonyms are all pertaining to physical attributes? What constitutes the word beautiful? How come I cry over hateful comments and rude stares? Why am I upset by biterness? Why does it hurt when someone tells me it's wrong to be gay? That I'm sick? Why is it that when I look up the word happy I end up searching for a list of things? Do material things make me happy? Is that what happiness is now? Why do I care so much about what my co-workers think of me? Why'd I work so hard for that promotion? Is money the solution to all my problems? Is it normal to feel trapped? Some people call me successful. They congratulate me but I certainly don't feel special. What is there to celebrate? What should I be seeking in life? For some reason I feel empty. It's like my heart is a hallow shell and my body is numb and all I want to know is why.

Why do I only feel complete when I'm with you? Are you my happiness? What things do you consider beautiful about me?

I've never been so confused. Depression is clawing at my insides, I just want to itch my skin until it sheds off.

Have you ever been this lonely? I'm trying to find a purpose. Maybe it's you.

Maybe I don't want you to ever experience that type of hurt again or feel the way I am right now.

I want to help you but I can't even fix myself.

Do you ever just want to die?

My hand is trembling, grip so tight on the pen my knuckles turn white.

Is this what I want? What is happening to me? I have everything I could ever want.

A tear rolls down my cheek, staining the paper. Ink smears, runs across the page and sobs rack my body as I crumple right there, forehead colliding with my desk.

He called me an angel. That counts for something, right? I'm still sniffling, nose runny as I sit up.

My phone is ringing and I quickly pick it up, heart pounding in my chest.

"Harry mate, I've been worried sick."

"Sorry," I mumble. "My phone was turned off."

"Where did you go? I thought someone abducted you or something. You could have been dead in a ditch somewhere."

"Relax," I assure softly. "Zayn took me home."

"Zayn?" It's like I can feel him frowning through the line. "How well do you know this bloke exactly? Were you drunk?"

"Liam," I groan. "It isn't like we had sex. We just talked."

It sounds pathetic and not very believable but it's the honest truth.