Harry's POV
I enter the apartment building after nearly being mobbed by fans. A fan gave me flowers and asked if handed they could be given to Brendalyn. I head up to her apartment with the flowers in hand and use the spare key she gave me to get in.
It pisses her off when I barge in like that but she secretly likes it though she'd never admit it.
I walk into the apartment which is completely empty. The TV is on CNN News so I know she's here even though the home itself is silent. I walk into her bedroom and the door is wide open.
She usually keeps it shut.
"Brendalyn?" I call as I enter expecting to find her typing away at her desk.
She's not there.
I walk towards the bathroom door and stop in front of it. I hear shallow breathing coming from inside so I slowly open the door.
The door stops mid-way and check to see what's blocking the door only to find Brendalyn sitting criss cross apple sauce on the floor.
She hangs her head in what appears to be shame. I examine my surroundings and see red smears all over the floor. There's a razor blade lying on the ground and she's clenching her wrist.
"A-a-are you trying to kill yourself?" I ask and she looks at me for half a second before bursting out into tears.
I drop to my knees and just stare in disbelief.
"W-w-why would y-you-- h-how? Bren," I stutter not knowing what to say. "Baby, what are you doing to yourself?"
She doesn't answer me but continues to cry as she tightens her grip on her wrist.
"Let me see," I request trying to pull her hand aside but she won't budge.
"Let me see," I repeat more firmly this time and she reluctantly lets go of her wrist.
To say it's bad would be an understatement. I've seen my fair share of battle scars and hers top the charts. She just barely missed the major arteries and veins.
"Why are you doing this Bren?" I ask pushing her thick hair out of her face.
"They're targeting me," is all she says and I instantly know what she's talking about.
I feel a large wave of sadness hit me followed by a huge wave of anger.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask wrapping her wrist in gauze.
"I don't know," she cries.
"You have to tell me things," I reply kissing the bandage. "Don't you EVER do this again. Have you got any idea how much this hurts me?"
"I'm sorry Harry," she says continuing to cry and I pull her into a hug.
"It's okay baby. Don't listen to what they say. They're just jealous," I tell her tracing my fingers along her brown skin.
She cries until the whole front of my shirt is drenched and mutters broken apologies the whole time.
"Bren, you're okay. It's okay," I repeatedly tell her and her breathing begins to regulate before her crying stops altogether.
I look down to see her with her eyes closed softly snoring. I carry her over to her bed and lay her there before sitting on the edge and thinking.
She could have killed herself today, because of me.
Even though she'd never blame it on me overall it is my fault. If she was never dating me people wouldn't be so rude to her and she wouldn't be feeling so low.
If she can't take it now it's only going to get worse. I don't want her to continue to hurt herself because of what some people are saying, but I'm too selfish to let her go.
Way too selfish.
I sit in her room for a few more minutes before heading into her living room and watching the fans outside in the cold. Two hours later she wakes up and frowns when she sees me sitting on the window sill.
"You don't have to stay here. I'm fine here by myself," she says wiping the sleep out of her eyes.
"If you think I'm leaving you here alone you must have gone mad. You aren't fine here by yourself," I reply walking towards her.
She looks like she's about to take a step back but I wrap one arm around her waist to hold her in place. I gently take her arm and examine the bandage. It's starting to absorb the blood. My nursing skills are limited but I know that some Neosporin and Advil can help this a lot.
"Where's the medicine cabinet," I ask and she points to the kitchen.
How specific...
"Here love, have a seat," I say guiding her to the sofa but she shoves me away.
"Harry I can walk. Damn," she snaps before continuing the rest of the way by herself and plopping down on the sofa.
Well at least she's back to normal attitude wise.
I head into the kitchen and go through all the drawers and cabinets before I come to the one with a first aid box. I pull out a mini Neosporin pack, some Advil, and some wrapping gauze before shutting it and filling a glass with water.
When I enter the living room with everything in hand she just stares out of the window.
"I have no idea what I was thinking. I wasn't feeling like myself. It was like I couldn't control my actions; I hated feeling like that," she says turning to me.
"Yeah you were acting a bit 'different' but that's okay. Just don't do it again, yeah?" I reply and she nods.
She takes the pills and I rewrap her wounds before putting everything up and washing my hands.
"Are you hungry?" I ask her and she starts to stand up. "No, no, I got it."
"Harry I'm fine. You don't have to do everything," she says glaring at me.
"Bren," I chuckle. "You burnt grilled cheese."
She mumbles a quick 'shut up' before turning the TV up to tune out my laughter.
