(Song for chapter - Always Be Together by Little Mix

Chapter 15 – Chloe's P.O.V.

            The pieces suddenly clicked together as to why Harry was so protective over me. He's been in the middle of a situation like this before; looking after the insane. Relating to Gemma's issues is one thing I can do, but relating to Harry's hurt is a different story. I know what it's like to lose people, I've just never lost them when my brain was developed enough to comprehend it. My mother, for example, died when giving birth to me. Or so Elizabeth and my father say. I guess my dreams of her are just a yearning for that nurturer, that guidance in my life I've never had. If only dreams could become reality, I'm sure I wouldn't be as screwed up as I am today.

            After Harry had calmed down (well, mainly me, but we were both crying), I was actually going to try and sleep in the room by myself. However, Harry was the one to ask me to stay this time, instead of vise-versa. He looked so vulnerable with his puffy red eyes and tear-stained cheeks, snuggled under the covers like a toddler, so of course I couldn't say no.

            My confusion of romance and such is still there, but I feel something with Harry. I don't know what it is, but the way his eyes sparkle is enough to make me all tingly. I love that dimpled smile of his, especially when it's directed towards me after something I said. I like being the reason for his smile, his laugh. He gives me this sense of security, although he'll never understand it. Gemma had been a wanderer—a scared, timid, and frail girl who knew of nothing else to do than to run. I've tried that technic myself, however they always find me. I've stopped trying to run, so now I try to hide. My only hiding spot, however, is when Harry is near. Something about his presence seems to anger them, but it angers them to a point where they leave me alone.

            At least for a little while.

            It's inevitable that they'll come back; they always do. But I try to absorb that short amount of time where they're away. It gives me a sense of sanity, a sense of peace. I've felt neither of those for a very long time, so even if my little getaway is for merely five seconds, it's enough to empower me to get through five minutes. I guess that's a weird way of working, but as I've said before, you get used to it.

            I didn't sleep that night, though. Not even in the comfort of Harry's arms. My eyes wouldn't shut, my mind wouldn't calm, and overall I couldn't stop thinking. I tried to imagine Harry, little ringlets of curls sitting atop his head, his eyes a more vibrant green than they are now. I tried to imagine a girl, blonde hair and pretty eyes, although I wasn't sure the color. I tried to picture her like me, in a way. Always mumbling to herself, always scanning the area for unwelcomed predators, though none are likely to show up in a crowd. They aren't ones for public places, hence why they fog up your mind instead. If they are seen, they are known. If they are known, they are banished. They can't afford to be out in the open, so they stay closed up in my mind.

            When morning came, I was still wide awake as soft snores continued to travel from Harry's parted, pink lips. I didn't want to wake him, but I really needed to use the restroom. With his strong grip fastened around me, it made it more difficult to gently worm my way out. I finally managed, Harry merely groaning groggily before he rolled over and cuddled his pillow. I love being the one he holds tight at night, but I'd rather not pee myself; I think I'm slightly too old to get away with that.

            I met my reflection in the bathroom, the girl in the mirror having tousled brown hair and dull brown eyes. Ugly was the word the voices came up with, thus leading me to believe the same. I bit my lower lip as I did my business, washing my hands straight after. I tried not to look up in the mirror as I did so, the girl inside it scaring me to no end. I don't like seeing myself, nor do I like being myself. If I could trade bodies with anyone in the world, I'd do it no matter who the person may be. I'm sure living in a box on the side of the road would be more comfortable than living in me.

            The whispers rolled up again, a cloud of them fogging up my mind as I blinked away tears. I didn't want to listen to their hateful, threatening words, but I also had no choice. Covering my ears worked slightly, but it would be pointless; they only screamed louder. Screaming myself would wake Harry up and I'd be selfish to do such a thing. These are my issues; I shouldn't involve him with them.

            "Please go away," I whispered mindlessly, my lips barely moving with the words as stray tears fled my eyes.

            "You can't escape, Chloe," they replied in their hushed voices, the ones that have taunted my dreams the past couple of years.

            I didn't answer as I chewed my bottom lip more feverishly, drying my hands off as quickly as I could. I wanted to get back into the room with Harry where they would finally settle on some silence.

            "Don't ignore us."

            "I-I'm not," I stammered out nervously as I went to open the door, but the lock switched. My tears came faster as my head fell to the wood, my hand wiggling the knob furiously. "Please, let me go," I whimpered.

            "Apologize."

            "I'm sorry," I said instantly, knowing the routine fairly well by now.

            "Louder."

            "I'm sorry."

            "Louder!" The boom of their voices caused me to shriek as I jumped back against the counter.

            "I'm sorry!" I screamed, my sobs coming harder. "I'm sorry," I repeated over and over, the words seeming to be my only option.

            "Chloe? Chloe, are you okay?" Harry's voice questioned from the other side of the door, light knocks tapping the wood.

            I hadn't meant to wake him, but now I was on the cold floor with my knees pulled to my chest. Tears streaked my cheeks as I sobbed and rocked, thinking about how absolutely pathetic I was. I can't even stick up for myself anymore. I keep giving them what they want and they only swing harder each time.

            "Chloe? Please answer me," Harry begged.

            "F-Fine," I muttered through my cried.

            "Can you let me in?" he asked.

            The voices instantly told me to stay put, knowing that if I opened the door for Harry, they'd be silenced.

            I did as they said, not moving an inch.

            "Chloe, please..." Harry whispered, making my heart crack with his desperate tone. Why do I hurt everyone I care about?

            My shaking hands began to reach for the knob, but the voices swung back harder and knocked me off my feet, a scream ripping from my throat.

            "Chloe! Chloe, let me in!" Harry yelled as he pounded the door.

            I wanted to at least acknowledge him, to croak out an "I can't" or something, but I felt too powerless, too vulnerable at this moment. My head was stinging from hitting the counter when I stumbled.

            "Behind you," they whispered and I forced my watery eyes to look on the counter behind me.

            A razor blade (must like what Harry shaves with).

            "Get it."

            "I-I..."

            "Now!"

            I shrieked with the scream, my trembling hands complying as I took the handle in my grasp. I was shaking so hard, you would think someone was actually shaking me themselves. But no; this was all out of fear, traumatized. I should be used to this treatment, but I'm not. It still hurts just as much as the last time.

            Knowing that if I don't listen they'll just hurt me themselves, I did what I was supposed to and drug the blade down my skin. My tears seemed like Niagara Falls, incessantly coming in boatloads and unable to stop. As much as I should be used to it, I still screamed when their invisible hands grabbed mine, jamming the blade further into my skin to where I was sure I'd need stitches.

            "Please!" I screamed in a croak, my voice hoarse.

            As if God above was answering my prayers, the door busted open to reveal Harry; a flat-head screw driver in his hand. I guessed he had picked the lock, but he didn't give me time to think up any more options as he ran for me. "Oh my God," he breathed out frantically, snatching the blade from my hand. "Chloe..." Harry trailed off in a whisper, worry filling his face.

            I stared up at him through blurry vision, the tears still coming but the voices had finally left. Even with my skin gouged and bleeding, even with my head pounding, his eyes sent a calmness through my trembling body. A calmness I haven't felt all my life, but it feels like it's been there forever. No one was ever there to bring that calmness out of its cage, but now Harry has. Living on the verge of insanity, schizophrenia, and whatever else they wanted to call me; not once have I felt so secure, so cared for in a short matter of time. I was selfish enough to devour it.

            Harry examined my arms, then his eyes met mine again. I expected him to scold me for being stupid, for being ignorant, but he didn't. Instead, he threw me completely off guard by pulling me into his chest. Something about his comforting hug soothed me even more, but the tears came back just like before. I cried into Harry's shoulder and he didn't seem to mind my tears (or my blood from my arm) soaking into his shirt.

            "Shh," he hushed as he stroked my hair, nuzzling his face in my neck. "It's okay; you're okay."

            Those repeated words struck that love inside me; the words he said to me when I almost jumped off the balcony. I loved hearing it leave those plump lips of his. I loved hearing him say it to me. No one else had the power to reassure me like Harry did.

            After a few moments, my tears died down and Harry pulled back, giving me a faint but weak smile. "Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"

            I could only nod as he stood, helping me stand with him. He patted the counter for me to sit, so I obliged and hopped up on it. Harry turned to the medicine cabinet, grabbing some bandages and other medical looking things. He seemed concentrated, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. Not even the slightest hint of fear crossed his eyes, which you would assume it would considering the scene he walked in on. Calling Harry amazing would be an understatement. Calling him perfect would be an insult.

            "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked as his eyes met mine, the same question he always asked me after one of my frantic episodes.

            I shook my head.

            Harry sighed, slowly nodding. "Fair enough. This is going to sting a little, all right?" I didn't care that Harry was speaking to me like a child, I actually kind of liked it. Not that he thought of me as immature, but that he had the gentleness in his voice. I liked hearing him sound like he truly cared for my mental being.

            "Okay," I whimpered out, Harry gently grabbing my wrist with the large gash trailing up to the middle of my forearm.

            Harry frowned at it, then started pouring what looked like alcohol on the cut. I sucked in a sharp breath through gritted teeth, my eyes watery as I looked away from it. Instead of pulling my arm from Harry's grasp, I pounded my feet against the cabinets as I aggressively bit my lip.

            "I know, I know, I'm sorry," Harry said frantically.

            The burning continued as Harry began wrapping a bandage around it, gently pressing down on the cut as I continued to bite my lip. "It hurts," I whispered as I tried to fight back from crying anymore. I hated looking so weak.

            "I know, love. I know," he repeated solemnly. "But it needs to be cleaned and the quicker it absorbs, the quicker it heals."

            I nodded, just as he finished wrapping the bandage around and he clipped it together with a few safety pins. 

            Harry sighed, heaving both hands through his hair. "Chloe, I honestly don't know what to do to help you," he admitted, my heart pounding harder with each word. "I think you should start seeing a therapist."

            "No!" I said, a little too loudly. Harry frowned at me. "No," I said much quieter.

            "Chloe, come on. I'm not a psychologist, and I really think you need professional help. I'm not calling you crazy, I promise. I just think you need someone who could understand you a little better," he explained.

            "No," I repeated, shaking my head. "Harry, please no. All they do is... they... they just call me insane, Harry," I said frantically as water filled my eyes again. "All they do is pester me with... with their stupid questions and... and I can't answer them. I can't..." I choked on the word, gripping at my hair furiously as I tugged.

            "Hey, hey," he said softly, grabbing my wrists gently and taking my hands down. "Don't get upset, Chloe. I'll go in the room with you, if you'd like. Maybe if they can get a sense of what you're thinking, they can do something about it."

            I shook my head, biting my lip as he continued to hold my wrists. But then he threw me off guard when his hands slithered down, his fingers lacing with mine as he locked our hands. I looked down at our entwined hands, my lips parting in shock before I looked up and met his emeralds.

            "Do you trust me?" he asked in a soft whisper, his eyes searching mine.

            I nodded.

            "Then trust me on this, Chloe," Harry said.

            "But... but what if... what if they take me away again?" I choked out, my eyes leaking for the umpteenth time today.

            Harry shook his head, squeezing my hands a little tighter. "I won't let them."

            "Promise?"

            Harry didn't even hesitate as he said, "Promise."

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A/N: So the author notes are going to be at the end now c; Yeah, I know, I change a lot, but oh whale xD So, this was a long chapter for you all & I really hoped you liked it!! <3

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