Sad, Beautiful, Tragic |h.s|
Chapter 7
What hurts the most
Was being so close
And havin' so much to say
And watchin' you walk away
~What Hurts the Most, Rascal Flatts
Harry
Harry had slipped out of the back doors after the worst performance of his life. He didn’t want to listen to Taylor’s useless chatter or the aggravating questions from the paparazzi. He still can’t explain himself what happened back there, one second all he could see was her and the next moment the letter and the ring came crashing back. And then he lost it, in front of everybody. In front of every-fucking-body.
Harry stands in front of the refrigerator in Louis’s hotel room. A twelve pack of beer is stashed there, he stares at it for a long time before forcefully shutting the door, and resting his forehead on the cold surface. The alcohol would numb his pain for a night, but what about in the morning. The lads and management was disappointed enough in him anyway. He drags his feet back to his hotel suite.
Without taking off his clothes he lays back on the bed, and closes his weary eyes, maybe sleep will come tonight. The vibrations from his phone keep him tossing and turning taking away the slightest chance he had at sleep. Harry tries his hardest to keep his eyes closed, away from his phone screen. He knows it’s nothing but the crap he is going to get from the haters for the rest of his life.
He shoves the phone under his pillow, and keeps his eyes shut. The vibrating doesn’t stop for the next hour or for that matter for the entire night. Harry pulls the phone out ready to switch it off, but reading one word is enough to make him feel worthless, he strains to keep his tears at bay as he scrolls through every single hate.
Harry lays back on his bed reflecting on the past year of his life, and then again on the past three months. Mess, couldn’t even begin to describe what he had been. He tries to keep the depressing thoughts away, thinking about the good things life was offering. Nothing. Nothing at all.
Harry takes cautious steps towards the attached bathroom. He sits on the edge of the bathtub and keeps his head buried in his hands. “Where are you, Angel?”
The thought of her pushes his buttons and he stands up angrily, rummaging through the drawers for a razor. He finds the sharp bit of metal, and lays it on his open palm. His mind screams at him to stop, but his heart plays back the pain. He lets out a frustrated sigh clenching his fists he throws a punch at the mirror. The pain and blood makes him smile. At least this pain had a reason, unlike the constant heartache he felt after he kept reminding himself that he hated her with passion.
Harry sighs blissfully after each clean slice mark he leaves on his wrist. The blood collects in pools around him, and he closes his eyes, letting go the holding back of tears. His sobs become louder along with the marks on his wrists.
“Harry? Haz? Where are you?”
Harry forces himself up, and washes his hands, flushing the toilet for effect. He places the razor back in it’s original position and combs his fingers through his chestnut curls, He splashes water on his face trying to look presentable. He rolls down his sleeves and buttons them before walking out the door, to be met by a panicked Louis.
“What’s going on, mate?” Harry asks casually, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“What’s going? You ask me what the fuck is going on, when you are the one who left the awards without a fucking explanation. Right Harold, nothing’s going on, mate.”
Harry sighs irritably, wanting Louis to leave, the screaming and yelling had stopped having any affect on him long ago.
Harry is taken by surprise when Louis catches him by the throat and presses him against the wall. Louis’s blue-green eyes darkening with anger.
Harry pushes him back forcefully making Louis stumble and lose his footing, “What the fuck, Louis!”
“What the fuck, Harry? That’s the shit you’re gonna ask me now? Get the fuck over it, alright! Stop being so pathetic, for fuck’s sake! Lexi’s gone. Gone! She left your pathetic arse, so get over it Harold. She is not coming back. Get that simple fact through that thick skull of yours!”
Harry doesn’t know what he’s doing until his fist connects with Louis’s jaw, and Louis lets out an audible gasp. Stumbling backwards he hits the edge of the bed. “Don’t. Ever talk to me like that again. Never!” Harry hisses venomously, with that he stomps out of the room, leaving a stunned Louis behind.
Harry walks around in the busy streets of LA, until his legs are too tired to move. He finds a bench and collapses on it. Walking for three continuous hours, should have definitely tired him out, but closing his eyes, he finds himself being sucked into that vortex again. The place where he hears her soft laugh, and angelic voice, her gray eyes, and everything he’s trying to forget.
Harry rests his head in his arms and rubs his temples. Breathing was become more difficult with each passing day. Everything was falling apart, just because of a girl. How could a girl flip Harry Styles’s whole world around.
Harry doesn’t notice the girl sitting on the other side of the bench until her dog stands between his shoes staring up at Harry.
“Hey, little guy,” Harry whispers picking up the small creature, “What’s your name?”
“Toby,” a tiny voice whispered from beside him, Harry shifts his attention to the girl.
“And what’s your name, love?” Harry asks, trying his hardest not to sound annoyed by the disruption in his thoughts.
“Cara. Cara Delevingne.” She holds out her hand shyly.
“Harry Styles.” Harry replies, taking her small hands into his large ones.
Alessia
Alessia takes slow and cautious steps towards the door. Something in her told her not to open it, Marilyn wasn’t supposed to be back until morning, and she had a set of keys with her. How she wishes for a peephole now.
She twists the door knob and pushes open a small amount of the door. The cold wind hits her hard and her tight grip on the knob loosens. Alessia tumbles backwards as the door is pushed open.
A strangled sound escapes from her throat. When she faces the person she didn’t hope to see for the rest of her life. Her throat becomes dry, and fear courses through her body. She swallows hard, leaving her mouth dry.
“Hey babe. Thought you’d never see me again? Well sorry to disappoint you, I’m right here in flesh and bone. On second thoughts...I’m not sorry.”
Alessia swallows again. Her mind racing with thoughts. Her mind screams at her to yell, but her heart asks her what’s the point. What is the point, anyway? She shoves the fear somewhere deep inside her brain, and faces the monster in front of her with a brave face.
“The brown was nice,” he says twirling her hair around his fingers. Alessia flinches at his closeness, “but I do like the blonde better.”
Alessia takes a deep breath and pushes him away with all the force she can gather. “Scott, leave.”
He lets out an animal-like growl, and pulls the hair he had wrapped his finger around earlier. “Say that again, bitch.”
“Leave.”
Alessia closes her eyes and digs her nails in her palms when the sharp sting spreads across her cheek. “Bitch, much?”
“I told you to fucking leave, you son of a bitch!” Alessia yells. This monster was the reason for everything happening to her. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing her crying. He was the one who should be crying, begging for forgiveness at her feet.
“Say that again, cunt. And you won’t live to see another day,” Scott takes off his jacket and throws it on the floor.
“Does it matter?” Alessia replies, coldly.
Scott’s fist was jammed into her stomach before she knew it. While his left hand pulls back her hair, exposing her neck.
“Let me go, fucker!” Alessia cries as Scott’s cold lips meet her neck. What’s the point, she asks herself, she goes quiet, letting Scott do whatever he wants.
SIlent tears stream down her face and she closes her eyes. She thinks about Harry, and with that she forgets what’s happening around her. That until he starts unbuttoning her shirt, his hands everywhere on her, the places only Harry is allowed to touch.
Scott’s hands moved swiftly as he unbuttons her shirt and throws it in some corner of the room. Neither noticing, nor caring about the way Alessia’s ribs are too defined under a thin layer of skin. He bends on his knees quickly slipping of her sweatpants too.
Alessia gasps as her sweatpants are pulled off, she shoves her knee at him, hoping it hit hit him in the ‘spot’. Scott groans in pain and backs off for a second, giving Alessia enough time to make a run for the door. Her hands barely graze the cool metal of the door knob when Scott’s hands trap her bony wrists.
“You wanna play hard to get?” Scott growls maliciously. Alessia’s tongue twitches with insults, she bites back any response knowing the consequence beforehand.
Her figure cowers under his brown eyes blazing with anger. Her fingers twitching under Scott’s death-grip, sweat beads trickle down her scalp, knowing what is coming next. Hot tears spill down her cheeks because this time there’s no Harry to save her, no one to hold her as she’ll try to fall asleep, no one to sing her to sleep. All of that, because of the psychopath standing in front of her.
In a moment of blind fury she twists her wrists out of his grasp and strikes him hard. Her fingers twitch with anticipation as she raises her hand again ready to give another blow, when his hands wrap around her bones. The scowl that permanently stays on his face deepens. “You, love,” he says a little too sweetly, “are gonna die.”
“Looks like I give a damn?” she replies back as sweetly, if not more. She flutters her eyelids for affect, knowing it will only ignite his anger, but at this point she really doesn’t care.
“I bet you don’t care about yourself, love. But what about that pretty boy of yours? And that brother you have? Oh and I bet you don’t give a damn about the two little ones yet to be born.”
Alessia shudders visibly, making Scott’s smirk grow. He’s lying, he’s lying, he’s lying. But something in the back of her mind tells her that he’s not, the confidence in his tone and evil glint in his eyes, suggest that for, perhaps the first time in his life, he is telling the truth.
“What do you think, sweetheart? You don’t give a damn about your six-months pregnant mum?”
Alessia’s throat becomes dry and she swallows hard. “You’re lying,” she whispers. Her hands trembling with fear, as she clings to hope that he truly is lying.
“Do I look like I’m lying? And whether you believe me or not, do I look like I give a damn?” He says reciting the same line she’d said not a minute ago.
Her mind swirls with thoughts. Her heart speeds up, no matter how benevolent she wants to be, she cannot stay away from her mum when she needs her most. Can she? She cannot be that unselfish no matter what.
Thoughts are scattered all over her mind, and she’s brought back to the present only when Scott gives her a final punch in the stomach, her ribs make a cracking sound under his fist, and he walks away slamming the door, leaving her frail body laying on the floor, looking as good as dead under the morning rays.
Alessia lays that for a long time until the impact of what just happened hits her. He ripped her innocence of her, left her shameless in front of the world. Never again could Alessia look at herself with the same eyes in the mirror. Fresh tears roll down her cheeks and she automatically gets up cleaning up the mess Scott left. She cleans up the room leaving it spotless, then steps into the shower, hoping to wash away the stains left by the monster, whom she regretted ever having any relations with. She scrubs the body wash on her body scraping her skin with her sharp nails, leaving red marks over the fresh bruises.
Dear diary,
Every thought has become a battle and every breath a war. You know what the worst part is? I know I’m not winning anymore. Who the hell am I kidding? Was I ever winning? It’s too much now, it hurts physically. How can I go back to them, when I don’t know whether I’m gonna live past today? I am depressed but I am still a nineteen-year-old who wants to live. I’m still the same girl who wanted to become and author, the girl who wanted to marry the love her life, have kids and die like Allie and Noah, I want to live. I want to go back to when it was so easy, when there was no pretending, no faking. Go back to worrying about my hair when I wake up rather than thanking God for just waking up. I know it’s going to happen. How much time do I have, anyway? An year, a month, a week or just a day? Why not just give up today then?
Love,
Lexi.
Was being so close
And havin' so much to say
And watchin' you walk away
~What Hurts the Most, Rascal Flatts
Harry
Harry had slipped out of the back doors after the worst performance of his life. He didn’t want to listen to Taylor’s useless chatter or the aggravating questions from the paparazzi. He still can’t explain himself what happened back there, one second all he could see was her and the next moment the letter and the ring came crashing back. And then he lost it, in front of everybody. In front of every-fucking-body.
Harry stands in front of the refrigerator in Louis’s hotel room. A twelve pack of beer is stashed there, he stares at it for a long time before forcefully shutting the door, and resting his forehead on the cold surface. The alcohol would numb his pain for a night, but what about in the morning. The lads and management was disappointed enough in him anyway. He drags his feet back to his hotel suite.
Without taking off his clothes he lays back on the bed, and closes his weary eyes, maybe sleep will come tonight. The vibrations from his phone keep him tossing and turning taking away the slightest chance he had at sleep. Harry tries his hardest to keep his eyes closed, away from his phone screen. He knows it’s nothing but the crap he is going to get from the haters for the rest of his life.
He shoves the phone under his pillow, and keeps his eyes shut. The vibrating doesn’t stop for the next hour or for that matter for the entire night. Harry pulls the phone out ready to switch it off, but reading one word is enough to make him feel worthless, he strains to keep his tears at bay as he scrolls through every single hate.
Harry lays back on his bed reflecting on the past year of his life, and then again on the past three months. Mess, couldn’t even begin to describe what he had been. He tries to keep the depressing thoughts away, thinking about the good things life was offering. Nothing. Nothing at all.
Harry takes cautious steps towards the attached bathroom. He sits on the edge of the bathtub and keeps his head buried in his hands. “Where are you, Angel?”
The thought of her pushes his buttons and he stands up angrily, rummaging through the drawers for a razor. He finds the sharp bit of metal, and lays it on his open palm. His mind screams at him to stop, but his heart plays back the pain. He lets out a frustrated sigh clenching his fists he throws a punch at the mirror. The pain and blood makes him smile. At least this pain had a reason, unlike the constant heartache he felt after he kept reminding himself that he hated her with passion.
Harry sighs blissfully after each clean slice mark he leaves on his wrist. The blood collects in pools around him, and he closes his eyes, letting go the holding back of tears. His sobs become louder along with the marks on his wrists.
“Harry? Haz? Where are you?”
Harry forces himself up, and washes his hands, flushing the toilet for effect. He places the razor back in it’s original position and combs his fingers through his chestnut curls, He splashes water on his face trying to look presentable. He rolls down his sleeves and buttons them before walking out the door, to be met by a panicked Louis.
“What’s going on, mate?” Harry asks casually, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“What’s going? You ask me what the fuck is going on, when you are the one who left the awards without a fucking explanation. Right Harold, nothing’s going on, mate.”
Harry sighs irritably, wanting Louis to leave, the screaming and yelling had stopped having any affect on him long ago.
Harry is taken by surprise when Louis catches him by the throat and presses him against the wall. Louis’s blue-green eyes darkening with anger.
Harry pushes him back forcefully making Louis stumble and lose his footing, “What the fuck, Louis!”
“What the fuck, Harry? That’s the shit you’re gonna ask me now? Get the fuck over it, alright! Stop being so pathetic, for fuck’s sake! Lexi’s gone. Gone! She left your pathetic arse, so get over it Harold. She is not coming back. Get that simple fact through that thick skull of yours!”
Harry doesn’t know what he’s doing until his fist connects with Louis’s jaw, and Louis lets out an audible gasp. Stumbling backwards he hits the edge of the bed. “Don’t. Ever talk to me like that again. Never!” Harry hisses venomously, with that he stomps out of the room, leaving a stunned Louis behind.
Harry walks around in the busy streets of LA, until his legs are too tired to move. He finds a bench and collapses on it. Walking for three continuous hours, should have definitely tired him out, but closing his eyes, he finds himself being sucked into that vortex again. The place where he hears her soft laugh, and angelic voice, her gray eyes, and everything he’s trying to forget.
Harry rests his head in his arms and rubs his temples. Breathing was become more difficult with each passing day. Everything was falling apart, just because of a girl. How could a girl flip Harry Styles’s whole world around.
Harry doesn’t notice the girl sitting on the other side of the bench until her dog stands between his shoes staring up at Harry.
“Hey, little guy,” Harry whispers picking up the small creature, “What’s your name?”
“Toby,” a tiny voice whispered from beside him, Harry shifts his attention to the girl.
“And what’s your name, love?” Harry asks, trying his hardest not to sound annoyed by the disruption in his thoughts.
“Cara. Cara Delevingne.” She holds out her hand shyly.
“Harry Styles.” Harry replies, taking her small hands into his large ones.
Alessia
Alessia takes slow and cautious steps towards the door. Something in her told her not to open it, Marilyn wasn’t supposed to be back until morning, and she had a set of keys with her. How she wishes for a peephole now.
She twists the door knob and pushes open a small amount of the door. The cold wind hits her hard and her tight grip on the knob loosens. Alessia tumbles backwards as the door is pushed open.
A strangled sound escapes from her throat. When she faces the person she didn’t hope to see for the rest of her life. Her throat becomes dry, and fear courses through her body. She swallows hard, leaving her mouth dry.
“Hey babe. Thought you’d never see me again? Well sorry to disappoint you, I’m right here in flesh and bone. On second thoughts...I’m not sorry.”
Alessia swallows again. Her mind racing with thoughts. Her mind screams at her to yell, but her heart asks her what’s the point. What is the point, anyway? She shoves the fear somewhere deep inside her brain, and faces the monster in front of her with a brave face.
“The brown was nice,” he says twirling her hair around his fingers. Alessia flinches at his closeness, “but I do like the blonde better.”
Alessia takes a deep breath and pushes him away with all the force she can gather. “Scott, leave.”
He lets out an animal-like growl, and pulls the hair he had wrapped his finger around earlier. “Say that again, bitch.”
“Leave.”
Alessia closes her eyes and digs her nails in her palms when the sharp sting spreads across her cheek. “Bitch, much?”
“I told you to fucking leave, you son of a bitch!” Alessia yells. This monster was the reason for everything happening to her. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing her crying. He was the one who should be crying, begging for forgiveness at her feet.
“Say that again, cunt. And you won’t live to see another day,” Scott takes off his jacket and throws it on the floor.
“Does it matter?” Alessia replies, coldly.
Scott’s fist was jammed into her stomach before she knew it. While his left hand pulls back her hair, exposing her neck.
“Let me go, fucker!” Alessia cries as Scott’s cold lips meet her neck. What’s the point, she asks herself, she goes quiet, letting Scott do whatever he wants.
SIlent tears stream down her face and she closes her eyes. She thinks about Harry, and with that she forgets what’s happening around her. That until he starts unbuttoning her shirt, his hands everywhere on her, the places only Harry is allowed to touch.
Scott’s hands moved swiftly as he unbuttons her shirt and throws it in some corner of the room. Neither noticing, nor caring about the way Alessia’s ribs are too defined under a thin layer of skin. He bends on his knees quickly slipping of her sweatpants too.
Alessia gasps as her sweatpants are pulled off, she shoves her knee at him, hoping it hit hit him in the ‘spot’. Scott groans in pain and backs off for a second, giving Alessia enough time to make a run for the door. Her hands barely graze the cool metal of the door knob when Scott’s hands trap her bony wrists.
“You wanna play hard to get?” Scott growls maliciously. Alessia’s tongue twitches with insults, she bites back any response knowing the consequence beforehand.
Her figure cowers under his brown eyes blazing with anger. Her fingers twitching under Scott’s death-grip, sweat beads trickle down her scalp, knowing what is coming next. Hot tears spill down her cheeks because this time there’s no Harry to save her, no one to hold her as she’ll try to fall asleep, no one to sing her to sleep. All of that, because of the psychopath standing in front of her.
In a moment of blind fury she twists her wrists out of his grasp and strikes him hard. Her fingers twitch with anticipation as she raises her hand again ready to give another blow, when his hands wrap around her bones. The scowl that permanently stays on his face deepens. “You, love,” he says a little too sweetly, “are gonna die.”
“Looks like I give a damn?” she replies back as sweetly, if not more. She flutters her eyelids for affect, knowing it will only ignite his anger, but at this point she really doesn’t care.
“I bet you don’t care about yourself, love. But what about that pretty boy of yours? And that brother you have? Oh and I bet you don’t give a damn about the two little ones yet to be born.”
Alessia shudders visibly, making Scott’s smirk grow. He’s lying, he’s lying, he’s lying. But something in the back of her mind tells her that he’s not, the confidence in his tone and evil glint in his eyes, suggest that for, perhaps the first time in his life, he is telling the truth.
“What do you think, sweetheart? You don’t give a damn about your six-months pregnant mum?”
Alessia’s throat becomes dry and she swallows hard. “You’re lying,” she whispers. Her hands trembling with fear, as she clings to hope that he truly is lying.
“Do I look like I’m lying? And whether you believe me or not, do I look like I give a damn?” He says reciting the same line she’d said not a minute ago.
Her mind swirls with thoughts. Her heart speeds up, no matter how benevolent she wants to be, she cannot stay away from her mum when she needs her most. Can she? She cannot be that unselfish no matter what.
Thoughts are scattered all over her mind, and she’s brought back to the present only when Scott gives her a final punch in the stomach, her ribs make a cracking sound under his fist, and he walks away slamming the door, leaving her frail body laying on the floor, looking as good as dead under the morning rays.
Alessia lays that for a long time until the impact of what just happened hits her. He ripped her innocence of her, left her shameless in front of the world. Never again could Alessia look at herself with the same eyes in the mirror. Fresh tears roll down her cheeks and she automatically gets up cleaning up the mess Scott left. She cleans up the room leaving it spotless, then steps into the shower, hoping to wash away the stains left by the monster, whom she regretted ever having any relations with. She scrubs the body wash on her body scraping her skin with her sharp nails, leaving red marks over the fresh bruises.
Dear diary,
Every thought has become a battle and every breath a war. You know what the worst part is? I know I’m not winning anymore. Who the hell am I kidding? Was I ever winning? It’s too much now, it hurts physically. How can I go back to them, when I don’t know whether I’m gonna live past today? I am depressed but I am still a nineteen-year-old who wants to live. I’m still the same girl who wanted to become and author, the girl who wanted to marry the love her life, have kids and die like Allie and Noah, I want to live. I want to go back to when it was so easy, when there was no pretending, no faking. Go back to worrying about my hair when I wake up rather than thanking God for just waking up. I know it’s going to happen. How much time do I have, anyway? An year, a month, a week or just a day? Why not just give up today then?
Love,
Lexi.
Notes
Hello m'lovelies, and I know this update was supposed be like a fifty gazillion years ago, but Monday and Tuesday were snow days and I just wanted to curl up and read and watch movies, so that's what I did xD. And then obviously there was a shit load of homework, so you got a late update. To make up for it, I may or may not be working on a chapter right now. Anyway Luv y'all and leave me you wonderful comments. Don't forget to vote & subscribe either.
So what do y'all think now? huh?
And what do you think about Lexi/Alessia's and obviously Louis's mum twins? Plot twist, right there, let's hope Harry and Lexi meet sooner because of that.
And what about Cara? I like Cara better do I put her on here instead of Kendall. Do y'all think she's a bitch? Or does she seem sweet?
Lemme know your thoughts! :)
Stay Beautiful
xxx
Hey love! I absolutely LOVE this story. First and sequel included! I've read this whole story in one day and now there is no update! I would love if you would add a chapter because this is amazing! Please, please continue! If people are telling you this story sucks, DON'T LISTEN! You have tons of fans who want to know what comes next. I understand if school is also a part of this, I've got school too. I'm willing to wait for this amazing story!!
11/19/20