Mental

-Miranda's POV-

I was in the bedroom channel surfing from boredom. There was nothing to do in this house, besides eating, sleeping, and watching T.V. It was the middle of the day so of course there was nothing good on so I had settled on a Spanish soap opera. Not that I could speak Spanish, I had taken French all four years of high school. Maybe I could learn a thing or two from these operas.

Which reminded me, high school. I was suppose to be in school right now. I have major finals coming up and nothing to study from. Maybe this hiding thing will last, maybe I'll never have to go back to that hell hole they call a school. Shit, I was the valedictorian and I still hadn't written anything down yet. I looked around the room and found a pen and the back of an old envelope. I started thinking what to write about, and I had nothing.

Dear students and staff of Mayfield High,

Today we're gathered here to celebrate the beginning of adulthood, where ever we may go once we here today.
No matter where we go, if that's off to college or just down the road working at McDonald's, we won't forget out experiences here at school.
For some of us this was rocking the hallways in the morning like a cat walk, and others being cramped in our lockers.
Today thought symbolizes, the day where none of those things matter anymore. Because those kids that got stuffed into the lockers could be the future President, maybe CEO and probably the boss of most of us here.

Could I be corny or what? I scribbled it all out and tried to start over again, and then again, and again. I was terrible at writing, couldn't do it and wouldn't. I could draw just about anything but couldn't write a stupid speech. There was a knock on my door and I looked up. "Come in." I said, after talking to Harry yesterday I had finally decided to the leave the door unlocked for once.

"Hey, what's going on?" He asked walking into the room.

"Speech thing."

"Anything I can help with?" I shook my head no. This was the thing with Harry. One minute he'll be a total douche bag waiting to get slapped and the next he will be really sweet and wondering if he can help. Sometimes I wish he could make up his fucking mind sometimes.

He walked over to the end of my bed and sat down. I tucked the envelope into the nightstands drawer beside me. "Do you need anything, we're gonna be here a while it looks like."

I took in a deep breath and nodded. "Actually yeah, I need a sketch book. Drawing on the back of wrappers and envelopes I find in the room, just doesn't cut it." I chuckled.

"You draw?" He asked.

"Yeah, a lot actually."

"May I see your work?"

"Kind of private right now." I lied, it wasn't private at all but I didn't get why he wanted to see them so badly. "Alright, another time?"

"Sure."

He smiled, and this time it was an actual smile not the half perverted smirk like he has been giving me the last week. It was kind of nice. It was silent for a half a moment before he stood up and started heading back over to the door. "If you need anything, I'm out here." He informed me. I was not going to get use to these awful mood swings he's been having.

He walked out with out another word, and I was still curious about everything that's been happening. He didn't give me much information, besides he thinks he's being framed. Who would want to frame Harry? He's a closed book and I'm surprised I got that much out of him. Besides that, that's all I'm getting for a while.

I walked out gonna ask Harry if he could get some dark black pencils, but he wasn't out in the living room like he said he would be. I was in the middle of the living room searching for him when I heard a piano key being played. I heard it coming from upstairs, I was curious. I slowly found myself walking up the steps. There were four rooms upstairs, two one each side. I looked at the first one on the right, just a bathroom. Next one was a bedroom for maybe an ten year old of how it was designed.

The music was coming from the end of the hallway, I krept my way down. The door hadn't been closed all the way but wasn't fully open either. Just enough so I could see that Harry was sitting with his back against the door and he was sitting a black grand piano. He started singing, with the accompany of the piano.
I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naïve
I'm just out to find
The better part of me

I'm more than a bird,
I'm more than a plane
I'm more than some pretty face beside a train
It's not easy to be me

I wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to lie
'Bout a home I'll never see

It may sound absurd but don't be naïve
Even heroes have the right to bleed
I may be disturbed but won’t you concede
Even Heroes have the right to dream
And it's not easy to be me

Up, up and away, away from me
Well, it's alright
You can all sleep sound tonight
I'm not crazy or anything

I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naïve
Men weren't meant to ride
With clouds between their knees

I'm only a man in a silly red sheet
Digging for kryptonite on this one way street
Only a man in a funny red sheet
Looking for special things inside of me
Inside of me, inside of me

I’m only a man in a funny red sheet
I’m only a man looking for her dream
I’m only a man in a funny red sheet
It's not easy.
It's not easy to be me.
So he does listen to other music beside the screaming. I had no idea he could sing either, and I mean really sing. He was good, and not that bad at the piano either. I started clapping and that's when Harry jumped back and found me at the door. His hands started to clench and his face red with anger.

"What are you doing in here?" His tone of voice had changed again like that morning in the home gym.

"I was looking for you, and I heard you singing." I admitted.

"Stay out of here, don't come up stairs." He snarled, more vicious then the last. I nodded and ran downstairs before either of us could say another word. I found myself in the kitchen. Another one of his mood swings.

-Harry's POV-

Nice going Harold. You scared the girl, like what the fifth time? This week. I didn't mean to snap at her, it kind of just happened. I had no control over these mood swings. They come and go, and no matter how much I try my anger sends the signal of me coming off like a douche ball.

Even if I went downstairs and apologized to her, I would do it again. I could just tell her everything, but I can't. I haven't told anyone, anything. I'd like to keep it that way. She probably wants to know why she's here, and who I think is trying to set me up for the murder of the girl.

I put the white sheet over the black grand piano, hitting one more key before I walked out of the room. I needed to get rid of this steam. There was a punching bag down in the basement that I had Zayn get for me. Zayn is a friend of mine that I made when I was in prison, he got out a year before me for good behavior. When I got out I met up with him, and as for now he's my errand boy. Getting the stuff I need here for me and Miranda.

I walked down stairs and saw that Miranda was down in the kitchen. She looked over at me and her eyes filled with fright. I did this to her too, with the tone of my voice I made her scared of me. "Miranda, I- I'm." She just shook her head no, she didn't want any of my bullshit, and I didn't want to deal with myself either. Just the look in her eyes tore me to shreds. I looked down in shame and brought my hand to the back of my neck as I found the door that leads to the basement.

When I got down their I turned up the heat, I was freezing my balls off. I grabbed my gloves, they were new so they needed to be broken in. I got into my stance and started punching the shit out of the bag like I usually do. The room was getting warmer, but I couldn't tell if it was me from this, or that the heater was actually working.

He put his finger over the trigger and with the push of a button, one gone.

The dream comes even when I'm not even sleeping, though it's not a dream, it was real. Once. Mini flash backs from that night flood my mind, only getting me more pissed then before.

When I was finished which seems like forever, I finally grabbed a hold of the punching bag so it stopped swinging. I put my gloves down and walked upstairs. It was dark already and when I read the clock it was 10:38. I made my way down the hallway to where Miranda was staying. I opened the door and thankfully it was unlocked.

She was asleep, under the covers with just her head poking out with an arm draped over her body. I walked over to her and move the tiny stands of hair out of her face. I bent down and kissed her forehead. "Sorry Miranda, good night." I smiled and brushed my thumb over her cheek.

Tingles filled my lips, almost as I wanted more. I was no good for her though. She was perfect, unlike me. Though she made me mad sometimes, I couldn't stay mad at her. I wasn't even sure if it was her that made me mad but only myself. I tried so hard to be nice to her through all of this, even though I had cause all of this on her. I acted like a douche to her tonight, and even before hand.

Stay away from her Harry, she's to good for you. You will only hurt and ruin her.

It's true, people who I love and care about will only hurt for me in the end. I couldn't do anything about it either.

Notes