Psychotic (A Harry Styles Fanfiction)

Chapter 23

A.N. HII I KNOW I SAY THIS ALL THE TIME BUT THANK YOU GUYS SOOOO MUCH FOR ALL OF YOUR READS/COMMENTS/VOTES/TWEETS I LOVE YOU SO MUCH YOU HAVE NO IDEA. ALSO THANK YOU SOOO MUCH FOR GETTING ME TO OVER 2M READS THAT IS INCREDIBLE :) AND SORRY IF YOUVE MESSAGED OR TWEETED ME AND I HAVENT REPLIED YET THERE IS JUST A LOT OF THEM AND IM SUPER BUSY BUT DONT THINK THAT MEANS I DONT APPRECIATE THEM BECAUSE I DO AND I LOVE YOU SO MUCH SO HOPEFULLY IF I DIDNT REPLY TO YOU YET I WILL SOON :) THANK YOU AGAIN PLEASE COMMENT/VOTE ILYSM

CHAPTER 23

HARRYS' POV

Although faith is often put to the test and weighing in our hearts is pounds of fear, we always wonder. Although there seemed to be a sea of disaster as large as our worry of drowning under love's heavy burden, we always seek help. Each person is plagued with love as it is either our greatest strength or our most devastating weakness. Under it's seductive spell we can thrive or break. When bodies are weary with suffering and lungs are gasping for clean air to replenish lost strength, crushed are their hopes and disintegrated is their power. No matter how hard of face or light of heart, under the skin are emotions of love and weaknesses.

These underlying feelings are what renders spirits crushed and hearts broken. Sometimes even so much so that it changes us. Because even the toughest of criminals and most malicious of villains have a breaking point. By the hands of sanity we can all become psychotic, slipping through wisdom's careless fingers as insanity fills our veins. There is nothing we can do and nowhere we can hide as darkness consumes our former light, now shadowed by fear's linger. This doesn't happen to everyone, or at least not to such an extremity. Only the one's who have seen the darkness of the world which causes their own to be cruel seem to be subjected to this kind of mental instability. But we do all hit rock-bottom at some point, psychotic or not.

And with being locked up at a mental institution came the uncertainty of when this "rock-bottom" would occur. It could be now, with my back still bandaged and the hope of escaping looking more impossible every day. Considering my dull surroundings, the bleakness and fear of the place I was living in could be the deepest of my troubles. Or could it get worse?

Mostly, my time was spent asleep in the dark shadows cast in this dreary cell, but maybe there would eventually be a day when sleep wouldn't come. There may be a time where I would spend the long nights curled up in a ball mumbling as I rocked back and forth, or joining the other patients as I screamed and tried to escape the thick metal bars that kept me contained night after night.

Until that day, though, which would hopefully never come, I kept my mind at ease with the previously mentioned sleep. Dreams could dull pain's reality and fade away the present's walls. They could be extracted from pleasant thoughts like the memory of going to the zoo with my mother and ice cream and laughter and Rose Winters with her long hair hanging in loose waves. But inflicted in your sleepy mind could also be nightmares, like those of being at Wickendale in my bed when I'm old and frail or being beaten to death by guards or being eaten alive by the monsters in the shadows cast along the cement floor.

But at least dreams provided a way to live somewhere else for a while, be someone else. I would stay in my dreams, the happy ones, forever if I could. Even if I knew they weren't real I would rather live in my mind asleep than my mind awake, because my conscious thoughts were even scarier than my darkest nightmares.

Day by day as my boredom grew and my thoughts started to scramble, I feared that eventually my world of dreams and mind of sanity would shatter, and I will have had enough. My lingering rock-bottom and breaking-point will creep up on me and I will morph into a much more deranged version of myself. Usually I was confident and indifferently calm but those qualities were ever-so-slowly being chipped away as my heart pounded at the sight of a whip and I was drenched in worry with the thought of someone I love being taken away from me. I had been struck with the feeling to kill, and if James had been there that day there wasn't a doubt in my mind that I would have done it. These feelings weren't ones of normalcy, feelings to murder. But I couldn't control them and I knew that escaping Wickendale was the only way to stop it.