Prologue

The beginning of the end.

Hayden,

Eleven minutes.

That’s how long it takes for your brain to finally quit once your heart stops beating. Does that mean you can feel your heart stop? The blood draining from your wrists? The pills dissolving in your blood stream? It’s crazy when you really think about it… Eleven Minutes. Eleven Minutes to come to terms with everything. Eleven minutes to regret it. All of it. Eleven Minutes to panic. S’just crazy, don’t you think? Not being able to change it? To sit in misery for Eleven Minutes thinking over everything, not being able to move, not being able to talk, and not being able to do anything but, well, THINK?

I’m waiting for the quiet. I’m waiting for the peace, but it doesn’t come. The incessant honking and streaks of bright white light from the passing cars just grow with each painful minute that passes. My breathing has become ragged while sitting here waiting. The once warm sheets under my fingertips have since turned to a bone chilling temperature. Not that it matters though, no, the temperature of the sheets hasn’t been able to tame the white-hot aura surrounding my body in weeks. My body may be scalding, but my insides are ice cold. Do you remember sitting outside on a beating hot summer day, the rays of the burning sun radiating off of your beautiful once creamy skin and picking up a glass of ice cold water? Condensation would drip down the sides like forgotten faces and forgotten names as you gulped down the cup of pure bliss, insides coating in what can only be described as unadulterated pleasure.

Once the best feeling in the world has turned to a nightmare, my lungs coated in icy glass and spreading through my veins like wildfire. Not even the sweet release of hot cigarette smoke filling my body can melt the ice. The familiar, comforting smoke curls in the air, fills my lungs, and clouds my thoughts in a way that only you have ever been able to do before. I can’t help but to know what you’d say if you were here, you’d give me that damn innocent look of yours, eyebrows furrowing in disapproval, wrinkles forming between your once energetic jade eyes. Your beautiful pink lips would turn down in a pout that clearly didn’t belong on your face, and a sigh would fill the room as you’d get ready to scold me like you always did. But I’d never listen; you had no right to give me a lecture on smoking and innocence when you were sitting right next to me, a new Marlboro menthol pack hidden in the pocket of your jumper alongside a sleek black lighter with golden embellishment. I know that was my doing, and I really do apologize, but don’t think for a second I was clueless… Why do ya think you ran out so quickly? Yet for some reason you always tried to act like the concerned lover. ‘Em, smoking kills you know,’ is how you’d start that lecture. The same f*****g lecture you’d give me day in and day out, and I’d look out over the iron wrought balcony of our ever changing surroundings before looking you dead in the eyes; disappointment brown meeting ever-believing greens, and I’d whisper the same old words that would pierce your heart every time. ‘I hope’.

Such a simple act, smoking, isn’t it? As humans we know that it kills, a long, slow process filled with agony, but yet we still can’t bring ourselves to quit, can we? You’d beg day in and day out for me to quit, but all I’d do is snap back at you and ask why YOU don’t quit. Let’s face it; we all know I wasn’t talking about smoking.

Lately I’ve found myself jolting awake in the middle of the night, the nightmares are back. They’ve returned every night since… Well, that night. I can’t help but feel unnerved as they get worse and worse, but while a side of me is cowering away like a frightened little girl, another side of me is thriving. The demons are unleashed, and a side of me could not be more excited. I find myself lying awake at night, sweat dampening my once sapphire highlighted hair that was carelessly pushed away from my face, black smudges coating my dirty pillows as tears trickle down my cheeks. The pain is unreal. It’s excruciating to the point where I all I can do is sit in bed some days waiting for that tall dark figure from my nightmares to whisk me away into a better place... And it’s all I can hope for.

 

I have found that the only thing that can take my mind off of the pain is thinking of your lips. The contrast is so heavy. The thought of your young, innocent lips trailing up the length of my thigh, leaving a trail of burning pleasure in their wake runs through my mind during the nights, making the room around me feel steamy and hot like it always did when we were together. I remember those same lips, smiling down at Kaya and cooing in delight, or the energy and passion as you spoke to some tawdry interviewer about the song you wrote. The contrast never ceased to amaze me. The innocent façade you held, and the dark, filthy secrets you truly had.

I watched myself in the mirror the other day and I barely recognized the girl before me wearing that dreadful Eagles vintage 1976 baseball tee shirt you left here. You know the one; yellow and white with the holes in the shoulder? I always teased you about that shirt. Remember? It sits mid-thigh on me, feeling like silk against my rough skin. Even in the deadest of winter it’s all I will wear to sleep. It still smells like you, ya know? The amazing smells of sandalwood, patchouli, and the slightest hints of smoke, mint, and strawberries from your shampoo are unbelievably homey at a time like this. I never fully realized how much I took for granted wearing your clothes until you had left and I was left to my own closet.

The girl staring back at me in the mirror was weak and much too skinny to be in her late twenties. Her cheekbones were hollow and the once eccentric mocha color of her eyes had shifted to a tainted mud shade. I don’t recognize myself as I feel down my body, the ribs poking and prodding out against the nearly translucent skin, the sickly brittle raven hair that hung in tendrils down my back, the bloodshot eyes… Yet this is who I have always been now that I think about it. I guess it had just been a while since I saw this version of myself again.

The apartment is so cold without you here, the bed isn’t the same, and I often find myself sleeping on the beat up couch in the living room because the bed is just too familiar. I find myself seldom using the washroom connected to the bedroom because the scent of your cologne still clings to the walls, and I can just imagine you walking out of the shower, towel slung low on your hips as you engulf me in a wet- yet somehow loving- hug. I always wondered, with barely enough life left for one person between the two of us, how were we able to love each other as much as we did? Or should I say, pretended to?

Sometimes as I watch you on television, the once genuine smile not quite meeting your eyes like the day we met, I dream about how things could’ve been different. Between my nightmares of death and the past, and the sweet dreams about growing older with you, getting married and the tears shed as we hold a little child in our arms for the first time, I honestly don’t know which scares me more. But I really do hope you’re happy Harry. I hope you aren’t hurting, I hope you aren’t afraid any longer. Gemma was right; I could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve to be treated the way that you treat me.

Funny how things end up, yeah? No more than a year ago I never would have expected to end up this way, well actually, I would have expected this, but not the things that led up to this. A year ago I never would have believed that I would have been with- No matter how short the time was cut- the infamous Harry Styles. Funny how I never learned your middle name, huh? Or your favorite color. All those simple things that lovers are assumed to know and pay attention to. It must have been foreshadowing. But back to my original point, did you ever see your life ending up like this Harry? When you were younger did you ever believe, even for a second that you would’ve been living the life you are now? Because I never did. Not in a billion years, and even with all the tragedy and heartbreak, the passion and loss, I never, for a second would take back any of the time I spent with you. You had my heart H. Always did from the moment we met I suppose, but I’ve learned something in the last few months of pain. Fight fire with fire and it will burn.

“Love is that which is unlimited. There is no beginning and no end to it. No before and no after. Love always was, always is, and always will be...” Beautiful… Isn’t it?

So tell me H, if you had Eleven Minutes left, what would you regret?

Always in my thoughts,

-Emily x

Author's Note

It's okay to be confused at this point! as the description for this chapter states- "the beginning of the end" ;)