Take Me There (AU): Chapter One.
Harry was tired of pretending. His life was a completely lie. His dreams had been crushed since the day he was born. All his life had been marked by loneliness and departure. He always felt out of place, different. Something inside him wasn’t working right; and it was since that day, he realized he was broken. Harry was in need of a heal. But he was afraid to one thing in particular: He was afraid to speak. He had always been reserved; he kept his feelings just for himself. Harry needed a fix.
Pairing: Harry/Louis
Rating: NC-17.
Warnings: AU. Angst. Self-harming, depression and departure.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Louis, Harry or the rest of the boys -even if I want to-. I don’t get anything in return, I just love to write.
Chapter 1:
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He lifted his face and focused his gaze into the man who was standing in front of him.
Unconsciously his heart started beating faster inside of his chest.
He couldn’t help it.
It was an automatic reaction.
“Hum, I - I’m drawing?” He whispered in such a low voice.
Harry always acted like that, and it was kind of frustrating.
“Don’t act like a girl, stop doing that shit and do something of advantage.” He crossed his arms on his chest. “Have you done dinner?”
Harry nodded.
“Well, I - I was doing that, it’s not boiled yet.” His father sighed.
“Go check on it.” He ordered and walked away from the living room.
Harry threw his pencil on the table.
He stood up and walked quickly into the kitchen. He stood in front of the oven and a small sigh left his lips.
He couldn’t help but feel sad.
Harry was like that since he remembered. Since his mother died, he felt sad, he felt empty. Everywhere he went, he felt alone, even if he was surrounded by people.
He didn’t have any friends. He never made ones, and he was sure he never will.
Everyone thought he was strange, they noticed he was different.
So that’s why maybe they ran away before he could speak to them.
He slipped the knife and slowly cut the potatoes -Harry didn’t know exactly what he was doing, but he started to do it anyway-, turning them into big slices.
Oh yeah, he was trying to make beef stew with potatoes. Something really easy and basic, but delicious.
He put the knife down when he finished.
He stared at the window, the rain was falling from the sky and the water drops were slipping above the leafs.
It was sad.
It made him feel sad, and lonely, helpless against the cruelty of the world in front of his eyes.
He dropped his gaze and looked at the dinner.
He made dinner since he was young. He had to learn how to do it since he was twelve. He had to do it if he wanted to eat. His father never cared if little Harry had eaten or not. It was just a simply survival instinct.
He dropped the potatoes on the pan.
It was unfair.
His life was boring, dramatic and pathetic; he once used to be a lovely and caring kid, but since his mother passed away, everything changed. And not for the best.
Unconsciously his gaze fell down and his sight caught his hands, then above his arms. Harry turned them and saw his wrists. All sore, battered, neglected and unrecognizable. The purple traces contrasting with his pale skin. He squirmed. Harry hated them. If he could change something about himself it would definitely be his wrists. Not because they were too bony, it was because they reminded him about his past. His scars were the simple prove that all that he suffered was real.
He didn’t remember when he became like this.
He just remembered that one day he started to pass meals, and then he started punish himself for eating too much; because something in his mind claimed him that it was wrong.
And then, the cutting.
One day he was really tired of his own shit; He felt the need of punish himself because of his stupidity. He couldn’t handle it. He remembered how his heart started to ache and how he was crying because his father grounded him. He always made Harry feel useless, stupid, and guilty about everything.
The blame was always his, no matter what.
He remembered the wildly and carelessly way in what he pulled at his hair and to control his cries how he bit his arm with force leaving his teeth marked on them.
It didn’t hurt. It felt weird, but good. It relaxed him. It was strange, but he didn’t complain; it made him feel free and no one would change that.
Only last enough for him to actually start cutting. It happened one day after school when they finished one discussion and Harry ran upstairs and cried furiously. Anger took him and he started to press his pen on his arm.
That was the first time.
Since when did he convert in that boring, cold, and lifeless boy? Harry shook his head in disbelieve.
He hated it.
It was shameful and embarrassing. His life was completely and utterly shit.
_*_
“Hey, you know that tomorrow you start going, this, new high school.” His father stumbled a little on his words and his voice sounded deep, that Harry almost chocked on his own food.
He took a bit of the drink he had on the table -just water-.
“Yeah, I know.” Harry coughed slightly.
It was a little uncomfortable. Every conversation between them was full of tension and disinterested. They never used to talk to each other, only if it was of deadly interest.
“Well, I hope you do, because if you’re going to this school, the least I expect for you to do, is to get high notes.” Harry nodded.
The only reason why he wanted to go to school, it was just so he was going to be able to distract himself and also be as far away as possible from his ‘house’.
He hated it.
He never felt comfortable around his house, and even less when his father was there.
Crap.
“You did hear me, right?” His voice was always loud, deep and strong that Harry always felt like he was scolding him. “Right?” This time, Harry looked into his eyes and his father’s frown was serious and numb.
“Yes, dad.”
Harry’s voice was soft, like it was hard for him to say them.
“You can leave now.”
He didn’t hesitate and got up.
It couldn't be better. He didn't have to lie about why he didn’t eat much food.
Harry ran to his room and locked the door when he entered.
Silence surrounded him.
_*_
He sighed and threw himself over the bed.
His arms and legs were spared around the cold mattress. He looked at his bedside table and stared at the small frame.
He felt how the tears were falling from his eyes and travelled around his face.
He left a soft cry.
He missed his mum.
He missed every time they spent together. It wasn’t enough.
“I remember how you used to read me a story every time I went to sleep.” He cried and another tear fell. He held the frame in his hand and pressed it with strength. “You always made me feel so special, and now - now I feel alone. I miss you.” He sobbed and held the frame between his arms, holding tightly into his chest. “I really miss you mum.” He cried more. “If only I can do anything to get you back.” He sniffed and shook his head. “But I can’t, and that’s what hurts me the most.”
Harry couldn’t help it.
It hurt him like hell.
It was hard for him to watch how his classmates’ mothers always came and picked them from school, when he had to walk alone.
If we could only turn back time.
_*_
He shifted in his sleep in the moment he felt the sun light burning his skin. He whimpered in discomfort. He didn’t want to get up. It was Monday, and that meant school.
It was his first day, and that bothered him.
He was going to get known as the ‘new one’. Everyone will look at him as if it had grown another head, until they reach the conclusion that he was a weirdo.
He sighed with heaviness.
This was going to be a long day.
_*_
“I’m going to school.” He warned but his father only said a soft ‘uh-uh’ and didn’t dare to look at him
Harry sighed and took a hold on his bag and started walking towards his school.
He was really confused, he never knew what happened between his parents and it disconcerted him, really bad.
He never understood anything, the only thing he knew, was that his father didn’t love him, and he never will.
He felt a hole inside his chest and a lump on his throat. He wasn’t going to cry. Oh hell no. He hated to feel vulnerable; he hated to think that he was a sensible lad.
He couldn’t show his emotions, because if he did, everyone would make fun of him. And Harry had enough misery in his life. He didn’t need more.
He was used to feel pity about himself, living in a town he hated -which was always cold and rainy-, living with his father -who hated him-, and alone. Completely and utterly: alone.
Harry didn’t had any idea of what he was supposed to do with his life. He always wanted to draw and paint, but he never did it because it was something his father used to call: ‘girly’ and made by fags.
He shook his head in disapproval.
He entered to the old building and took his schedule paper. He had math by first class. He sighed with tiredness. He hated math. Not that he was bad at it, actually he was really good, but he didn’t liked numbers and equations; Harry loved colors, he loved to express himself by making drawings and paint them with a lot of colors.
It was really weird. But he liked it, and no one will convince him otherwise.
_*_
Class was fine. That’s what Harry thought.
Everything went fine, nothing of major importance. He’ll have to make an essay for English class about one book he had read, and some exercises on his chemistry book.
It was fine.
Nothing he couldn’t deal with.
But he didn’t know what was coming next.
His life wasn’t as easy as the others could think.
Misfortune was written on his life.
Pain had come into his life, and it hasn't planned to leave.