Mean to Me ♡ Larry

3.8

Chapter 38: Drunk gossip

Present

After hours of crying, the day turned to night and Harry needed a scenery change. He had never felt so betrayed before. Harry was developing genuine feelings for Louis. Now he has found out Louis lied, he doesn't know what to do. Harry doesn't know whether it was all just some big joke and Louis was going home each night to Stan, laughing about all the dumb things Harry did.

Harry rubs at his scarred thighs through his jeans, feeling his stomach churn. What if Louis told Stan about the cuts... It is bad enough Louis knows himself. Harry pulls the blanket upon himself more and sobs into the pillow. Louis knows how weak he was now. How weak he is... Because without a second thought, he is rushing to the bathroom, finding a razor and getting into the shower. He takes out all his hurt and anger on himself, slitting the skin, going over every old scar, until his legs are just painted in a red, bloody mess.

Louis was the cause of every scar on Harry's body but, despite himself, Harry can't help but wonder if Louis is okay.

After some more crying against the cold shower tiles, Harry gets out of the shower and goes back to his room. He presses tissues to his thighs, hoping that'll stop the blood and prevent it from seeping through his pants like last time. After a while, he throws on an outfit that consists of jeans and a sweater, and he wipes his tears, trying to look happy as a show for his mum.

Harry climbs down the stairs and finds his mum in the kitchen. "I saw Louis leave with a bag... Is everything okay?" Anne touches Harry's hand gently, looking up at him worried.

"We had a little fight, but it is okay," Harry gives her a forced smile and a small shrug, knowing she doesn't believe him, but not wanting to reveal any truth. "I'm going to look for him now."

Lies.

Anne nods and pulls him in for a hug, rubbing his back to comfort the boy. "Well, whatever the fight was about, I am sure you can fix it." Harry frowns and steps away, inhaling a deep breath of air.

After another hug and a promise to be careful, he leaves the house. The wind is chilly as he walks along the familiar paths, his teeth chattering and body trembling. Before he realises it, he has made it to the bakery. When Barbara had passed, she left Harry money and the small shop. With no family, she had written in the letter that Harry was her closest friend and she wanted him to use the money to follow his dreams. And so he did.

The tiny building is now owned by a cute, little man, whose wife used to come to the bakery all of the time. Even though it was hard letting the bakery go, Harry knew it was for the best.

The green-eyed boy steps into the bakery, which now is a small store full of a bunch of things, from ice creams to cigarettes. He makes his way to the counter, watching as the man's eyes lighten up. "Harry?"

"Hi Rodger," Harry grins, his mind travelling away from Louis for a moment to greet the elderly man in front of him. "How have you been?" Harry asks him softly, grabbing a packet of cigarettes to place onto the counter, his green eyes following the old man, who is clad in a dress shirt, brown pants and a bow tie.

The greying man gives him a soft shrug and a smile. He pushes the cigarettes back to Harry and throws a lighter on top of them. "They're on me, son."

"Thank you, Rodger. I'll come to visit you very soon!" And with that, Harry walks from the bakery, making his way to the bar down town. He lights up a cigarette and breathes it into his lungs. When he first got to London, he had become addicted to the cancer stick, but after Barbara had died and left him money, Harry started up his business and left the disgusting habit behind. Well, until now.

Three cigarettes later and he is walking into the bar. It isn't loud, but not quiet either, music plays and the bartender hums. Harry takes a seat and tells the man to give him the strongest alcohol possible.

"I know you!" He places his hand on his hips and Harry notices the neon nail polish, that stands out against the man's tan skin. "Your name is curly cock sucker!... Uh, Harry?"

"Yep," Harry sighs, eyes on the counter before him. "That's me." He lifts his eyes back up to him and tries to figure out who it is, but isn't able to.

"Tray. I was a year younger than you," the man tells him, flicking his hair a little. He goes on to make Harry a drink, sliding it over once done and then he is perching in front of the green-eyed man. "Janene is a lesbian now." Harry stares at him blankly and takes a sip of his drink. "Poor Randy killed himself."

"Hutchin?" Harry questions and Tray nods, pursing his lips and shrugging sadly. "I... Didn't know that," Harry sighs and takes another large gulp, tipping his head back slightly to allow the alcohol to roll into his mouth effortlessly.

"You didn't care about anyone at that school, Harry. Of course, you didn't know," Tray whispers and Harry feels fury rise inside of him. He slams the now empty glass on the bar, signalling he wants another and Tray gets to work immediately.

"Why should I have cared about people who treated me like shit? Nobody cared about me," Harry mutters, glaring at Tray with curiosity to try and understand what the man could possibly be talking about.

"They may have," Tray shrugs and passes Harry his second drink. "Remember Lewis? Lewis Tomlinson?"

Harry grumbles and takes another drink, not allowing the negative emotions to wash over him once again. "What about him?"

"Apparently his husband cheated on him," the blonde hisses. He then gets called over to another person and Harry sighs in relief, sculling down the rest of his drink and placing his head against the bar in sadness as he waits for another.

-*-

"Come pick me up?" Harry slurs into the phone, leaning against white wall tipsily, eyes closed to stop the room from moving around him. "I need you here."

"Where are you, Haz? Tell me where you are, love, I'll be there as quick as I can!" Is spoken through the phone and Harry faintly hears the sound of rustling keys and a door slam. He gives the address and slides down the chipped wall.

-*-

"I guess this is yours?" Tray sassily points to Harry, who is still slouched against the wall, eyes tiredly and drunkenly looking around the dark, dimmed room.

"Yep, that'd be mine," Arthur laughs and leans down to grab onto Harry's hands. "Gonna pull you up, Haz, okay?" Harry nods and Arthur tugs him up, almost losing his balance as he staggers backwards, Harry landing on his chest. "Hi there," Arthur snorts and slightly pushes Harry away from him. "Creep," he jokes and Harry laughs, pressing his face against Arthur's shoulder.

"Thank you for picking me up," the green-eyed man says slowly. Arthur allows Harry to wrap his arm around his shoulder and he helps him walk out.

"Anytime... Should have parked closer, I think," Arthur chuckles and helps Harry up the steps. They walk onto the road, that is lit only by streetlights. Cars sit stationary on the side of the road and Arthur glances around in search of his own. "So, Hazza, tell me. Why are you here at 3 am drunk? Shouldn't you be home doing that little cutie you brought to the funeral?"

Harry pauses in his step and jerks away from Arthur, his bottom lip wobbling and eyes tearing up. "He lied to me."

"What?" Arthur takes Harry's biceps in his hands, trying to stable the boy. "What do you mean? What happened?" Harry begins to cry and before he knows it, he is falling to his knees as they give way in the middle of the road. He covers his eyes and sobs into his hands. Arthur crouches down and pulls him in for a hug.

"H-he was the one who bullied me. The one that bashed me that day, he and his stupid friend... Well, husband." Harry slurs out, though Arthur hears the words clearly and his arms tighten around Harry. "I can never be happy."

A/N: I hated this chapter, but anygay.

I hope you enjoyed, please leave me some comments!

What do you think will happen next?

How do you think Harry is coping with this information?

How do you think Louis is?...