[unedited] [finished]
Harry was told what was expected from him. He was betrothed to the heir of the Tomlinson pack even before he was born. Surrounded and raised by biddable omegas, whose only purpose in life was to serve their alphas, he became on...
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"I did something bad, momma." He hiccupped softly, biting on his bottom lip as he stuffed his face in one of Louis' pillows absentmindedly. He inhaled, the earthy scent of pine trees and lilies washing over his senses, comforting him from within. "Harry, what happened? Tell me what happened, bubba." He sniffled quietly, his mind too misty to register he was scenting Louis' pillow, swamping the fluffy pillow with his own scent. "T-Talked back," Harry answered curtly, knowing fully well that his voice wasn't be clearly audible with the way he was burying his face in the soft pillow.
"Harry, I can't hear you; can you please speak clearly?" He let out a soft huff, pushing himself up with the help of his elbows. Once he was seated in the middle of the large bed, he leaned towards the headboard of the bed to retrieve the pillow he was unconsciously scenting. He carefully positioned the pillow over his torso, placing his chin on top of it with a soft sigh of relief as he wrapped his arms around the fluffy pillow. "Harry?" His mother softly prompted after a beat. "Talked back." He repeated himself, his sniffles never ceasing. "Can you elaborate?" His face twisted in distaste, nonetheless, he spewed out everything that had been taking place since he had stepped foot in this house.
He told her about his first night, about how Louis would ignore the meals he would cook for him, about how Louis would not talk to him unless it was about something serious (for instance, 'is dinner ready?' or 'do I have to eat this shit again?' or 'can you shut up? I don't like your voice, it's annoying'), and even though, the last one (or all of them) wounded his heart, Harry couldn't bring himself to hate Louis. He never could, even if he wanted to. Telling Harry to hate Louis was like getting both head and tail upon flipping a coin: an impossible event that could never happen, not even in another million years.
Perhaps, it was because of the fact that it was engraved in his mind as soon as he had started walking and talking. It was graven in his mind that he was supposed to love and serve his alpha; an alpha who he didn't know. Many people teased him for being betrothed at such a young age, some even going so far as calling him a pawn in a game between two packs, used to bring peace and harmony between the packs, whereas, some doubted the love his father had for him.
As opposed to what he had initially thought, life didn't get any easier for him. Instead of getting an alpha who would love him dearly, he was gifted with someone who didn't even like having him around let alone love. When the kids from school would mess around with him, he had something to hold onto; the blurred image of a little boy sleeping with a stuffed toy, dreaming about how his alpha would fight away all the bad guys for him— it was purely pathetic, and shameful, he had realized but it kept him going, kept him alive on a thin rope of hope that was strengthened by an figmental alpha.
But now, there was no hope for him to cling to. No imaginary alpha fighting off his demons, absolutely nothing. All that left was a broken marriage and a dejected heart, both of which he didn't know how to mend.
"You did the right thing, Harry. There's nothing wrong with expressing how you feel. And I am very proud of you for standing up for yourself." His face twisted in utter bemusement, his mother's contradictory words fogging up his already hazy brain. "How so?" He uttered out, voice raw and scratchy.
