Silenced- A Larry Stylinson Story

Chapter 34- POV Harry: Bitter Dejection

Fog begins to billow across the road in a great grey mass like the exhaust of a thousand smokestacks. The bus, only a shadowy form- almost entirely lost to view- stops before me, and the doors extend outwards in an ill-mannered welcome. 

I nod to a hirsute bus driver with knotted, calloused hands that grip the steering wheel uncomfortably aggressively, and he greets me with a guttural voice. Headlamps of cars do little to pierce the morning gloom that blankets the pavement maliciously. Breath steaming the frigid air, I take a seat near the front.

The bus ride, long and dull, gives me time to ponder the weeks to come and reflect over the taxing recent happenings. 

In a sense, I feel free from the chains my family constrained my love for Louis with, however the guilt of separating myself from their possessive grasp casts a shadow on the blissful unconfinement my disownment left me with. Even if they judge the gay part of me, they truly cared about me before I came out, which has to count for something more than the abhorrence I have directed towards them.

Louis's fondness of me, however, makes up for all resulting retained iniquity towards them, and I find myself lost in a cloud of just Louis, Louis, Louis, my perfect little Cherry.

I dig out of my infatuation such a remnant of hope that spreads within me like a wildfire- lighting up every corner of my being- which I never thought I could be capable of possessing so vividly as to be left with a radiating grin on my face- a grin of aspiration, a grin of the craving for self-value, a grin in which I find regard for my own efforts in the entirety of this fiery engagement.

As the bus approaches the school, I gather my bag- remnants of glee still lighting up my optimistic complexion- and head towards the exit, sending an acknowledging smile towards the disheveled, stout bus driver. His eyes remain fixed forward, slightly dampening my sanguine mood. I shrug it off and head off down the street, ambling- with no inclination of traveling at increased speed, as I already have plenty of time to get to school, more than needed- observing small features of the neighborhood I had previously disregarded. 

A few cars speed by, and a businessman sprints towards me on the sidewalk, dodging me to the left at the very last second, carrying a briefcase in each hand, and face stricken with the panic of being late for work; I chuckle.

__________

A year passes, uneventful, albeit happy and containing an overwhelming recovery of the pure bliss of love- the bliss of finding the person who exhibits everything euphoric, and traps me in a bubble of fondness, with the certainty that for this beautiful, strong, resilient, perfect boy with the most alluring eyes I have ever gotten the privilege of gazing into, I would do anything.

In February, I turn fifteen, and Louis plans a wonderful day of swimming at a local pond, and later stargazing. He seals the day by granting me a lustful makeout session that leaves our lips swollen and red.

Louis begins his senior year of high school, and I advance to a sophomore. He gets a job at a local grocery store to help pay for food and rent at home, which takes up the after-school hours of a few days of the week. We become inseparable, spending as much time as we can together, as it is in those hours we are most content.

Louis's mental health improves immensely; he relapses a few times- as every recovery is bound to have a setback- however repossesses the enchanting glow he claimed when I first met him. 

Through the year, my love for the boy grows, and each day I seem to fall in love with him over and over again. 

Each time I fall for him again, Louis catches me with a captivating grace I can never get enough of, and returns the tender intimacy endearingly. 

As winter approaches once more, Louis's birthday passes, making him 17, and after a wonderful winter break with an even more perfect Christmas spent at Louis's house, filled with heedless laughter, my birthday comes around again, then springtime and finally the bright summer months arrive.

The heat hits us like a hand to the face. A golden hue extends across the petite yet adequate hotel lobby- filtering in through small windows, making suspended dust appear like glitter, dancing across the room gracefully- and I head towards the stairwell, plodding across the green carpet.

"Mr. Styles?" The receptionist, who I have come to know as Margaret, which I have taken upon myself, within the first month of my staying here, to shorten to Marge, calls my name in her delicate honey voice- the voice of wisdom and age. Her glasses sit poshly at the tip of her nose, and her cheeks, painted red against the pale paper-like texture of the rest of her face, glow elegantly.

"Marge, every day," I tease "I tell you to call me Harry." I spin tastefully around and rest an elbow on her desk, balancing my chin upon it with an acknowledging smile.

"Yes, I know, Mr. Styles. Anyways, you seem to be missing a payment from last month, so be sure to get that in as soon as possible so as to avoid any late fees."

"But... I paid the bill last month."

"The record says what the record says." She raises her eyebrows at me, both stern and compassionately.

"I paid with my credit card?" I add, as if that will provide any assistance whatsoever in helping my case.

"Ah, yes. I see the problem. It seems that the credit card was rejected- it has been canceled. Is there another you can pay with?"

The gears in my brain turn, confused and disoriented. How could the credit card have been canceled? Unless...

"Dad."

"What's that, dear?" Marge inquired.

"Oh- nothing, it's nothing." I reply, heart pounding, my legs trembling.

He really had the nerve to cancel the credit card off of which I live. I pause, observing my thoughts with silent attention. 

And, in this moment- struck with such a sense of helplessness it seems I am drowning, sinking, falling- staggering off into the stairwell and sliding numbly down the wall, I begin to get a sense of the pure and utter finality of the word no, and of rejection, in its dreadful totality.

Footsteps from above echo throughout the stairwell, bouncing off each wall and descending down the spiral, getting louder and louder as they come closer, but abruptly stop.

I cautiously lift my head off my knees, seeing red for a moment before my vision adjusts to reveal Arthur, the room service guy. Over the years, I have done a satisfactory job of avoiding the sinister man, with exception of the few times we had crossed paths in the hallway- exchanging uncomfortable nods towards each other, leaving me with a rancid taste of apprehension and the unsettling conviction of his eyes on me as I hurried away- and I have seen him lingering outside my room through the peephole in my door, however this is the closest we have been since the first time he came to my room.

"Hey." His hoarse voice sends a shiver down my spine, but not in the zealous way Louis's does, in a way that encompasses pure terror and dread. 

He approaches me until he is towering over me, staring down at me with beady brown eyes. A hand reaches down towards me and grasps my arm so tight a gasp escapes my lips; Arthur smirks. 

He pulls me up to standing, and pushes my body against the wall, slamming my head into the brick surface and adhering it there with his left hand against my face. 

Numb and in shock, I don't struggle, but let my entire body go heavy- even if I wanted to stand on my own, I couldn't. I can't seem to focus on any one thing without there being two of them, and a pulsating pressure engulfs any thoughts I had a chance of producing, nevermind words or a leaden hand to his face.

Arthur presses his lips forcefully into mine, smiling all the while and muttering sweet nothings into my mouth. 

"You like that, boy?" He mumbles arrogantly, pressing his body against mine, moaning like he enjoys this interaction abundantly. 

He tastes like bitter dejection and rue, and the comprehension that I am cheating on Louis makes my heart sink into my stomach, and my mind spins, because there is no reservation whatsoever that this is the worst feeling in the world. 

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