It's Getting Better [Larry Stylinson]

Chapter One

Three soft knocks sounded on Harry’s door, pulling him away from his thoughts, his head snapping upwards in utter panic. He struggled to pull himself up from the floor, calling a quick ‘coming!’ and ridding of the blade in his hand, kicking it carelessly under his bed, where it would hopefully get lost within a bunch of dirty clothes.

The door flung open exactly at the same time as Harry stood himself up, uncomfortably shifting from his left leg to his right in the middle of his room, staring at the intruder.

He breathed in a quick sigh of relief, his eyes taking in Anne’s figure as she smiled at him softly. “Mum-“

“Afternoon, sweetheart,” She said, with that lovely smile of hers, and she placed a quick kiss on Harry’s forehead. “How was your day?”

Harry swallowed thickly, eyes wide, feeling his knees wobble under his weight. “Good, it was… uh, yeah, good. How was work?”

“Oh, hun, it’s work. Work can’t ever be wonderful, can it?” She smiled, sitting herself down on the edge of his bed, frowning a little at the mess.

“Unless you’re a singer or something, that’s cool,” Harry replied, the corners of his lips curling into a small smile. Anne chuckled, pulling him down to sit next to her. He obilged, sitting himself down on the very edge, nervously glancing under the bed.

“Are you okay? You seem down - lately, I mean,” Anne’s voice was quieter and softer, almost a whisper, as she watched her son play with his thumbs, his hands entwined in his own lap. “Harry, if you have anything to tell me, you can, okay?”

Harry nods, swallows again, tilts his head forward so his eyes are fixed on the tangled fingers on his lap. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and sighed. “I- He’s done it again, mum.”

“Who? What- what are you talking about, H?” Anne said, her voice still soft, but with an edge of panic and a small frown on her face. Harry sighed, feeling the tears pinching at the corners of his eyes.

“D-Dad, he’d done it again. Mum-” He looked up, meeting Anne’s eyes. Her expression was blank, her eyes distant. “I swear, I promise. I’m not lying, mum, look-” He cried out desperately, tugging on his sleeve to show her the bruises up his arm.  

Anne pushed his arm back down without a second glance at the outstretched arm, the sleeve falling back down. “Stop! No, Harry. I don’t want to hear any of this, you need to stop. Your imagination has led too far, and you need to think about what you’re saying. You do realise you’re saying things against your own father?”

“He is against me, mum,” Harry whispered, tears pooling over his eyes, down his cheeks in wide streams, and Anne pressed her lips together in a tight line. 

“I will not have any of this attitude in my house, Harry. If you choose to change your behaviour, we can talk.” She said, her voice flat and emotionless, before she pulled herself up off the bed, and wordlessly left the room.

-

Harry unhurriedly made his way down the staircase, eyes fixed on his feet as he stumbled down, only looking up to see if anyone was in the hallway.

To his joy, the hallway was completely empty, silence overtaking the small house. He scanned his eyes over the dirty carpet, slowly wandering off in the direction the living room, secretly keeping his fingers crossed that it was deserted just like the rest of the house.

But it seemed that his luck has struck its’ limit point for the day.

“Oh, nice to see you again,” Des said, looking away from the television screen for a few short seconds, to scan his eyes over Harry’s tall figure, standing frozen in the doorway. “Come on in then, Hazza, wouldn’t want you to just stand there. Come, sit next to your dad.”

Harry hasitantly stepped into the room, feeling his hands shake, which he quickly covered up by pulling the material of his sleeves down, clinging onto it with his fists. 

“On the sofa, boy,” The older man said, stretching his body over most of the furniture, his legs resting on the coffee table, where only an old phone and a coffee mug were, and Harry felt a scowl on his face. It was like he was a god damn dog, not the man’s own son. He didn’t want to be his son anyway, he thought to himself as he stumbled over to the sofa, tripping over Des’ outstretched leg. Des grinned.

“Sorry about that, sweetheart,” He said, and Harry scrunched his nose up at the strong smell of alcohol when Des laughed in his face, sending small droplets of his spit on Harry’s face, making the boy squirm in his seat. Des’ eyes hardened, staring down at the frightened boy. “What are you doing? Is something wrong?” Des asked, and then burst into laughter, the sound piercing and terrifying in Harry’s ears.

“No, daddy,” Harry replied, in a quiet voice, his eyes trailing down to look at material of the sofa.

“Bullshit,” Des spat in Harry’s face, the boy squeezing his eyes shut in disgust. “Bullshit, that’s what it is. That’s what your life is,” Des laughed. “And you’re going to regret it,”

Harry watched with wide eyes as his father unbuckled his belt, pulling it out of the loops in his jeans, eyes meeting his son’s. Harry breathed in, eyes squeezing shut once again, curls dangling in front of his eyes, falling down his forehead, as he braced himself for the pain.

And oh - there it was. He felt his own shirt being pulled over his head with no gentleness whatsoever, big hands holding down his hips in place. And then he felt the harsh slap of the leather belt on his bare back, and he gave a small whimper.

“You gonna cry now, huh? No one is here to save you though, is there? Is there, Harry?” Des rasped out, pulling the belt back only to hit it against Harry’s back with much more force, the boy’s knees giving out as his chest hit the sofa, his sobs muffled into one of the pillows. “No one cares about you, because you’re just another pointless being. Why are you even-“

A high-pitched scream sounded from the doorway, cutting off Des’ speaking, and Harry managed to turn his tear-stained face to see Anne dropping the shopping bags on the floor, slapping her hands over her mouth, her widened eyes taking in the sight in front of her.

“Des! What- What is going on!” She screamed out, her voice high pitched, as she took an unsure step into the room, her whole body shaking. Harry whined under the weight of his father, the belt frozen on the bruised skin of his back.

“Anne, I can explain,” Des said, his voice gentle, as he stood up, and walked off, off away from Harry’s limp body on the sofa. Harry felt his eyes flutter shut, his face feeling hurt and abused, his whole body not in the state to move. He reached his hand out, only opening one eye when he brushed the hand against his lower back, bringing back a warm red liquid on his fingers, and he shut them again. He heard screams, pleads, shouts, cries, and he breathed in.

What if it was his last breath? he thought to himself, chuckling humourlessly in his brain. Even if it was, who would care? 

“Harry, stay strong! Sweetheart, I love- No, Des!” 

He didn’t bother opening his eyes, instead biting his lip, knowing what was going on, listening to the sound of a body hit the wooden ground, footsteps running out of the house, and the door slamming shut. He felt the tears in his eyes, he heard the sob leave his mouth, and without opening his eyes he reached blindly for the phone on the table.

“Hello, this is 999, what is your emergency?”

Harry breathed in one last time, whispering a pointless muddle of words into the phone, letting his eyes flutter shut.