Hooked on a Feeling

Chapter 6: Jay

*TW: Parental abuse, bodily harm*

"What in the fuck am I doing here?" I think to myself. I haven't seen Harry in at least a year. I had made what I thought was peace with the idea of never seeing him again when I crossed over from the Isle to Auradon. "He's a relic of the past," I try to remind myself. "He's not for me anymore." I often wonder if he ever really was. His chest is heaving up and down under the weight of my boot and I take this opportunity for the first time since he pinned me against the wall of that dark alley to look at his face, to really look at it. Coal-black eyeliner makes his blue eyes look bright, contrasted even more with what I'm noticing is a gauntness, a paleness in his face.

The last time I saw him looking this worn we were kids. Harry had just turned fifteen- it's impossible for me to forget that. He'd never gotten along quite well with his dad. As the son of one of the most notorious pirates to ever sail the seven seas, he was expected to have that energy coursing through his blood. From birth, everyone had expected Harry Hook to carry on the legacy of his father, to one day surpass it, even. Born into a world like that, with those expectations, it was almost inevitable that he would disappoint someone. He did, and often. The Harry that I first met would stand off to the side when the other boys would scrap and fight for the last bite of a meal. He was soft, sheepish, almost, and couldn't bear to hurt anybody or anything. Even fishing made him sick to his stomach. Captain Hook and his crew bore this disappointment for a while, grumbling and consoling themselves with the idea that he would eventually grow out of it. Just shy of his fifteenth birthday when they found him snatching golden coins out of a treasure chest looted from an Auradonian cargo ship to pass along to hungrier, smaller children, they began to accept that he would not grow the thick skin expected of him without some coaxing. They decided he needed to develop a little bit of cynicism, a little bit of anger. Captain Hook was driven to be bigger, badder, and tougher because he couldn't stand to continue getting beat by a perpetual teenager who sicked a monster crocodile on him. As silly as it sounds, that paranoia drove him to become the ruthless villain he's recognized as today. So, I suppose, when he did what he did to Harry, he felt his logic was sound.

I've seen a lot since then, but something about recalling the tear-streaked face of that fifteen-year-old Harry that I loved so much twisted in pain will always put a knot in my stomach. I was in my usual spot, just having watched the sunset from a relatively secluded perch above my dad's store. The evening was relatively quiet, at least for an evening on the Isle, so when I heard heavy footsteps and groans of pain approaching quickly, I perked up. My hand went instinctively to my pocketknife. Just as I was prepared to sink back into a shadow, Harry's face came into view. He was sobbing and had a threadbare piece of fabric that looked like a suggestion of what was once a coat was draped over his left arm. I swung down from my rooftop perch, bracing myself between the narrow walls of two adjacent shops before landing on the ground before Harry.

"What happened Harry? What's wrong?" Nobody cried on the Isle, especially not in the open streets. When I got closer I could smell alcohol on his breath, which puzzled me, because Harry never voluntarily chose to partake in any sort of "yo ho ho and a bottle of rum" antics. He fell forward, clinging to my shirt with his right hand. I tried to soften his descent to the ground as much as I could, gently dragging him a few feet back out of the open street and just inside of the alley between the two shops. I crouched down next to him, awkwardly wrapping my arms around his torso. Hiccupping, he brushed the piece of fabric aside. I gasped at the sight of his left arm. The entire arm was stained with blood that was drying and congealing quickly, and two thin leather straps ran up the length of it to his shoulder. A feeling of utter dread crept into my throat as I quickly pieced things together. I had seen Captain Hook's elaborate sling which kept his hook secured to his arm a few times before. He often invited me on to the ship to sail with him and Harry. A similar contraption which would look not unlike a harness was inevitably draped across Harry's shoulder and chest now underneath his shirt. My eyes darted to his face, afraid to confirm what I already knew to be true. Eyeliner mixed with tears left black smudges on his cheeks, and he looked paler and more drained than I would have imagined possible for a boy who spent so much time in the beating sun on the deck of a ship. We locked eyes, and he shook his head. I gripped his right hand in mine, and we sat there, just staring into one another's eyes for a few moments. He had stopped actively crying, his chaotic sobs replaced by a sickening calm. Slowly, he lifted his left arm from his side and placed it in my lap. At the end of his left arm, where just this morning had been a hand, now resided a shiny, newly minted hook.

"Da said- Da said I needed to learn a lesson," he whispered. He began to cry softly again and this time I joined him. We stayed there for what felt like hours, holding one another and weeping.