Silenced- A Larry Stylinson Story

Chapter 37- POV Harry: Too Young

The shadows swallow the streets as though the world is drowning in darkness. 

A noise punctures the silence, and I twist around urgently, eyes wide in fear. Merely a dimly lit street, tenebrosity twisting through the light wind and engulfing my figure. Warily, I carry on, however slightly more accelerated than previously, lugging my bag of possessions inattentively behind my heels.

A sizable drop of water falls elegantly from the tepid sable sky and lands with a plop in the center of my forehead. I wipe it away swiftly, but before my hand once again falls to my side, another drop lands on my shoulder. 

Within seconds, I find myself drenched from head to toe, socks squishing in my shoes as I hurry along, rain coming down so hard it hurts, stinging my pale skin like the pressing of a thousand cigarettes over the uncovered flesh bare to the feral weather, and blowing into my eyes and nose and mouth with its dull taste.

Battling the fierce weather, I bolt down street after street, cutting across yards and fields, chest heaving as my lungs attempt to compensate for the air rushing through me. 

Fire burns through my tired legs, and a deep ache establishes itself in the arm hauling my bag. My hair clings to my forehead, branching over the rim of my eyesight just barely, so a blanket of brown shields my burning eyes. Streetlights become harder to spot, muffled by the starless night. I dig every last bit of energy out of the pits of my mind and sprint, until a familiar house comes into view and I skid to a stop in front of it, barely standing on my wobbly legs.

The building is a duplex, painted a bland beige color with peeling white trim. Four evenly distributed porch lights beam into the night, fracturing the inky darkness. Two white doors stand out at the front of the house, each pushed to the opposite ends of the front of the duplex, and each exhibiting a short line of windows so high I wonder for a split second how anyone could be tall enough to see through them. Both doors are shadowed by two small porches, one extending forward a few feet and the other stretching sideways, slightly bigger. Windows are sprinkled randomly over the front, some large, others small, each with a curtain behind it. 

The left side of the duplex, with the smaller porch, possesses a small garden of bright florals and lucid green leaves. The stairs are wooden, chipping slightly but in a comforting, homey sort of way. A small chair is nestled into the corner of the porch with a tiny yellow table next to it. A short white picket fence stretches the length of the left side of the house, sprawling back farther than the night allows me to see.

The right side of the duplex is bare and gloomy compared to the left. Concrete stairs lead up to a bare porch except for a black metal table. Two small trees sit on either side of the steps, both singed by the summer heat, wilting miserably. A large wall of unkempt hedges span the side of the house a few feet out from the porch, blocking the view to the neighboring house.

I limp tediously up the steps to the door to the right, and knock loudly three times. Nobody answers, so I knock again, and again, and again. Finally, the door swings open, revealing a grumpy and disheveled Zayn. He brings a hand up to rub his eye and raises his eyebrows in surprise.

"Harry- what the hell are you doing here at 2 in the morning?" He asks, with a tone of annoyance he doesn't even try to hide. After he scans me up and down, however, he notices my drenched clothes, the bag in my trembling hand, and the distressed expression pasted across my face. "...Harry? What's going on?"

"I didn't have any place to go, so I came here. I'll just stay for the night and leave bright and early, you won't even know I'm here." I say in one long breath, head bent down to my feet. I push past him to the entranceway, where I drop my bag and kick off my shoes. 

Zayn twists around, but his eyes linger in the corner of the small room, where another groggy figure stands. I glance toward the person, mouth dropping open when I realize it's Liam. 

"No." I state, rotating, shoe-less, to the door, ready to leave, where Zayn grabs my shoulders. I slump against him, too tired to hold myself up. "You." I extend a vulgar finger towards Liam. "You."

"I know." He says, stepping forward. "I know, I fucked up. I'm so sorry, Harry, but right now can you just tell us what's going on please?"

I shake my head vigorously. "No, no, no, no, no, no-"

"Okay." Liam interrupts. "Um..." He scratches his head, obviously uncomfortable. "Would you like to call someone?"

I furrow my brows and scan the bare room in thought. "Okay." He leaves for a second and returns with a phone in hand. I dial the number and place the phone near my ear, careful not to place it close enough to get water on it. It rings, over and over again, the chime taunting me maliciously, when, on the last ring, a voice sounds.

"Hello?" A kind voice speaks groggily. I don't answer. "Hello?" The voice says again. I, once more, stay silent. "Who is this?" They ask.

"It's Harry." I finally answer, so quiet I'm surprised they even hear me.

"Bud, why are you calling me so early? What's wrong?"

"Something- something happened. I-" A sob escapes my scratchy throat, quaking my already trembling shoulders, and I sink to the ground, Zayn catching me and placing me gently down. "I'm at Zayn's." I drop the phone in a now limp hand and lean my head back against the wall, grateful for a moment of rest. I let the tears in my eyes escape and roll down my damp cheeks for what feels like eternity, shielding myself from the cruel world by closing my eyes to the darkness of my eyelids.

A solitary cage, I am now in. Alone, hopeless, shielded from any remnants of hope and joy and clarity and love that I could have possibly felt before. 

Before. 

Before. 

God, I was so innocent before. 

I thought I'd seen the worst pain life had to offer. 

I thought the worst pain was someone breaking your heart. But no, I had it all wrong. 

The worst pain is this, my own heart and soul tearing itself apart from the inside, ravaging and wild and unable to be tamed. 

This... this fucking hurts.

My mother once told me that the stars listen to your dreams and try with all their might to make them come true. But right now- right now there are no stars, because my dreams are crushed and everything has gone to hell.

The stars have given up on me.

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