Interlude [h.s]

fifty-five

The white corridor is stretching out in front of him like a giant snake ready to swallow him whole.

The people that walk past give him half-hearted glanced, as if they know what waits for him at the end of it. Harry is sure he must look like a convict walking to the gallows. The suit he's wearing fits him just right, because his father would never let his beloved child walk around dressed cheaply, but he still finds it uncomfortable. The fabric of the shirt is burning the skin of his back, and he knows he should stop projecting the mixture of unpleasant feelings his father inspires in him on inanimate objects, but it's always easier said than done. It's hard to stop doing that when it's the only occasion in which he's allowed to embrace his hate and disgust for the man that created him.

He does hate his father. He hates him like he's never hated anyone else—like he'll never hate anyone else. He hates him more than he hates all the underground organisations trying to kill him, more than all the guards that have kept him locked into his room on his father's orders in the past eight years. There's no bottom to his hatred. It's a black hole that swallows every source of light in his life. One day, it'll get him too.

His chest hurts. If his creator is a horrible person, does it mean he is too?

Deep down, he knows he is. A lifetime of showers won't be enough to wash away the stench of the horrible things his father forced him to do. He might dress nice and look nice, but he's rotten on the inside—and now Harry is too.

It must be his fault, he thinks. He shouldn't have given in. he should've kept fighting—and if he'd died in the attempt to keep a resemblance of decency, then so be it.

But he was just a child.

A foolish child, that believed his parents cared about him. Now he knows they never did.

Naïve. That's what he's always been. even when the truth was staring at his face, he still hoped something would change.

But he's not a child, now. Not anymore. His eighteen years of age came with no celebration, but left him breathless anyway. Deep down, he's always hoped his father would leave him alone once he became an adult. But he didn't.

He will never be free. He will die within these walls with his father staring down at him. He will be smiling at his demise.

Carina knew the truth. She knew how horrible their father is, and never once bent down to his will. Even after their mother left, she tried her best to protect him. That's why she's gone, now.

Phone in one hand and dread in his soul, he walks to his father's office. His office is a dark shadow. It's a black hole, just like the one in his chest. He's past being terrified of it, though. To him, it's an inevitability of life. If he's lucky enough, he'll come back out in one piece. If he's luckier, he won't come out at all.

He stops in front of the door and hesitates for a moment. His father's newest secretary, Evelyn, gives him a worried look. Harry has never talked to her before, but he knows she knows. She's heard the thuds. She's had to clean the floor and replace the broken pieces of furniture. She knows. In another life it would worry him, but he couldn't care less now. One more person knowing won't do much of a difference. There's nothing she can do. Nothing can protect him, and he doesn't want to be protected. He doesn't want to see others die for him.

Evie is caring, though. Sometimes, she brings him food when he can't leave his room to get it himself. His room—hell and heaven all in one. A perfect haven to hide in and the perfect protagonist of all his nightmares. If he could, he'd set it on fire. He would destroy everything.