Bad Boy Playground (h.s)

twentyone

tennis court

My heels click down the school's hallway along with my three best friends, and I know that the world is right once again.

This past weekend has been nothing short of Hell.

I took half the school week off after homecoming to take care of Harry. Only a minuscule percentage reasoned in me to skip to avoid ridicule from the study body, as I haven't come up with an excuse for my absence.

What could ever be an acceptable reason to miss being crowned homecoming queen?

Harry.

But no one knows about us.

After Harry closed the clasp on my Cartier bracelet, I thought we'd finally made it out on the other side. I was so wrong. The days I spent nursing my baby back to health were spent wrestling a little girl and watching a grown woman spiral.

The first night brought the biggest shock.

It was about two hours after Harry cuddled into me, and we fell asleep. My baby's pink little night light that he stole from his sister is the only source of light in the room. When I first saw it plugged into the wall, I couldn't help but ask. He told me his little secret.

Shocker, my bad boy is afraid of the dark.

The pink glow soothed him to sleep as he rested his cheek on my stomach. His long hair covered his face as he snored into my bare skin. It was the perfect picture of serenity until the first whisper.

Creak after creak across the wooden floor, muttered swears, slaps.

I knew it was Harry's mother when the first words left her mouth. I'd be lying if I said it was entirely worry that persuaded me to get out of bed. Gently shifting out from under Harry's grip, I tiptoed towards his bedroom door. Trying to be as quiet as possible, my hand turns the doorknob, and a stream of yellow light creeps into the room. 

"he took it, he hid it. he took it, he hid it. he took it, he hid it."

Pacing in front of her son's room, the mother of two repeatedly smacked her palm against her temple.

Smack, smack, smack.

"where is it? where is it? where is it?! where is it?! WHERE IS IT?! where is it?! where is it?! where is it? where is it?"

She didn't notice me. Stuck in her head and addiction, she continued to act out while I stood like a statue, watching her fall apart.

Smack, smack, smack.

"my head, ow. my head, ow. my head, ow."

Smack, smack, smack.

It seemed as if she spoke in multiples of three. Her voice started soft and crescendo as her thoughts took more control.

I know Harry said his mother was diagnosed with Bipolar, but it seems more Schizophrenic.

She's self-harming. Not in the typical way of cutting or purging. She's hearing those devils of addiction and is trying to shut them up. Self-medicating and self-harming are the same thing. From what Harry's told me, his mother is spotty taking her prescription pills. Pills that regulate temperament and erotic thoughts. More specifically, Bipolar medication.

That night was the first of a series of unfortunate events. 

I don't think I could recall the rest without going through deep hypnotism. The worst was how Harry reacted to the strange behavior. He acted like it was normal. Watching her throughout the days, Dimple would pull me away and lay me down to rest or watch a movie with Lila. He always found a distraction.