Love, Harry [l.s]

twenty two

tw // abuse, alcoholism, scars

Harry's POV:

"So, Harry, I think your Mum and I have a bit of explaining to do." My dad tells me, and I shift uncomfortably on my feet before taking a seat at the table. In contrast, Louis pushes out his chair and stands up.

"I don't think this is any of my business, so I'll just be in the other room if that's alright," He politely excuses himself and walks into the living room, leaving me alone with my parents.

My parents both turn their full attention to me. I see my mum's eyes focused on my hands, which are nervously intertwined on my lap, before taking them in hers and squeezing them reassuringly, yet apologetically.

"Harry, where to begin, now that we're having a proper chance to talk. First, how have you been? I can't imagine foster care has been easy, and it was our last resort. It was something we never thought would come down to, but in the end it did and that was our best option for you and your sister. How is it?" My mum asks, still holding my hands but looking back up at me with a shaky smile.

"Um, I've been alright. Things have been better lately since I moved in with the Huxley's - my current family - but really just because of Louis. I mean, I've stayed with more foster families than I can describe, with extreme variations in 'success levels' per se," I explain.

"I'm glad Louis has made things better, you two seem very happy together and that's all what we want for you. As for the Huxley's, how are they?"

"Fine. I'm not super close with them, but the parents are generous and get me things if I ask for them, or even if I don't ask for them. But their daughter is a handful." I leave out an elaborate description of the Margo drama. It's irrelevant here, and she's not worth going into detail about with the limited time I have with my parents.

My dad nods slowly before asking, "And your past families? Have they all been alright?"

I shrug, memories both good and bad flooding back to me like a tidal wave. From the Morton's who made amazing macadamia nut cookies every Sunday, but then forced me to attend church with them, to the Valentine's who unironically yodeled (yes, yodeled) every night to inform me dinner was ready, to the Marion's.

The Marion's were a household that I could NOT have gotten out of faster, for absolute unspeakable reasons.

"Yeah, they've been alright. Some were better than others, as expected. And some were less than ideal, but I'm still here so I guess that says something,"

My mum looks scared to even ask, but she does anyway. "Less than ideal? Like... how?"

I start off easy, to ease into things. They are my real parents, and if they really want to know, then I'll tell them what happened at some of the houses.

"Well some families were just bad in general. Less than pleasant parents or children, or a combination of both. Sometimes we just didn't get along, and other times they just took me under their roof for the government money and it showed. I was pretty lonely and neglected at those houses, but I got used to it after a while since they never lasted very long."

My mum looks at me, awaiting the second half of my response as her knee bounces up and down anxiously. My dad just stares at the self and pepper shakers placed at the center of the table, listening but not speaking.

"And some families.... they weren't good in any aspect, to put it simply. I'm sure this isn't what you want to hear, but foster families can be cruel. Speaking from experience, they see me as expendable, not as a kid of their own, and they treat me like that. I'm sure it's the same for other foster kids too. Tommy's experienced more or less of the same, it seems to be a common thing, unfortunately."