Teeth [Harry Styles Fanfiction]

Chapter Four

 Harry’s Point of View:

“Dad?” I inquired briefly, scanning my eyes around our apparent empty flat. He wasn’t here because if he was, he would have said something. Our flat wasn’t big enough for any echo to be left unheard, so that just let me know he wasn’t here. Plus, I didn’t see his large shape plotted on his habitual spot on our couch.

I let out a sigh of relief and let myself fall on the couch. I had the place to myself for the rest of the night and I knew that because usually if my dad wasn’t home already, that only left one alternative; he wasn’t going to be home for the rest of the night. I think these were the only nights that I liked in this house, only because I was alone. I didn’t have to deal with his steady stern voice raining down on me, sounding like a broken record. It wasn’t very quiet though, considering we lived right next to a highway which was always crowded, no matter what time of the day it was. Either way, this was better than listening to that extra thick voice right in my ear all the time.

For a couple of seconds, I looked up at our uneven ceiling and let out a sigh. I had to admit; I was bored. With no cable, no cash and no place to go, I closed my eyes. My head hurt a tad, but I think it was only because I was so hungry. It’s been a whole day since I’ve eaten last. Since I wasn’t getting paid until the end of the week, I recognized that I would be struggling with food until Friday. Dad has been making me support myself recently, and I don’t have a problem with that, but he doesn’t even offer me any help. It actually makes me sick.

I tried to focus on the ceiling, or my thoughts rather, just to ease the pounding sound in my head. Maybe if I closed my eyes, the pain would go away….

                                                              ***

                                                      [Nightmare]

“Des, sweetie, maybe you should sl –“ I could hear my mother say, her delicate hands resting on my father’s sloppy shoulder. What was going on? Everything around me was altered, but I was there. I was there – again.

He shooed her hand away, abruptly and I heard crying next to me. Looking off to my side, I saw a small child, maybe eight years of age. Of course I knew who it was – that was me. I was crying, and my hands were clawing at the back of the passenger seat to get my mother’s attention, but she ignored me. More tears streamed down my small, undeveloped face. “Gemma, help your brother.” She instructed, sticking her hand behind the seat and rubbing my leg as it was her attempt to soothe me.

I was there… watching, observing. Her hands went through my full body as if I was nothing more but the wind. I was invisible to her, but she wasn’t to me.

I looked at her side profile for a moment as she touched my smaller self, my past. Her face was so fresh; it’s been so long since I’ve seen it. I felt myself choke up, incapable of saying anything to her. There was so much to say, but it was as if I was forbidden to even speak.

“M-mummy,” that’s when I heard it; my past…

“Damn it, Gemma! Help your goddamned brother!” my father shouted, and that still made me jump. He screams didn’t help because my small self continued to cry. That’s when I felt a hand slip past me and wrap around the small boy. When I turned around, I saw her face. She looked frightened, but also annoyed. “Harry,” she whispered hastily, her small hands cupping his little face. “Harry, listen to me. Stop it, you stop it right now! Daddy is driving, if you keep it up – he’ll be mad at you. Do you want him to be angry at you?” she asked him, her thumb rubbing his nose. He slowly but surely stopped crying, shaking his head. He then rubbed his eyes, and I could remember every bit of that event. I was tired, angry with my mum for ignoring me, and cold. Now that I think about it, I was such a bad kid.