isn't it funny how fast things change? ::: larry stylinson

Chapter 45.

"Harry, what the hell?" Harry's father yelled. Harry sat up in the bed immediately, trying his best to hide Louis.

He should have known. He should have known that there could not only be calm before the storm, nor could there only be calm after there storm. There would always be storm before the storm. The storm could not approach with such great power, with such force, if it did not have enough of a clue as to where it was headed. It was made familiar, it was made into a memory. That memory would be summoned, and the storm would hit harder.

It would create the strongest tempest, the tallest tsunami. 

"I- I- It's not how it uhm, it's just a uhm, I- I don't even. I'm not a fag!" Harry stammered, tears already forming in his eyes. He subconsciously made his voice deeper, trying to force himself to not look how his parents now saw him to be.

"I'm a man," He grumbled in the low voice, "I- I like pussy, n-not that faggy shit." His words cracked with his voice.

"Shut the fuck up!" His father roared, as if his voice was what caused the glass to shatter in this clock of infatuation. Louis shifted around, and Harry wrapped a protective arm around him, whispering to him over and over that it would be okay.

"Shut the fuck up!" He repeated, voice cracking. His sound cracked the walls, cracked the roof that held Harry at night. 

His comfort was falling. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you crazy? Are you fucking insane? I did not raise you to be like this. I did not raise you to like that. You are my fucking blood, and you waste it on this- on this dick. Your mother and I come to surprise you, and we find you in bed with a man."

"His name is Louis," Harry whispered, his eyes blanked out. If he were to see, he would see his father ripping his hair out, running around his room and tearing apart everything in sight. Louis gripped a tight hold of Harry's hand.

"I don't give a fuck about what his name is, it's a fucking- it is the worst thing to walk Earth. What does it think it is, poisoning my blood. It is poison ivy. It poisoned you. It manipulated you!" He slammed his fist against Harry's desk. He opened the window furiously, throwing out one of Harry's favorite books. It was his favorite, because Louis had wrote a love letter into the end of it. It had said, and what Harry had loved so dearly about it, "What I feel for you grows greater than any plant." He had gifted it to him along with a lily flower.

"He's a person, not an it," Harry retaliated.

"I don't give a fuck! Get him out," Harry's father stormed to the bed, ripping the sheets off. He grabbed Louis by the ankle, pulling him off of the bed. Louis scurried away, clothes in his hand, tears lining his eyes.

So now it was only three.

He pointed his finger at Harry, voice shaking from pure rage, "I never want to see you again. You are not my son."

You are not my son.

"You will never be my son, until you can present me with a daughter," He spat, and then he turned around, storming out of the room. Harry's mother stood at the door arms crossed over her chest.

"Mum..." Harry tried.

"I am not mother of yours," She shook her head, "Get ready for school." 

No feeling that had ever been felt could compare to this. 

He was alone. 

Not even his blood was his own. Not even his love was his own. 

He did not quite understand how his everything could disintegrate to nothing in such a small amount of time. He did not understand how that had to be so fast, how it had to all change so fast, but when he wished for a long moment, the moment chose to shorten.