The Forgotten [Larry Stylinson]

17

Harry remembers the look in his eyes; how primal, how angry. He felt sick to his stomach every time he saw the look on his face, and Harry always knew he never wanted to experience it again. Of course, it never worked that way.

-

"Harry, why don't you read for us?"

Startled, Harry looked up to see his English teacher hovering over his desk. He had been lost in his own world, daydreaming as the class read from To Kill a Mockingbird. Louis had told him about the book, had even tried to get him to read it, but it was impossible. The book was too hard for him, though he did enjoy the movie (Louis has decided that he needed to know the plot to be able to pass the unit).

"Um, where are we?" Harry asked in a small voice.

His English teacher pursed her lips, and Harry wanted to shrink down in his seat and disappear. Around him, his classmates were snickering, and he knew without looking at her that Elena was probably making some remark or laughing the hardest of them all. Harry wished he could be invisible.

"Page ninety. Please read," his teacher said.

Part of coming to school in the middle of the year was being so far behind that it just wasn't worth it anymore. Nina helped him a lot, always patient, and Louis did his best to catch him up on work and social standards. Harry was just frustrated that he couldn't meet them no matter how hard he tried.

Harry nodded, and he fixed his eyes to the page. The words ran together in his head, but he did his best to decipher them and speak clearly. This book was much harder than If You Find Me (which he had read twice now) with the length of the words and the southern talk. Even the smartest students in his class struggled at times.

"'Mockingbirds don't do one t-thing but make m-music for is to enjoy. They don't eat up people's g-gardens, don't nest in corn-corncribs, they don't do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That's w-why it's a sin to kill a mockingbird'."

Harry looked up from the book with a red face and met his teacher's eyes. His heart sank at her disappointment and apparent irritation, His classmates were laughing harder than before, red in the face and everything. Harry felt like crying.

"Can I speak to you after school?" his teacher asked.

Harry swallowed, his cheeks turning an even brighter shade of red. He heard Elena's distinct cackle, and the way one of his classmates muttered what a fucking idiot.

 "O-okay," Harry murmured, his breath caught in his throat with nerves. English was his last class and he knew Louis would be waiting for him, but he couldn't deny that he needed to speak to his teacher about his inability to read very well.

"Alright." His teacher turned away. "Can you read, please, Elena?"

"Sure, Ms. Graham." She looked smug. Harry would be okay with hitting her.

-

After class, Harry waited in his seat as Ms. Graham shut the classroom door and came to sit across from him. She set To Kill a Mockingbird down in front of him and crossed her arms on the desk. He decided to let her make the first move; his beating heart was too afraid of what she was going to tell him to say anything.

"Do you know why I asked you to be here, Harry?" his teacher asked.

He knew he shouldn't be, but Harry was actually unsure of the reason. His lips parted as he shrugged, waiting for the consequences he always had when he didn't know the answers to his questions.

"Because-because of my reading level?" Harry had heard Nina call it that before. He decided it was his best bet.

"Partially." His teacher replied. She reached her hand out to place it on his knee, and Harry froze. He vaguely remembered the no touching rule, but he was too scared to push her off of him.

No one can touch you anymore, okay? Tell me if anyone hurts you and I'll make them wish they never laid a finger on you. You're my boy now. I always protect my family.

Jay had said that to him once over mugs of hot chocolate and he had felt loved and important, like he had finally somewhere he belonged. Now he wasn't sure he could actually tell her that his teacher rubbing his knee was making him uncomfortable.

"I want to help you, Harry," Ms. Graham said. "I know you've been through a lot. Just let me help you."

Her hand wandered up to the top of his thigh and she squeezed. Harry flinched, jerking his leg away. He gasped at the look in his teacher's eyes and pushed himself up from the table. No, she couldn't be another him. He couldn't handle it, not from another adult he was supposed to be able to trust. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't.

"I have to go," Harry choked out. "My—Louis is waiting for me."

He was sure Ms. Graham knew what she was doing, but as he raced through the halls to get to Louis' and his meeting spot by the baseball diamond, he wanted to pretend that she was under the influence or something. Better yet, that he imagined it.

But the feeling on his leg was still there—the disgust, the shame that it was happening to him again and he still couldn't stop it—and he knew that it had been real.

 When he met up with Louis on the field, he noticed he was crying. He felt the hot tears rolling downhis cheeks and he couldn't stop them. All he could do was stand in front of Louis with his breath hitching and his face streaked with tears.

"Harry, what the hell happened?" Louis asked. Panic was evident in his voice, and it made Harry's stomach churn because he caused it. "Was it Elena again? Zayn? Because I swear to god, I'll kick their asses."

"Not that," Harry murmured, fresh tears racing down his cheeks.

"Oh, baby." Louis sighed and reached for him, holding him close. Harry caved, letting out a harsh sob as he wrapped his arms around Louis' neck and held on with all of his strength. "Talk to me, H. Tell me what happened."

Harry shook his head, burrowing into his neck. "No."

"Come on, please? I just want to help you."

That made Harry cry even harder. He pressed closer, desperately trying to block out his teacher's words. Just let me help you.

"Jesus Christ, Harry. Just talk to me," Louis pleaded. Then, in a whisper: "Please, I want you to be okay."

"I'm never going to be okay, Louis," Harry replied. "It doesn't matter how much I tell you and how much you want me to be."

Louis held onto him tighter. "Give me something."

"I'll give you a kiss, but I can't tell you what happened. Not yet," Harry said.

"Okay." Louis sighed, but he pulled back enough to brush his nose against Harry's. "Whatever helps you."

Harry let his eyes flutter shut as their lips met. He hadn't kissed Louis since that time in his room; only a few pecks on skin, never the lips. This is nice, he thought as Louis' hands came up to gently cup his cheeks. This feels safe.

He let himself go and found himself enjoy the way their lips dragged together sweetly—almost lovingly. He could almost forget about him, about his teacher. But then it came rushing back to him and he had to pull away, fresh tears in his eyes. Louis pressed his palm to his cheek, his eyes gentle, and even though he had no idea what was wrong he was being so sweet, and it just made Harry even more upset. He didn't deserve this, didn't deserve how nice Louis was to him.

"Come on, let's go home," Louis whispered to him.

Home. That felt as real as Louis' kisses did.

"Okay," Harry agreed, equally as quiet. He laced his fingers with Louis'. "Let's go home."

A/N: The new writing page is shitty. I hate this. I hope you at least enjoyed the update xx.