Oblivious

Chapter ten.

Songs for this chapter -

One Direction - Story Of My Life.

The Cinematic Orchestra - To Build A Home.

Barcelona - You'll Pull Through.

~

_ Harry's point of view_

"Jeremy please, not now, you can't leave me!" Mummy yelled.
"Get off me Kim" daddy yelled, he always shouts.
"Don't leave Harry, he needs you, Jeremy he needs you, don't leave!" Mummy screams, she's crying, again. I think she likes wearing purple eyeshadow now, they're always purple.

I slowly walk down the stairs and then I see daddy with his bags, is he going on holiday? I want to come.
"Daddy, I want to go with you" I shout so he can hear me.
"Get up stairs Harry" he says, why is he always angry at me and mummy?
"But dadd..."
"Harry get the fuck up stairs before I spank your arse you son of a bitch" he shouts, what does 'bitch' mean?
"Don't talk to him like that!" Mummy screams.

Daddy started dancing with mummy, he held her shoulders and started shaking her, daddy then pushed her onto the floor by accident and then stroked her face very fast and brushed her long hair with his hands. Mummy didn't like it and she cried, I don't like it when mummy cries. I run to her and I see there's blood on her face, she touches her ouchy and daddy leaves the house, I grab my spiderman plaster and put it on her ouchy, I kiss my fingers and put it to her sad face and whisper to her.
"I'll look after you mummy"

"Mum!" I yell, my tears soaking my cheeks as I sit up from my bed, my breathing increasing dangerously high. I check the time, it's the middle of the night. My black shirt drenched in sweat, my hair matted to my scalp, my whole body trembling as I relived that terrible day, many years ago. Why do I always have the same dream? Nightmare, my subconscious corrects me.

It's changed me. In so many ways, it's changed me. I didn't have a childhood, I didn't know from right and wrong. I didn't know that my mum was in a violent relationship with my so called dad. I was just a boy, a kid, I didn't know, I was too naive to understand what was happening inside my own home.

I see her face, her wounded, open-cut face each time I shut my eyes. She couldn't defend herself, she couldn't fight back, she was weak, he drained every last bit of adrenalin and energy from her black and blue body. I remember buying her boxes of flower printed plasters and bandages with all the money I owned, which was never much, and covered all her cuts, bruises, scars, bumps you name it, until she was 'all better' I didn't know at the time that my way of helping her didn't do shit, but I tried, I did, I knew she didn't have the heart to stop me from buying ridiculous plasters, it was the only way I could obliterate my fathers existence as he walked out on us, not leaving a penny for my mum or me.

I thought he'd come back to her, to us, to me. I waited each passing day on the warn out, small step facing the door, waiting for my dad to jump in through the door with the red fire truck he promised to buy me for my birthday, two years ago, but I never reminded him about the toy I desperately wanted, not after what he did last time when I asked. I waited for him in my house to get me.

He didn't show up, valuable lesson man I had to grow up.

~

I don't even remember falling back to sleep. That doesn't usually happen once that disturbing dream replays, shredding every ounce of hope I have left in me that I'll forget that night, I'll forget my dads yelling, my mums crying and my innocence and oblivion to my dad's abandoning.