X / h.s

Chapter 3

HARRY POV;

"Harry,it's been a week." Zoe nagged at me.

"Zoe, I fucking know, alright? We'll see mom soon, shut up, and eat." I barked back, stabbing my fork into my pasta.

She sighed from across the table, twirling her fork and playing with her food. I rolled my eyes at her.

"When are we gonna talk about it?"

"Not now, Zoe."

"But-"

I dropped my fork onto my plate, the sound making a loud echo around the dining room.

"Zoe, fucks sakes!"

"Harold!" She empathized my full name, despite her being younger than me. "We cant just not talk about it! Mom's bad, and now there's someone living in the house!" She yelled, her arm raising and waving towards the direction of the navy house.

My jaw clenched in frustration.

"I know that, Zoe, but what the fuck can we do?! We can't go over there and tell them! They've chosen to live there, so leave it alone!"

Her petite body shrunk back in her seat. She sighed, shaking her head at me, as her index finger rested against her temples. A gesture that reminded me so much of our mother.

"Harry, it's not your fault. It's not mine either. We were just kids, we couldn't have done anything. We didn't know. Didn't know enough."

My eyes bore into my plate, refusing to meet hers. We sat in uncomfortable silence for what seemed hours.

Finally my lips parted, and my voice came out low.

"Eat." I said simply.

~
It was midnight on a Saturday. I should be out, getting drunk like I used to. But things were different now. My 15 year old sister laid in her room, asleep, and it was my job to look after her.

I groaned in frustration, running my hands through my hair, and across my face. Sighing, I threw my legs over my bed, walking over to my closet.

I opened the double doors, to what seemed another room entirely. My eyes scanned all the clothes, watches, and shoes. All this money...I never once questioned it and how we managed to get it.

I walked in, heading straight towards the back.

My shoes rested against white shelfs most of them still in their boxes, remaining untouched.

I reached for a grey, dull, brandless box, and sat down on the floor.

My eyes bore into it.

Get a grip, I told myself, throwing the top off.

Pictures and money filled the shoe box. My fingers pushed the dollar bills aside, reaching for the pictures.

A 15 year old me, stood beside my sister and my mother on her 13th birthday. We gathered around the cake, in the dining room. My mother looked so beautiful. So peaceful.

In the next I was 16. My hair was a bit longer. I stood besides a taller, broader man. We were both smiling, and he held up his champagne in triumph. My stomach seemed to churn, and I closed my eyes, exhaling loudly.

My father's green eyes shone in the picture from the flash. Looking now, so did mine. I hated to think about how naive my entire family was. How oblivious. But despite all the anger I wanted to feel, a part of me missed being so ignorant. It was simpler not knowing. Pretending my dad was some successful accountant, and we were the perfect picket white fence family.

I chucked to myself, rolling my eyes at my stupidity. As if my mustang, and of the year BMW, came from the salary of an accountant.

I shoved the pictures back into the box, standing up, and kicking it to the back of my clothes, were it could remain unseen.

With my anger even bigger now, I shut the closet doors, and threw myself into bed.