Forget Me Not (Zayn/Harry; Mpreg AU)

1 - And so it begins

5 years ago

"Harry, you ungrateful imbecile, where in the bloody hell did you put my favorite pair of heels?" A scowling woman in her forties screeches out of the open window, kicking other pairs of dancing shoes out of her way. In a matter of minutes, she hears hurried footsteps and then a disheveled young man, of no less than 18 years of age, come bounding in her walk-in closet.

"Ma'am," he pants, one hand over his chest as he fights to catch his breath. He has been in the garage prior to her call, washing her massive, black Ford Expedition and is, frankly, quite exhausted. "I always put those shoes in the place that you told me to."

"Well, they're not here."

Harry resists the urge to roll his eyes, for he isn't in any mood to be starved or scratched, and merely moves to pick up his adopted mother's aforementioned favorite shoes, which is a pair of strappy, deep burgundy stilettos. As per usual, he knows that she has failed to fully exercise her sense of sight in locating them. He hands them over and watches as she looks put off, as if she wants them to be lost so she can punish Harry for it.

"You obviously had them placed elsewhere or I would've seen them the first time," she says, flippant, and flaps a hand in the air to dismiss him. "You're such a stupid boy. You can't do things right. Get out of my sight and continue washing the car. I expect it to be spotless when I get down."

With a nod, Harry makes a hasty retreat, hurrying down the stairs and to the garage, where he, unfortunately, left the water hose on and a large puddle of liquid is now covering the ground. Horrified, he turns it off quickly, thankful that not a member of his adopted family saw his blunder or it would have been the fourth time this week that he'll sleep on the toolshed. He continues cleaning the car, working double time. He hopes that he will be able to finish before his so-called mother gets down.

Being quite the unlucky person that he is, Harry's hopes are crushed when only five minutes later with the remaining task of vacuuming the seats of the car, Lilian Tilley, with her brown hair immaculately done and her slender body clad in one of her expensive ballroom dancing attires, smirks at him from the doorway of the garage. She grins, this wickedly delighted stretch of the lips, and crosses her arms over her chest, a designer handbag dangling from her hand. Beside her, Mr. Duggan, the family chauffeur, gives Harry a puzzled look, obviously unaware that the young boy is in a lot of trouble.

"You know the drill, ungrateful boy," Lilian says, mocking. "No meals for you today and toolshed at night. I've given you one task and alot of time, but you insist upon lazing around and not finishing on time. What's the point of me sending you to school if you're still this stupid? After all this time? You never learn."

Harry hangs his head in sorrow and embarrassment. He wants to talk back, say she's not the one responsible for his education because Harry is supporting himself all on his own, and stand up for his own rights, but no, Harry couldn't. Despite their ill-treatment, Harry still feels grateful to them for taking him in when he was a baby. He knows that he owes them for that alone. So, sucking it up, Harry takes all the insults quietly, although he can already feel his stomach protesting with the thought of not eating anything the whole day.

"I understand, ma'am. It won't h-happen again."

Lilian clicks her tongue, unimpressed. "I highly doubt it, boy. Now, step aside and let me go to my ballroom lessons. You're making me late."

Like earlier, Harry scrambles to get away from his adopted mother's cruelty and locks himself in his tiny room. He gasps as he feels hot tears trailing down his cheeks. In the confines of his room, he's no longer brave. He is just so tired of his life with the Tilley's and wishes he could escape it completely. He knows he has a bit of money saved up, all from his dishwasher job at the breakfast diner, to last a couple of months in a flat, but he needs a bit more for food and other expenses. Plus, he still needs to finish his last two months of sixth form above anything else. Finishing his secondary education with excellent grades is his top priority because he knows it'll be his one-way ticket to entering university. Thus, his plan to leave this awful place will not be for said period of time.

Without anything else to do, Harry picks up his unfinished book, a tattered copy of Memoirs of a Geisha, which he managed to snag from the rubbish that his adopted sister, Katerina, ordered for him to throw away. He resumes his reading to pass the time until he has to go to the toolshed to sleep.

Hours later, after a glass of water and a meal out of his small stash of food, which consists of packs of crackers, a small bottle of strawberry jelly and a loaf of bread, Harry finds himself arranging a pillow and some blankets inside the cramped space of the family's toolshed. Fortunately, the only tools inside this little shed are a pair of rusty garden shears and a rake. Harry, to be safe while he sleeps, ties both the tools together and props them in the corner, a few inches from where his feet are. He knows he doesn't move at all when in slumber, but it is better to be sure.

Once he is done fixing his sleeping space, Harry lays down, curled up on top of a blanket. He closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep, relieved to be reaching a place where he is safe, warm and his dreams are a reality.