CLOSER | H.S.

45.

It was six months after Des' death, Harry was an absolute wreck. No one in school was even recognising him anymore. He used to be such a nice boy, full of light and happiness in his heart, but now he walks around quiet, in a gruesome posture, avoiding his colleagues and whenever he's with friends, he barely speaks. They understand that it's a hard time for him, so they try not to push him, trying to not make him uncomfortable by putting him on the spot. Which was an irony, because Harry had always been the center of attention.

At home, it was a living hell. Each time Harry came back to his mother, he felt extremely bothered just by being inside of the house. Anne pretended like nothing had happened, but she still had a mark under her eye from Harry's punch that was healing badly and wasn't looking like it was getting out any time soon. Good, Harry thought. It was a satisfaction each time he saw her with no concealer on.

It wasn't just sadness growing inside of him, but also anger. There was times when sadness took over, and then there was time for anger.

"You should be more thankful", his mother said once over dinner. Over the same table she took the life out of his own father.

The grip around his fork grew tighter. "For what?" He barely opened his mouth.

"After everything, I managed to keep our lives exactly the way it was. Do you know how hard it was to keep this house? And you walk around cursing like a little brat", she said with a calming voice, her mean words flowing out of her so easily.

Harry just couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe that this woman was hearing what she was saying. He quickly got up in a moment where anger took over him, looked down at his mother and clenched his jaw, holding a knife with his white joints.

"You should be thankful I don't kill you in your sleep", his words even surprised himself at the time. Harry threw his knife on top of the table and quickly got out of that place.

And that was the first time he ever thought about killing someone. His own mother.

Even Harry was judging his thoughts, but she was such a horrible human being. It felt right.

He was growing sick and tired of the life he was living, he even thought about suicide. That night was the date he got the closest to it. He thought about how meaningless it was to live like this, he was seeing absolutely no solution to that, because whatever he did, his dad was still dead and his mother still killed him.

So no matter how successful he becomes in life, this will still haunt him. No matter what.

So what's the point if I'm going to be sad forever?

And there he was, a skinny young boy with curly hair and chills down his spine because he forgot to take a coat with him, wandering through the streets of London at night, thinking of the best way to end his life.

"I could die awesomely by getting bitten by a snake like Cleopatra, but I don't even have a snake nor have I got the time to get one", he thought out loud, making sure he was alone before saying that.

He looked around, feeling the city. The streets were looking good that night, with a lot of lights and a thin layer of water covering the pavement, making it shine. He somehow ended up in a place where kids went to skateboard, it had a lot of graffiti and it reeked of Marijuana. Maybe I could get myself killed, that would be easier.

There was a few boys around his age sat in a corner with their skateboards hanging under their feet. Harry decided to walk over to them, as he slowly approached the boys, the smell of drugs grew stronger and he couldn't see properly, they didn't have enough lights in that joint.