Reticent (h.s fanfic, punk Harry)

Prologue

HARRY/PAST

Mistakes are inevitable, and sometimes if we are very careful and planned, we can avoid them. But some of them have no way to be avoided. They happen and we have to watch them happen. At times the error of our ways are too big or unnoticeable. Like dropping a bag of tea. You can just pick it up. But there are those ones where there is no turning back. And those are the ones no one likes, and no one wants to put up with.

She made that kind of misstep; the one where you can never take it back. There is no way to hide from her regretful eyes. They're like daggers. They cut deep without pushing too hard. I don't think she wants me to see the regret in her eyes. I think it's meant to be hidden along broken hearts and shattered dreams, but it's there-clear like water.
She avoids the question, or just opens up a new discussion. And some nights when she feel like she can, she denies it. She's very good at it, almost like she means it. And maybe she does, but then I see it again; that damn flicker in her eye.

But I think as time flew by she learned to live with the false step and maybe even have it grow on her.

She says she loves me, and she tells me I'm the best thing that happened to her. Which leads me to believe that people could accept and love their shortcomings. It makes me her favorite mistake. I could get excited about the word favorite, but the other one masks it. The 'mistake' part. Of course she's never used the word 'mistake'. She doesn't like it.

Although she looks at me with a shimmer of love in her eyes, I can't help but feel like a useless flaw. An immense defect. An expensive mistake.
And that was me, I was Harry Styles, a big, expensive, useless mistake.
I had to own up to something at least. I wanted to show her that I could be better, I could show her that there could be reasons, other reasons for her to love me. Maybe someday thank me. I could be a son. That's what I want to be, I want to be her son. I want to be someone she turned to.

So like the mistake owning up to all the debts and all the heartache. I walked around Cheshire, looking at corners where people sat begging for money. It was like this on Sixth Street. They loved to populate this portion of the city, and they loved to hold out their palms asking for money. I would look at them, and I felt envy.

I wanted to just sit down and look at people walking around. The people on their phones, people with each other. I just wanted a damn minute to sit and just stay still. I just wanted to look around and not have anyone depend on me. I didn't want to own up to anything. I just wanted to lay down, not on the lumpy mattress my mother made, or the cold floor of the small house. The ground would be more forgiving. The house demands attention every minute of the day. The chips would have to be fixed for rain to stop coming in. The walls had to be filled with pictures to make it ours. Everything about a house disgusted me. I would rather live under a small tree and call it home. A tree wouldn't want anything from me. It would give me shade, it would grow fruit. It didn't need a damn payment every month.

I'd conditioned myself not to look or pay attention to the people begging. I had too many problems of my own to start worrying about them. I was hardly living from paycheck to paycheck and feeding two mouths on the side to give them my earnings. I wouldn't beg, I knew that would do no good. I would just watch the world go by and maybe earn money for a sandwich. That was what I wanted. I just wanted to fend for myself.

They ignored me sometimes, I think once someone ignores them too much, they start to understand. It was like feeding a stray dog, if you ignored it every day then eventually they would find a new target to pout to. I continued on my way and entered the dusty shop. It was occupied by only a few like me. They searched, only looking at the price first.

I walked around and took the necessities. A carton of eggs, milk and bread. This would be enough for two weeks. Maybe one egg for each of us every morning. Gemma would be okay. The milk would be enough for her in the morning, then the eggs in the afternoon. Maybe ham-no that was too expensive. I only had a few bucks. I had to distribute it. House, food, and emergencies, and put some away for chemo. That was it. I'm sure we could make do. Perhaps a potato? We could have a little piece boiled each day. That wouldn't be too bad.

I walked out with a small bag of eggs, bread, a carton of milk, and two potatoes. This would be more than enough.

Gemma was playing in the yard with the toy Anne had made her. And Anne was sleeping on the couch. She was sleeping a lot these days. But that's what the doctor had said. She would be sleeping more, she would not have enough energy.

That was understandable. And then soon she would be gone. I would be ready, I would be able to watch that. But then who the fuck was I kidding? She'd stuck with her mistake. She had kept me in the safety of her womb and carried me.

I needed a way to carry her now. Any way. I had to give something back. She deserved everything beautiful in life. And I had nothing pretty to give her.
Jay let herself in with Louis and she walked over to me. She was a nice lady; she helped too much. My mother depended on her after me. Louis looked around then came to stand beside me. He stood silently and said nothing. The silence didn't break around us.

Jay only sat by Anne, and Louis stood beside me. Gemma just played outside completely blind to everything happening inside.

Anne was dying and I had no strength to stop that. I had nothing to do for her. I felt more useless than ever at that moment. I believed with all my heart that I really truly was a mistake.

OPHELIA /PRESENT

"Hi my name's Ophelia, and I've been clean for five months now."

A chorus of applause went around the group.

A few others put their hands up and said hello then a few words. Every one of them I could relate to. But there was just some things that I couldn't quite look past. Because they were all here with their mothers. All the support they needed came from them.

John stood in the back leaning against the wall. His face was set softly as he looked at me.

Darcy was busy with work, and Cameron was busy with his work. So here I was with my step dad confessing to people I didn't know, that I had a problem. And it felt good. So good.

Later when the session finished we were all given a candy cane. I smiled at the prize then followed John out.

He smiled my way as he opened the door. "Ophelia, I'm so proud of you," he gushed.

I nodded. "Yeah, I didn't think that would help that much. But it was very nice of you to take me."

We drove with the radio on, Ed humming behind it about a cold heart.

I took a deep breath. This year was looking good.