Scars And a Cup of Coffee | Zarry [complete]

Prologue: Harry

Scars And a Cup of Coffee

Harry cursed under his breath as he burnt himself on the nozzle for the hot chocolate machine. It would be the third time, and he was sick of it. He was sick of a lot of things, but all theses burns made his day exponentially worse. Putting the plastic cover on the cup, Harry handed the mint hot chocolate to the innocent six year old waiting for her beverage.

"Be careful, it's still hot." He warned the little blonde.

She smiled, puffing up her red cheeks, "Okay, mistor. Vanks,"

Harry's day always got better seeing little kids, it reminded him that not everyone were arseholes, and if a kid was raised right they'd do good. The little girl reminded him of Lux, he missed that toddler. He should visit sometime this week.

Harry turned back to the ordering counter, groaning as he saw one of the usual pains in his neck's. "Hello, Mrs. Higgins." He forced out through gritted teeth. The lady was nice to everyone but Harry. Her husband, Paul, was head of security at a club that Harry was fired from a few years back, the man was nice. He had no clue why Paul's wife hated him so.

"Hooligan," she sneered. Harry put the pieces together. She didn't like the way he looked. Harry guessed he did look dangerous, with his tattoos and beanies. But why would she judge him so easily? "I'll have the usual, and the sweet special."

Harry groaned inwardly, she had the most complex orders. Today was Friday, so she'd want a strawberry, chocolate mocha, with skim milk. It got worse since she always wanted the groundings whipped and not mixed. Angrily, he punched in the order, rolling his eyes when his back was to her. Making the thing was hard since he couldn't throw it away if he messed up. Store policy.

Three minutes later he gave her concoction, and pulled out today's special sweet, cookie crumble parfait. "€2.10, will that be all?"

She pulled out her wallet, giving him exact change. Taking her things she left the cafe. Á La Mode, was surprisingly not busy in the morning than usual. Only four people sat at the tables, and no lines had accumulated.

Sighing he turned his attention to the telly, the news was on. He wished he could change it but his manager always hid the remote, and it was too high for him to reach. He watched as the woman droned on about an IED exploding in Afghanistan, a group of 50 soldiers that were on their way home, lives being effected; only one of them survived. Photos of the wreckage were going to be displayed, and warned sheepish viewers.

The screen changed and showed a soldier, his whole left side burned. His perfect olive skin gave way to a charred and blackened arm, and half way down his torso . The lady told the story of how he only had 3% chance of living with tears in her eyes, that seemed almost caring but Harry doubted it.

The lady continued saying that the only reason the soldier survived was for his protective gear, while the others died instantly from trauma done from impact on their brains. They showed more pictures of the wreckage saying that locals planned the bombs that led the majority to their death. The screen gave way to a crying woman, with the name of Patricia.

"I'm glad he's alive. B-b-but he had so many friends that were in his platoon, a-and now-" she couldn't complete her sentence as she broke down in sobs, two young girls crying with her.

It returned to the lady from before, saying that people are calling the only survivor, the Blessed Man. Harry rolled his eyes, of course they'd make a skeptical out of it.

Harry thought to himself, that poor lad had every reason to be messed up, but yet the mess that was waiting for him at his flat definitely didn't. His eyes tore away from the screen when a new customer entered, ordering a latte. Taking a deep breath, he got to work.

This is the day, Harry. He thought to himself. You can do it.

***

Harry's hands shook as he worked the key into the lock. He could hear the breaking of glass from inside the flat. Inhaling and exhaling, he reminded himself. That's how breathing worked, yet it seemed every two seconds he forgot how. Finally he turned the knob, and entered the messed up entry way.

Another familiar breaking of a beer bottle could heard from the den. Spilt alcohol made the carpet reek, Harry wanted to throw up, his nerves not helping him at all. In the living room, Nick was shouting angrily at nothing, drunken tears running down his cheeks. Harry's foot crushed a piece of glass, catching the drunk mans attention.

Nick's head whipped around, "Whore, you're late." Harry whimpered as his boyfriend stumbled forward and gripped his hair. Nick tugged roughly, making his green eyes water. "Who were you fucking this time?" He hissed, his breath revolting as it spread across his face.

"N-no one," Harry stammered. His boyfriend's unfocused eyes filled with anger.

"Liar!" He slapped Harry with force that sent Harry tumbling to the ground. "Get up!" Nick roared, kicking Harry in the stomach. He let out a pained gasp. No matter how many times he went through this, it didn't get any easier. The pain only seemed to get worse as more and more bruises developed everyday.

"Please, stop," Harry cried rather pathetically as he felt a painful kick to his ribs. Nick didn't let up, kneeling down to pick up his hurting lover.

"Why should I?" He spat. Harry's fear overrode everything. He threw Harry to the ground, on the way to the ground Harry's head slammed against the table. Agony coursing through the abused boys body.

Mustering up strength, and most of all courage, he got up, and stood as best he could. "Because I'm not yours to bully anymore,"

"What?" Nick sneered.

"I'm l-l-leaving," Harry stuttered. Shuffling towards their bedroom, where his pre-packed suitcase awaited him. Nick didn't go after him as he picked up the bags. When he returned his ex-boyfriend immediately changed demeanor.

"Harry, please don't leave." Nick pleaded, the look in his eyes almost made him feel bad. Almost. "I can get better, I promise. Just put your things back and we can talk." Nick placed a hand on his shoulder, and he willed himself not to flinch.

"I don't want to talk to your fists anymore, Nicky." Harry whispered, kissing him on the cheek, and hauling tail out of the flat. The ride down was agonizing, Harry was scared to his wits end that his ex-lover would come after him. Fortunately, the alcoholic stayed put.

It wasn't until he packed his things into the waiting cab, and told the cabby the directions to the flat he rented a few days back, did he absorb what he just did. Everything hit him with vengeance. He finally did it.

He finally left.

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-Mitchi