I felt the bed sink as Harry placed himself next to me. I turned sideways to face him, catching his jade orbs that seemed to become more alluring each time I saw them. There were a few moments of silence, us being engrossed in each other's presence. I smiled, for no particular reason, before letting my fingers graze his temple, trailing down to his jaw. The corners of his lips slightly rose upwards to form a gentle grin, his eyes fluttering shut as he inhaled deeply while I repeated the action.
I took note in how he appreciated being touched. Being loved in general.
"Harry?"
"Mmm," he sighed in response, his eyes meeting mine again.
"I have another question."
He tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers moving upwards to lightly tangle in the coiffure. "I'm listening."
"What did Niall mean when he said you had been through a lot?"
His fingers ceased their movements in my hair, his face expressionless.
I suddenly felt very small, becoming embarassed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked." I recoiled, shrinking away from him.
His arm instantly shrouded my waist, keeping me from moving any further.
"No, baby, don't leave," he said, close to begging. I was strange seeing Harry in such a vulnerable state; he was usually so dominant.
He looked at me with pleading eyes, and I knew couldn't leave him. Not that I was going anywhere far. His arm came from around my waist when he was positive I wouldn't budge. He lay on his back, staring blankly at the ceiling.
His mouth parted to speak, but no words left his lips.
"Harry, you don't have to tell me if you don't - "
"No," he shook his head. "I love you, and I want you to know who I am." His head shifted a bit in my direction, but his attention was still focused on the ceiling.
"I just don't how to tell you, is all."
I pressed a delicate kiss to his shoulder, then to the swallow tattoo underneath his collarbone. I never really acknowledged his tattoos, and how many of them he had. I supposed I was more focused on him, rather than his body.
I peered up to see his emerald eyes, his features softened.
"There is nothing that you can tell me that will make me love you any less," I spoke, voice above a whisper.
He blinked a few times as if to register what I had said. "Okay," he breathed.
I went back to lay at his side, my head against his chest while he nudged me closer to his body as his hand rest on my hip.
"My father, like I told you, owned a company called Laxton Enterprises that made new technology. Like...touch screen computers, and watches that you could call people from, things like that. Eventually, his company spread out to all over the UK, then all over Europe. Each time his company set up headquarters in a new place, my dad would get richer and richer. But no matter how much money he had, he was never happy. He always wanted more, always wanted things to be perfect, even though they never would be."
As he continued, I could hear the sadness in his voice. Part of me didn't want him to go on because it hurt knowing that I was making him feel this way by disclosing this information. The other part is telling me to quench my thirst for knowledge and let him finish.
"What about your mom?" I questioned. My curiosity was getting the best of me.
"She passed in a car accident when I was nine," he replied, almost like it was routine for him to answer this question. I wondered if he had been asked this a lot.
"My father was never the same after my mother's death. He was just so...so numb and oblivious to everything around him, except for his job. I remember one time, he forgot to pick me up from primary school. It was raining so hard that day, and I didn't have an umbrella. I was stuck there for two hours, drenched, until my dad's colleague, William, came to pick me up. He told me dad had been caught up in a meeting with important people.
And then I felt a...I don't know, something heavy, something weighing down on my heart when he said that. I remember thinking, 'what at his job can be more important than his own son?' I hated that feeling. I hated feeling worthless to him. I mean, he was my father, for Christs' sake," he said, ending the sentence with a laugh.
It wasn't the type of laugh that I loved hearing, it was the type of laugh that broke my heart. It was a laugh of self-pity.
"You know, your parents are supposed to be the last people on this earth to make you feel like absolute shit, yet there he was. Everyday, ignoring me, pretending like I didn't exist. I was only his son when he needed something. And to make it worse, I had fucking paps following me around twenty-four seven. I couldn't even go through puberty without them being there. I was the son of 'that guy who owns that huge company and has a ton of money.' The paps and William were the closest things I had to anyone paying some type of attention to me. The only difference is William was the only who even bothered to get to know me, or even learn my name for that matter. He was the closest thing I had to a father. He taught me how to do everything, and I'm forever grateful for that.
I was somewhat happy with William being in my life, and my father was actually starting to acknowldge my presence. Barely, but it was enough. But then of course, life being life, something else is thrown in my way and the wall between my father and me is built back up again. He got remarried."
The resonance switched completely; he seemed more angry and bitter than pessimistic.
"Her name was Victoria." He drew out the name, disgust obvious as he pronounced it. "God, I hated her. She was a prude, and arrogant, and vindictive. As soon as they got married, she bulldozed her way into my life, thinking that she could automatically replace my mother. And my father just let her do she wanted. She even redecorated the entire house. She got rid of all and any pictures my mum was in, put them up in a box and stored them away in the attic, like she was just...throwing away all the memories. I couldn't stand her. As soon as I turned 18, I packed up all my things, and went to Uni, but I dropped out after a year.
Victoria and my father constantly yelled at me after that, saying that I was a blithering idiot for giving up my future. So, that's when my father gave me the offer of taking over the company. It was at it's highest point yet; it was spreading to North America. I told him I'd rather be burnt alive than make that company turn me into the empty shell of a man that my father is."
Dead air hovered over us for a few minutes, and I believed Harry had finished, but he went on.
"I never spoke to him again after that," he whispered. "He called and left countless messages, but I never bothered to pick up. Three years later, I found my own apartment, I was living my own life. I was satisfied. But one day, I come home, and I have a missed phone call...from Victoria. I press play on the answering machine and..." He cleared his throat. "And I find out..." His breath came out in small puffs, his body trembling beneath me.
I rose my head off his chest, looking at him. Water gathered at his eyes, and he saw right past my concerned expression, eyes not tearing themselves away from the ceiling. "My father decided to jump off the balcolny at his house."
His breathing picked up speed, his body vibrating so hard I thought his limbs might fall off.
"Harry," I said, concerned. He didn't address me.
"H-He was a-all I h-had," he stuttered, quivering.
I brought my knees on either side of his waist, hoping he would see that I was on top of him.
My palms hinged on his cheeks, coaxing him to direct his attention to me.
"Harry, look at me, please," I pleaded.
His eyes altered to mine, gazing at me. He gave me a shocked aspect mixed with panic, and a bunch of other emotions I wasn't able to pinpoint.
I sighed in relief as he sat up, his expression now transforming to confused. He then turned to me, his eyebrows furrowed in disoreintation, his mouth agape. It seemed like he wanted to ask me what just happened, but he knew I didn't know, and neither did he.
"Oh, my God," he respired, voice breaking.
He clung to my body, large arms enveloping my tiny figure while he cried into my shoulder, tears seeping through the thin Pink Floyd t-shirt I wore that belonged to him. I was confused, quickly biting my tongue, deciding that now wasn't the best time to interrogate him.
My arms encased his neck, fingers tangled in the curls at the nape as I held him, planting multiple kisses in his hair.
"You're okay," I soothed. "You're okay."
___________________
"So how about you?" Harry said, glancing down at me.
"What about me?" I mumbled, ready to fall asleep to the calming sound of his heartbeat.
"I know about your mum, but your father?"
My eyes peeled themselves open, enough energy building inside of me to answer his question.
"Well, like yours," I began. "My dad wasn't the type to let you jump into his arms after your first day of elementary school, or let you show him what you made him in arts class. He was the type to sit in a green lazy boy chair, drink coffee, watch sports all day and read the newspaper. He never really had much interest in anything or anyone, including our family."
"Hmm," he hummed, indicating that he was still listening, his fingers drawing circles on my back.
"One night, before me and Austin went to bed, he asked us to wake him up at five o'clock on the dot. No later. Austin and I, we were so excited, because he never asked us to do anything. Ever. We even set alarm clocks for it. I remember us staying up all night, talking about why he has to wake up so early. We didn't sleep at all. So, our alarm clocks go off, we run into mom and dad's room, and wake him up. When he does get up, he goes downstairs and of course, we follow him. But there are bags and suitcases at the door.
I had no idea what was happening, because being only six years old, I didn't understand anything. But I looked at Austin...and he looked heartbroken. I didn't know why he was so upset, and it made me upset. Then, my dad kneels down in front of us, kisses both of us on the forehead, pats Austin on the back and says, 'take care of 'em.' He gets up, picks up his bags, walks out the door, and drives off in a taxi."
I came to realize that this memory was a repressed one. I hadn't shared this with anyone in the longest time.
"And for two years, I sat by that door. Before school, after school, before dinner, after dinner, before I went to sleep. I had some type of hope that he would come parading in, newspaper in his hand, whistling some tune I didn't know, pat me on the head and sit down in his chair like he always did. But he didn't. And then I gave up."
I was talking more to myself now than Harry.
"When I was twelve, I found out he died from lung cancer. Turns out he smoked a pack a day when we weren't in the house," I chuckled. "He loved me. He loved us. I know he did. He just had a hard time showing it."
I was prepared to go to sleep, until Harry spoke again.
"Thank you for tonight."
I smiled against his skin.
"I love you...so much."
"I love you," I mumured contently.
While we lay in bed, I swore we both held each other so tight that all of our broken pieces stuck back together.
