Breathe (h.s.)

Two

Leah

I watch him go, feeling disappointed but at the same time ecstatic. I can't believe he gave me a promise ring!

I walk inside after I see Tyler go inside, and my mother is sitting at the table expectantly. "Well?"

"Well what?" I ask, feeling confused.

"Did he give it to you?" She raises her perfectly manicured brow, and I realise she's talking about the ring.

"You knew he was going to give me the ring?" I ask, feeling butterflies inside me as I twist it on my finger.

"He was going to give it to you on your two year anniversary, but then you didn't get accepted into Stanford," She says. "So he planned to give it to you tonight instead."

"Well yes, he did give it to me," I reply happily, and hold out my hand. "I love it, absolutely love it."

"It's smaller than I expected," My mother says, frowning.

"I think it's perfect," I reply, ignoring her disdain and admiring the beautiful silver. It is perfect, I don't think I'd like it as much if it was big and gaudy as I know she was expecting it to be.

"Well I'm glad you two stayed together so long," My mother says, but the tone of her voice says 'at least you did something right'.

I ignore her. "I'm going to head to bed," I say, looking at the clock. It's seven-thirty, and it feels like it's been a long day; tomorrow's only going to be longer. "Good night."

"Good night," She says, pouring herself another glass of wine. As I leave the room, I can't help but think that the tired look on her face is my fault, that I really could have done better, and maybe if I had, dad would have stayed and she wouldn't be drinking alone looking so defeated.

I sigh as I close my bedroom door and sit on my bed, head in my hands. I wish I could be the perfect girl my mother wants so badly for me to be, but I don't know how. I've been trying my best my entire life, but somehow my best still wasn't good enough to keep my father here, or my mother happy.

With all these troubling thoughts in my head, I change into my pyjamas and fall into bed, drifting off to hopes of the better life I might have in college.

Harry

I sit back on the couch, slouching down a little bit and putting my arms behind my head. The music is loud and there are intoxicated people everywhere, half dressed girls and horny guys wanting to fuck and get even more drunk. But why wouldn't they? It's the last day of summer, so of course they want to get fucked up and have shitty hangovers in the morning before school.

There's a girl on my lap, Sam, that's been my long-time fuck buddy. I fuck other girls, too, but she's the only one I've fucked more than twice. She has a hot body, somewhat big tits and a big ass, short blue hair, green eyes, and always half dressed and ready to fuck me whenever I ask.

Someone hands me a drink and I take it, even though I'm already drunk. I'm not too drunk that I'll have a hangover in the morning, but I'm getting there. Sam turns around and straddles me, kissing and sucking on my neck and grinding against me.

"Wanna go upstairs?" She whispers in my ear, trying and failing to sound seductive. "I'm really horny, baby."

"Nah," I reply, bored. "I'm not in the mood."

"Oh but I could get you in the mood really fast," She whispers, licking and biting my earlobe and neck while grinding harder against me.

"I said no," I say, annoyed. "Find someone else to fuck."

"But no one does it like you," She whines, desperate. "Please, Harry?"

"Oh my God fine," I groan, pushing her off my lap and walking upstairs. I look behind me and she already has her shirt off, nothing on her top half anymore with her tits out for all the partygoers to see.

Whore, I think. But then again, who am I to judge?

She follows me upstairs, tits bouncing as she jogs up the steps. We find a random room that's not mine, and enter. By the time I shut and lock the door and turn around, she's already naked and playing with herself on the bed. I roll my eyes and pull my pants off, along with my shirt, throwing them both to the floor before joining Sam on the bed.

I pull my junk out through the opening in the front of my boxers and grab the condom out of my pants pocket, rolling it on. Sam looks at me with a disappointed face, pointing at the condom.

"Why is that necessary?" She asks.

"I don't want any diseases you might have," I reply bluntly.

"I don't even-!"

"Don't care," I interrupt. "Better safe than sorry."

She scowls at me, but doesn't press the matter further. I position my shaft at her entrance, and she looks at me with greedy eyes, one hand fisted in the sheets and the other fisted in my hair. With one quick movement, I push inside of her, clearing my mind and focusing on how bland it feels.

How did I go from that scared little boy hiding from his drunk, woman using father, swearing he'd never be like that, to a grown man exactly like that?

Well, technically women use me, but it's my fault because I let them. They want me for sex and I give it to them, because most of the time I'm too drunk and high to care. It's only at these damn frat parties, though; I'd never get drunk or high before my classes because even though I won't admit it, I care about school.

I try to think back to a time when things were good, but no memories surface. My earliest memories are of my father coming home drunk and abusing me, and stayed that way for years. He'd have a different woman in his bed every night, right after going out to the bar, and soon we lost our house and I got taken away, put into the foster care system. That was when I was seven years old. I had been house-hopping every few months to a year up until I was fourteen, I somehow made it to America, and a family finally settled down and took me in, but as perfect as it looked on the outside it was hardly that way on the inside.

The man that is now my father has affairs with many women, even though his wife - my mother - loves him more than anything. I also have a brother named Louis.

My mother wanted me to change my last name to theirs - Tomlinson - but I refused, choosing to keep my own last name - Styles. She was hurt at first but soon got over it, understanding that, to me, they weren't my real family and never would be, but I'd still accept their support and care.

Though, their care and love still didn't help me; they tried their best, but I still turned out like shit.

My chest aches, wondering how I could've become this person.