F I V E
>>November 3rd, 2017<<
>Manhattan, New York<
Rape.
Turning the brightness down on his apple phone did nothing, it changed nothing. The words google used, the shaking Harry had as he typed it, the never-ending tears that ran down his face as he read it.
Rape is a word for sexual assault. ... Rape can also mean to plunder or strip something of resources. There are few words more powerful than rape, which is a horrifying crime. To rape someone is to force them to have sex with you. This word isn't an obscenity, but its meaning is
Force.
Rape.
Force.
Forced sex.
These people, these apparent fucking fans thought this!
Of course, the first thing Harry did was dial the number he knew by heart waiting anxiously by the phone with his sobs muffled by his fist, "Louis please pick up." As if the cry for help was non-existent, Louis didn't answer. The automated voice met Harry's wails instead.
"P-please answer me, just um, just let me know if you're okay. Please, Louis." Leaving his message with that, Harry clicks off burying his face in his hands.
Where did everything go so wrong?
How did Rape come up at all?! Harry lays his phone on the counter he's sitting at as he shuffles to the backdoor in his house. He watches it rain for the time being. He liked the rain. It matched the tears that flowed from his forest green eyes.
Part of Harry wanted to call his mom, he wanted to cry into her shoulder at his own misunderstandings of the world around him. Being so young and exposed so early to everything that was wrong with the famous life.
The cracked up, drug-induced, tale of fame. Hanging his head, Harry wipes his eyes weakly, he didn't deserve the tears. If anything, he should be holding onto Louis letting him cry into his chest.
Like how it used to be.
But things weren't like that anymore.
Louis had moved on, the months of silence answering the unasked and unanswered questions about where the two were in any form of relationship. It was too much.
He never was much of a drinker, Harry used to party, he could handle a few shots; Harry could be the life of the party. Then he settled. Now? Now he's laying half passed out on his couch surrounded by meaningless crap his fortune had brought him. Harry couldn't afford love, he could have as many one night stands as he wanted, but love? It was if the word didn't exist once you became famous. No one would ever love you. You would soon turn to hate yourself. Harry did. The once semi-confident man was drunk once again in his life as he cried.
Harry cried for never being good enough.
Harry sobbed for letting Louis go.
Harry wailed that he let himself go.
-Bailey Press-
