Larry Ballet AU.
*
Louis is a boy covered head to toe in Mickey-Mouse band-aids, Harry is a professional Ballet dancer, and they are partners for the Swan Lake performance at the end of the year. But something waits behind Louis' bedroom door. It w...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Hello, everyone! Are you enjoying the story?
If you are then please help me share it with other people so that they can read it, too! And don't forget to vote and post comments on parts that interest you so I can get some feedback. (It's really, really important to me, so please don't forget to comment. It takes two seconds to write a few comments on parts you enjoy which is nothing compared to the time and effort I put into this story for you.)
Anywayyy, I hope that you enjoy it! With love, Lucy xx
***
Shlick.
Clink.
Shlick.
Clink.
Mother crept up the stairs.
She did not walk, but shuffled, using two chef knives to pull her weight up each step to her son's bedroom. She speared the knives into every stair, creating dents and deep holes that Louis would have to go out of his way to fix the best that he could.
Mother had drank, you see, used a man and thrown him away a few hours before. He'd come and he'd gone like all of the rest, and Louis had remained out of the way, huddled on his bed, with his hands over his ears and eyes fixed on the door. After the man had gone, utterly unaware of how there had been a child in the room right above him, Mother had fallen asleep. After that, she had eaten a meal that Louis had made with a glass of wine. The glass of wine had smashed on the floor, and while Louis cleaned up the shards, she drank another, and another, and another.. Her legs no longer supported her, and Louis had lost count of the number of glasses that he now had to clean. In any case, that was not his main concern, for Mother, unable to walk, was moving still. Years ago, she discovered other ways to move when her body became abused by alcohol like this. Along the floor, ever since Louis could remember, there had been dents and deep holes bored into the wood. The knives in the kitchen would go blunt and snap at the tips far often than they should, but no one ever came into the house often enough to notice. Mother would not pick up the pieces that would snap and skid along the floor, and her son-barefoot-would always stand on the chipped blades.
The soft humming of a song followed the shuffling and clinks as Mother grew nearer. She sang like she always had, soft and sweet, but now there was something of an echo in her throat that turned lullabies to eerie chants. Yet the song-it was a one that Louis knew well, one from a story that he'd heard as a child. He hummed it with her, by instinct, while locking his bedroom door and shifting his bed, with great difficulty, across the room to block the entrance.
"I wish I were away in Ingo Far away across the briny sea Sailing over deepest waters Where love nor care never trouble me"
He knew the song like he knew the back of his hand. He'd sang it many times before, when the nights had been too long and the stars were out. If he leant far enough out of the window, he could see bats fly over the neighbour's house opposite his room. To his left was the road where he would often see children play or teenagers wander around, looking for trouble. Louis wished he could be with them, and then he could go on adventures such as climbing up the Big Ben clock tower in London, or break into a zoo, or even dress up as a judge and save a criminal from going to prison for ever and ever.
