Say Something - (Harry Styles)

Prologue

Prologue

Everything seems alright for a couple of hours. The night starts out okay – normal, even. There’s laughter, smiles, normal every-day chat over dinner. And then it changes, and you see the change. You see, in his eyes, the way the evil liquid has had an effect on him. His expression darkens, and he goes quiet, lurking in the corner and observing absolutely everything everyone does so that he has something to start an argument over. One minute he’s laughing, the next minute he snaps. And you know that’s it for the night. You know what comes next; the screaming at the tops of their voices, the trading of insults and the typical “I can’t do this anymore. I’m leaving” line.

I’d seen and heard it all before, but it hurt more every time. I found myself always wincing at their words, unsure as to whether it was a good idea or not for me to intervene. I could be either the mediator, or I could make it worse. And there was no guessing the outcome until all was said and done.

I’d never once properly intervened before. I’d made comments here and there that had caused my mother to glare at me like she was telepathically telling me to stay out of it, and on quite a few occasions I’d pulled her out of the room and away from the man screaming in her face. But even I, who was usually the laid-back, quiet observer, had a limit. And the night that I finally did intervene was the night I had hit my limit.

I’d grown so used to the affect alcohol had on my father that I always knew how Friday nights would turn out. Even though I was always invited out places around the city with friends, I never felt comfortable enough to leave my mum at home with him. He’d start drinking early, maybe have two or three bottles of beer before dinner, and then bring the bottle of wine out when the food was ready. I’d stay quiet and never give any input to the conversation over the table, only because I spent the whole time carefully watching him.

The way his eyes were glazed over and his speech was slurred was always the dead giveaway that he’d had far too much to drink already. He’d sit in the seat next to me and act in the most annoying way that caused me to roll my eyes and shake my head when he wasn’t looking. My mum would agree with everything he said, and laugh along to his shit jokes, just to keep him happy. And then we’d finish eating, and that was when everything always changed.

He grew argumentative in an instant. I was still sat quietly at the dinner table while they washed the dishes in the kitchen, but I could clearly hear the way he snapped at her and challenged something she said. She retaliated and told him not to speak to her like that, and that was it—World War Three had started.

Like always, I stayed out of it like my mum always told me to. I was tempted to run off upstairs until he eventually gave up on shouting and fell asleep on the couch, but it was just as I was standing up that I heard a bang, and the sound of glass shattering on the floor. I froze on the spot in my thoughts for just a second—it had never got that bad—but it was a sudden surge of adrenaline that pushed my legs towards the kitchen door.

It was as if I lost all control then. I wasn’t the observer anymore, and there was no chance of me being the mediator. I’d become my dad’s opponent, and like I was standing across the room, watching, with no control of what I was doing, I was screaming at him as loud as he was screaming at me, and throwing forceful punches into his chest while my mum hysterically cried and begged me to stop in the corner.

I couldn’t remember much from my fit of rage, but all I knew was that one minute, my mum was trying to pull me away from my father, and the next, I was being ripped away and held down by police officers.

And that was what changed everything.