The Room With the White Walls

 ***HARRY'S P.O.V***

The echo of my footsteps linger in the corridor of the perpetuating calamity that any adolescent who as ever endured this hardship knows, as high school. Walking past a cartel of students, my ears manage to elicit the admonishing snickers slipping off from their tongues an escaping their cynical mouths, unbeknownst to the damage that they have branded inside of me. I glance down at my feet as a tear streams down my face landing with a splash in the grout line of the tarnished and faded blue squares that lay beneath me.

Harry Styles is the name. Best known as they gay kid from Holmes Chapel. I've always known that there was something yet to be discovered about myself. This, what I like to refer as an intuition of self, trifled in my brain for years, little did I know that it was concerning my sexuality. The beginning of freshman year it was, when I discovered it, it was also the same year that the people I once cared about, stopped caring about me. But why? Because I liked a different gender? Rhetorical question, of course that's why they stopped caring for me, I just never understood the significance for hating me because of a gender preference.

Four years later, and nothing has tried to make even the most miniscule amount of improvement. I continue to traverse down the hallway. As the reprimanding comments draw out, my trepidation does as well. More and more tears are beckoned until my eyes are completely consumed by the salty and burning liquid, impeding my vision. I bat my eyelids, wiping away the tears like the wiper blades on a car, clearing all unwanted obstructions in its way.

I open the doors of the entrance of Holmes Chapel Comprehensive High School, stepping out of the building and onto the welcoming sidewalk leading me away from this hellhole. I make my way to my car, opening the heavy, gray, and slightly rusted door only to have it slammed shut before me. My eyelids Flutter together, drawing the drapes over my eyes as utter animosity and oppression engulfs me. I turn my penitent body around, only for it to be pummeled to the ground and for a heavy force down on my torso. I reluctantly open my eyes, revealing the form that now rests on me. Crap. But my subconscious thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his voice.

“Where you going, some AID infested gay bar so you can hit on some pathetic homo like yourself?” The words burned into my flesh. I could practically feel the match searing onto my clammy skin, leaving a scar that would surely never leave the premise of my exterior.

I attempted to choke out a witty response but clearly failed as what left my mouth sounded more like a muffled smoker cough.

“That's what I thought. Can't even make out a proper sentence without his girly voice cracking up on him. Probably the AIDs getting to you. Or maybe not, because we all know, no matter how desperate, no one would touch you let alone be near you.”

My hands fell numb, slicked by a heavy layer of sweat, vexation boiling in my budging veins. I opened my mouth, creating a hole between my lips. My vocal cords tremble as I am about to say something when a hard fist comes in contact with my limp face. The weight on my body disappears, and with a quick “later fucked up faggot,” he abandons me. Louis Tomlinson left me.

No matter how hard I try, no matter what he does, to no extent could I ever hate him. I loved him. And I maybe for a small amount of time, I thought that he loved me too. Louis, or as I typically referred to him as my Boobear, was my best mate, the kind of best mate that it sometimes frightens you how close you are. We knew every thing about each other, and when I say every thing, I mean every thing. I thought that he was the only person who I could actually trust with my secret. The only person I could confide in. The only person who wouldn't betray me, who wouldn't leave me. How wrong was I.

It was about two weeks after I had protruded my new found revelation to my Boobear. He wasn't fazed in slightest by it, if anything thing he was proud of me, hitting the matter head on with sheer optimism. We were at a raging kegger our foreign exchange mate, Niall was throwing, the little leprechaun sure did love his alcohol. Louis somehow managed to get his suspenders latched into his hair, and needed help getting them out. He dragged me up through the labyrinth of winding hall hallways inside of Nialls house. He finally came to an abrupt stop in front of wooden door. Turning the nob slowly, particles of the settled dust is thrown into the air. Coughing slightly we head up another flight of stairs. When we reach the top of the stairs, we are met by a quite alluring sight, or at least I am. Louis stands in front of a pure glass wall, locks of hair strewn atop of his beautiful head. The illuminating light of the moon creating shadows on his pallid skin. He was standing there, taunting me with pretentiousness without even trying to. Without a moments notice, I step forward, looming my lips over his plump and velvety soft lips and whisper the thing that changed it all, “I love you.”