I Do?

Pass the Potatoes

"You know what, I'm thankful for the trauma my wonderful, loving, gracious Dad has passed down to me in my 19 years of life. Cheers to you" Harry shouts.

"Harry Edward Styles," His mother protests loudly, but the sound of his mother's voice washes off as the field of his vision starts to go red. There's a termor that runs down Harry's hand as he takes his seat. He clutches his spoon to try to ease the shake in his hand, but the spoon just rattles against the wooden table. Nobody dares to say anything after his mother's protest and, for once, an air of silence sits over the family table.

"Pass the potatoes," Harry says, with an obvious shiver in his voice. He sits with his back pressed against his chair to appear as tall as possible, even though he already looms over the rest of his family. A thousand words sit on the edge of his tongue, waiting for Harry to open his mouth again. Harry clenches his teeth to keep the words from coming out.

"Harry, we have a guest," His mother hisses, but it's lost on Harry as he continues, unable to contain the anger starting to bubble just under the surface, the words unable to stay in the confines of his own head.

"Good thing I'm not a fairy though, right Dad? Just mentally fucked. At least I'm your straight, fucked up son who brought a girl to Thanksgiving," Harry adds with a bitter laugh. His voice echoes around the dining room for once, not his father's and for a moment he understands why his father does it. The power that rushes through him as his words hit the walls and bounce back at them is unmatched. Green eyes stare pointedly into his father's cold ones.

Gemma's voice rings out next, "I don't know about straight, but I can say we're all fucked up! And fucked. All of us are royally fucked." Her drunken laughter fills the room but doesn't ease the tension or the tremor in Harry's hand. Louis isn't here now to ease the fire of hatred that burns in the pit of Harry's stomach. The cool won't come this time, Harry knows that. If he's going to stop he has to stop himself.

Another moment passes before the quiet, seething expression of his father is replaced with a smirk. Harry watches carefully as his father glances down at his empty plate. His eyes rest on the plate for far too long and the familiar pit in Harry's stomach starts to grow as he sees his father slowly gaining confidence and control of the room. Finally, the man looks back up at Harry from across the table.

"I know you're fucked up Harry, why do you think I keep you as far away from me as possible? So you don't screw something up around here. Like that pathetic marriage of yours. I know about that. A stupid and careless mistake that you'll have to see yourself out of," His father replies. The tremor in Harry's hand comes to a startling halt as Harry's secret is laid out. How stupid he must've been to think his father wouldn't have found out about the marriage in the first place. His father has connections all through LA, obviously, he would've found out about it soon enough. The thought doesn't ease the anxiety in Harry though.

"Let's go, Taylor," Harry whispers harshly. He turns to look at his friend who has sat quietly and watched as the events of the dinner unfolded.

"What," Taylor whispers back.

"Let's go," Harry hisses as he pushes the chair he's sitting in back and marches out of the room. He doesn't know why he came to begin with or why he thought this would be different than anything else. His father has to ruin everything for him like he always does. To think that Harry could get one Thanksgiving of peace was always out of the question. Especially if he refuses to sit back and let his father do and say whatever he pleases.

He races through the house towards the door, itching for a breath of fresh air. The beautiful blue of the sky eases the anxiety and his racing heart as fresh air fills his lungs. Harry stands under the sunny LA sky, letting the rays sink into his skin and wash away his family and the shame and everything else. He needs to get away from this place. LA is tainted by everything and there's no way that Harry will be able to work through all of his shit here, he decides. Louis's betrayal, Niall's explosion, and his father will slowly eat away at his mental health if he stays in the city any longer.

"I gotta get outta here," Harry murmurs to himself as he runs a hand through his curly hair.

"Where will you go," Taylor questions.

"What do you think about France, Taylor," Harry asks, as he turns to look at his friend. The only friend he seems to have now and the one person who he can trust. Taylor tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as her eyebrows furrow.

"I don't know what you mean."

"My family has a chateau outside Strasbourg in France. The jet can be ready in 30 minutes. What do you say about a weekend trip to France," Harry suggests. He doesn't care what it'll take or how many people's schedules he's going to be distributing by planning a trip this last minute, he wants out of California.

"You can't just leave and go to France tonight Harry. I can't just leave. I don't have the money or anything packed," Taylor protests. Harry waves her away not caring about the money or packing. He has his credit card and classes are canceled until next Monday anyway for Thanksgiving break.

"Obviously, I have the money, Taylor. Money isn't a problem. We can buy you a whole new fucking wardrobe when we get there. I just can't stay here. I'm suffocating and I need to get out for a couple of days. We can be back in time for class on Monday, just the weekend," Harry explains. He knows that regardless of what Taylor says he's going to leave. The chateau's pool and a fresh croissant call for him.

Taylor seems to consider this for a couple of seconds. Harry silently pleads that she agrees to go. Not only because he doesn't want to be alone or because he likes to impress his friends with his family's riches, but because she's the only one Harry wants around. Sure, he could go off to France by himself and have a good enough time and clear his head, but it just won't be the same without her. Besides, Harry knows she deserves a break too.

"Fine, okay. Can we swing by and pick up my passport," Taylor sighs. Harry smiles, unable to contain his joy as he reaches forward and pulls Taylor into a tight hug. She giggles loudly as he does, obviously shocked by his sudden movement, but after a second she eases into his embrace.

As they pull apart, Harry takes his phone from his pocket to call the pilot. As he scrolls through his contacts his eyes fall on the one labeled 'Louis'. He hasn't heard anything from the other boy. Harry curses himself for caring as he continues to scroll past him