Clean Criminal // l.s.

xxv.

As a child, Harry always wanted to become something awesome. He thought about being an astronaut, but after realizing that was totally cliché, he wanted to be a race-car driver. However, his mother didn't really like the idea of her child racing along a track going over two-hundred miles per hour. "It's too risky," she had stated. Harry agreed and then settled for being the President of the United States because he could make everyone pay him in pizzas.

It wasn't until Harry was a teenager that the thought of being a detective and working in the law and justice system really stood out. So he decided to study to become a detective. He wasn't exactly sure which sort of things he'd have to solve, but, as it turns out, he's pretty damn good with murder cases.

Nonetheless, Harry was a boy who was constantly dreaming, planning and re-planning his future. And when he kissed a boy his Sophomore year of high school, Harry realized that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with a boy, not some girl.

The hardest part was telling his family that. After all, Harry was their good kid. He hardly ever got in trouble (the only time he did was when he was standing up for something he believed in) and he got A's all across the board. He did as he was told by his parents and asked for permission whenever needed. He was their pride and joy. Harry only thought that everything would change by this minor detail of who he is.

When he had told his parents his sexuality, his father had claimed it to be a lie. He said that no boy could ever love another boy for it was a sin. His mother sat in the background, crying about her baby boy.

When it seemed everything was going down hill, Harry had stood up and said, "sexuality doesn't change anything about me. It's just adding on to everything else about me. I like baseball games and playing cards. I like meatball subs and potato salad. I'm in love with photography and music. The fact that I like guys doesn't change anything about me. I'm still your son and I still love you. I just...I hope you can learn to love me too."

And boy did his words cut like a knife. His parents knew he was right. They knew that it wasn't the underlying factor to whether or not they loved him. They would have loved him if he said he was marrying three girls, why would they not love him when the only thing he said was that he liked boys? If Harry wanted to be a girl, they would have supported him. What was so wrong with liking another boy?

"Say something, please," Harry had begged after a long period of silence.

His parents looked at each other and then his father spoke, "we love you, Harry. We really do. Which is why we want what's best for you. So, if you like boys, then you like boys. That's it."

Harry didn't really know what that meant. He didn't really understand what his father was trying to say. But, when his father found him and his older boyfriend moaning on Harry's bed, he couldn't help but yell and pull the boy off of his son. When the boyfriend had left, Harry's father turned to him, "if you want to date boys you have to have the same rules as dating girls. The door to your room must stay open as long as the both of you are up there. You must ask if he can come over. There will be no sneaking around. Got it?"

Harry had nodded and learned to live by those rules while dating boys throughout high school. He knew that his parents didn't really like it. He guessed that it was a tough pill for them to swallow considering they had his whole life planned out and that included marrying a pretty girl.

One day during his Junior year, Harry became awfully curious about where his father had been spending so much time. The fact that he was hardly home for dinner anymore made Harry wonder where he could possibly be.

Harry had carefully followed his father to a bar where he had sat down to drink numerous glasses of beer. At least he wasn't cheating on mom, Harry had thought at the time. He had driven back home with enough evidence to use against his father the next day. Only this would have proved to been a very bad idea.

The next morning, Harry had sat down at the dining room table to chat with his father. "Where were you last night, dad?"

"I stayed late at work, had to crunch some numbers."

That was part one of the lie.

Harry chewed his Lucky Charms, "why didn't you tell mom?"

Harry's father continued to read the newspaper, "I don't need to tell your mother. Besides, she has other things to worry about."

There's part two.

"Why were you at the bar, dad?"

This caught his dad's attention. He folded the newspaper and sat it on the table, "how did you know about that?"

"Please, I followed you. It get's kind of suspicious when you only show up for dinner maybe once a week. I really thought that you were cheating on mom so at least you don't have that going for you."

"I would never cheat on your mother."

"If you were drunk enough then maybe you would," Harry pointed out. His father stood, taking his plate to the living room, trying to get away from his son. Harry followed him, "I understand going out maybe once a week, but every day, dad? That's ridiculous."

"Look," his father yelled, "what I do does not concern you."

"It does when I'm a part of this family!" Harry retorted. "Do you want to know what I found when I looked through your closet? Do you want to know what I found in your car last night? Do you want to know what I found under the sink, in the cupboards, or out in the garage? And I can bet your ass that if I went to your workplace, I would find the same thing there."

"This is not about you--"

"You're right. It's about you! You have a problem, dad. You need to address it and try to make things better. This isn't healthy. You're sick and you need to contact a doctor." 

"Oh, what do you know? You're just a fag."

Harry stood in front of his father with a look of pure shock. How could his own father say such a thing? "You...you don't mean that. You're just angry, you don't mean it," Harry rambled, trying to make an excuse for his father's behavior.

"Of course I mean it," Harry's father spat. "What kind of man am I to have raised a son who likes to kiss, fuck, and imagine a life with boys? I have failed as a father and a man."

Harry tugged on his hair, anger coursing through every vein of his body, "who I love does not determine what kind of man you are. The fact that I love boys does not mean that you have failed as a father. My sexuality has nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with you or any one else for that matter. It only deals with me, you got that? I'm the only one this has anything to do with."

Harry took a deep breath, "but you do have a good point, you have failed both as a man and a father because you are a coward. You're too much of a coward to realize that you have a serious problem. You're too much of a fucking coward to even talk about it with your family and seek medical treatment. Because of this, you have failed as a man. You have failed not only as a father, but also a husband." 

"Get out of my house. Get out of my fucking house and don't you ever come back," Harry's father had demanded, his face red with fury.

From that moment on, Harry never let what anyone else thought of him matter. He was not defined by his sexuality, but rather his personality. He was to be judged on how he treated others, not on who he likes. And even though he couldn't help his father, he knew that he had done the right thing, even if it seemed like the wrong decision. Maybe searching for Louis wasn't the best decision, but he knew that it was the right thing to do, which is why he continued to drive.