Vile » HES

sept.

/ gif above /

vile - "sept."

HARRY began to panic as Max removed the knife from his leg and attempted to hold him down so he could puncture his chest. Adrenaline pumped through Harry's veins, and he used all his force to lift Max from on top of him. Successfully throwing the boy on the ground, Harry limped as he grabbed the bat that laid behind Max's door -- which he assumed was Joshua's.

Harry pressed his foot on Max's chest to hinder his frantic movements and lifted the bat above his head to forcefully bring it back down on Max's face. Harry turned his head to the side as he continuously struck the boy beneath him, blood splattering on the walls and on Harry's face.

Harry knew that he was giving way more hits than necessary, but he couldn't find it in himself to stop. An immense weight was lifted from his shoulders, and that made this experience that much satisfying.

Once Harry's arms felt sore, about three minutes later, he threw the bat aside and looked down at the mess he made. The sight was enough to make his stomach churn.

Harry slowly stood up and wiped the moisture from his face, disliking the fact that somebody else's blood was all over him. It took all his might to keep his tongue from accidentally slipping out to lick his lips.

Pulling the drawstrings on his hoodie to make it tighter, Harry lurched forward as he slowly walked down the stairs -- unable to control the nausea and anxiety burning within him.

Though he spent weeks planning on what he was going to do with Max's remains, he decided against burning the house down. He wanted to keep his trace. Yes, it was a risky decision, but Harry knew that what he originally planned on doing was already down the drain. 

As he descended down the stairs with a limp and a pulsating burn at the site of his wound, Harry cracked a smile and laughed to himself. Slowly, he felt his sanity slipping from him -- each and every passing victim was going to make Harry even more nefarious and astute. Harry was going to put his intelligence to good use.

♛

"Wake up, Harry." Anne said softly, sitting beside her snoozing son. She adoringly studied his features as she lightly combed her fingers through his hair. She always wondered why a boy like him, who had everything he could ever want, was so unhappy and angry with the world. Anne has always worked hard to provide for her children -- as seeing them happy was all she could ever live for. 

She bit her lip in fascination as she noticed a large cut on his jaw.

Harry grumbled and fluttered his eyes open, squinting once blinding sunlight overtook his sight. He pried his mother's hand out of his hair and sat up, crossing his arms over his bare chest. "What is it?" 

"I'm leaving for work, I made breakfast for you downstairs." Anne smiled, waiting for Harry's response. His gaze remained cold before he sighed and rubbed his face to hopefully wipe away his drowsiness. 

"What's wrong with your hands?" Anne questioned, grabbing Harry's large palms to inspect them. They were bruised, gashed, and red. Traces from the night before.

"Don't worry about it--" Harry tugged his hands away from her and rested them on his lap, biting his bottom lip. "--You should be leaving now."

His mother nodded and slowly backed out of the room, curiosity filling her mind as she pondered the possible reasons why her son was so bruised. 

Harry rolled his eyes swung his legs off of the bed, wincing as his sore wound throbbed. 

"Comment vas-tu mon, frère?"

Harry looked up and sighed once he caught sight of Tish leaning against the door frame.

"Va te faire foutre." Harry replied effortlessly, using his dresser to help him stand.

Tish pouted and entered Harry's room, watching him struggle to put on a change of clothes. She didn't bother asking why he was limping around like an injured puppy.

"You wanna know why I'm speaking French?" Tish asked, chomping on an apple as she followed behind her younger, yet taller, brother.

"Nope, not really." Harry replied, exiting his bedroom with her trailing behind.

"Well, since you apparently know French, I'm going to proceed." 

"Why the fuck are you following me?" Harry grumbled, plopping down on the couch to aimlessly switch through TV channels. 

"Parce que tu es mon frère , et je vous aime." Tish rambled, smiling as she gently punched Harry's arm.

Harry's heart thudded in his chest once he came to a stop on the news channel.

"This morning, the body of Maximilian Keizer was discovered in his home, brutally murdered--" "--Allume-le."

Harry rolled his eyes at his sister, but did as she said, heightening the volume.

"Maximilian was eighteen and attended Lynbrook High. According to police reports and the evidence at the crime scene, Max was beaten with a baseball bat after a brawl with his attacker--"

Harry nervously chewed on his fingernails as the reporter continued to describe the setting and predictions of what happened. He ignored the soft sobs of Tish and prayed to whatever god above that the police wouldn't question anybody at school on Monday morning. He already knew it was going to be a gloomy day -- which he didn't mind one bit -- but he knew he wouldn't be able to withstand the obnoxious cries of cheerleaders who pretended they were important because they were Max's previous hookups. 

Harry furrowed his eyebrows once Mavery appeared his television screen.

"Max was my cousin -- no, wait, well, he is my cousin, but y'know.. he's dead now.." Was all she was able to say before the camera panned on another person, who was probably not as oblivious to what they were saying.

"That's Mavery for you." Harry whispered to himself, before shutting the television off.

                                                 

Lol at everybody who thought I was gonna kill Harry so soon ;-) 

If you want to know what Tish and Harry were saying in French, just Google translate it. And no, I'm not fluent in French, so if you are, don't jump down my throat about any errors.

But I sorta kinda liked this chapter tbh.