Sex Lessons [h.s// fanfic]

Chapter 77

H a r r y

My vision blurs as I stumble toward the empty kitchen, a bottle of his half consumed booze firm in my throbbing hands. My head and chest aches, pain from the past and now current present collecting and building up all at fucking once. I don't know what the hell to do, I feel like an atomic bomb has just been thrown at me, that I've been swept from underneath, and I don't know how the hell to get back up on my feet again. Broken shards of glass litter the living room floor, the messy handwritten letter on the kitchen table along with his wallet and wedding ring, the two possessions of his that I've never seen before, if so rarely. I don't want to cry over this asshole, he has done so much fucked up shit to me, so much that has scarred and branded me into the person I am now. I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive him but given; his death gives me no other choice. I rub my temples, pressing my fingers into the skin and rubbing. My tongue craves for the familiar ting of alcohol, reminding me of how much I am like my fucking father, my fucking dead father who drunk all his problems away. I now understand why he drunk...or at least I think I do. Here I am, sitting on the stool, swaying and trying to keep my fucking eyes open as I try to justify my father's addictive habits. I close my eyes and tip my head back, allowing the booze to swallow me and my thoughts.

"Son, you have to color inside the lines, or else it'll look sloppy," my father told me, his fingers tracing the thick black outline of the mushroom I was so desperately trying to color in.

I looked up to my father with gleaming emerald eyes. "Thanks daddy," I thanked him, my tongue darting out as I tried to do as he said. I still failed to make the mushroom look neat, but he patted me on the back and gave me cookies and milk anyway, telling me how good it was despite it's flaws.

He stared ahead, twisting his shiny wedding band over his ring finger, it was not as chubby as it is...was...now.  

"What's that dad?" My voice was small, high pitched, and slightly rough. He looked down at me, a frown creasing his eyebrows as he slid the band off his finger, placing the gold jewelry in my small chubby hands.

His usually demanding voice softened as he watched my wide curious eyes, "Do yourself a favor and marry someone you'll truly love. No matter who it is son," My father told his 5 year old little boy.

I nodded, I didn't know what the hell he was talking about, but I nodded anyway. Afraid I would drop or even impossibly break the object, I handed it to him, and without another word, he stuffed the ring into his back pocket and leaned into the couch, me turning to face my mushroom again. It was silent for a while, and now I realize why.

"Fuck," I curse, pulling out my phone and placing the booze on the table. I'm trying so fucking hard to keep my shit together, Des isn't dead, my fucking father isn't dead, he can't be. As much as he has abused me, I'll always carry the hope that he will...he would have..he, fuck, that he'll change for good and be the father I've always wanted him to be. There was a time before all of this when he wasn't a complete pit consumed of darkness and hopelessness, he was actually a role model father who cared for his son. But somewhere in between the downfall of drinking and late nights at who the hell knows where, I lost him.

I gravitate towards the letter, my eyes hooded, my heart thumping so loud I can hear it through my ears, and pick it up and read it for what feels like the 1,000th time since I got here. I don't even know where the fuck he is, and I'm sure as hell am not going to try and figure it out. If I find his dead body in this house I'll loose myself and I'll never be the same again. Fuck, I need to call someone, I need to..fuck, where's Stella? In the midst of all of this darkness she is my light and I need her to carry me through this and be my hope, hope that I will be better, that I'll get through this.