Detention ➳ Larry

Chapter six

(Harry's POV)

I pull my car up to the golden gates, feeling the same guilty sensation in the pit of my stomach that has become so familiar. As my gaze drifts to the house hidden behind the green hedges and white fences, I soak in the fact that I'm spoiled. The house is covered in grey bricks and reflective windows, and white marble pillars surround the front door.

The lump in my throat grows larger as I watch several workers cut hedges and clip the colourful flowerbeds in the front yard. Most teenage boys would think having butlers and maids would be a good thing, but after a while it gets to the point where you label them as annoying, rather than helpful.

The multiple butlers and maids always saying, 'Mister Styles' this and 'Mister Styles' that. They constantly ask me if my drink is cold enough, or if my pillow is fluffy enough. Privacy is something I hardly get anymore.

As for alone time with my parents, the occasion is rare. They hardly have time for me, other than the occasional good morning and suppers around the dining room table, which consists mostly of awkward silence.

My Mum refuses to let the maids or butlers cook, because she is a chef, after all. However, they're assigned the task of cleaning, which means that they are always scurrying around the mansion like busy bees, dusting off book shelves and sweeping the floors.

Unlike normal teenage boys, my room is always neat and clean. My bed is always crisply made and my windows are finely shined to perfection. Sometimes it gets annoying, you know? The maids and butlers are constantly touching my things and items. Like I said before, I have no privacy.

The gate was made of thin, golden bars, that are bent and molded to look like vines. The mansion behind the gate is the place I call, 'home', though it hardly ever feels like it.

The gates slowly open, allowing me to drive through and go up the long, paved driveway. I park my car in front of the house like I do every day, then walk up to the door and disappear into the mansion. I'm sick and tired of this boring routine.

I immediately scurry up the metal, spiral staircase and turn to my bedroom. I open up the door, hopeful that nothing in my bedroom has been touched or moved, then sigh when I see that everything has been placed back to it's organized location.

My navy blue duvet is spread nicely over my bed, and multiple pillows are placed at the headboard, which is annoying considering I only need one. However, the maids always put at least six there for some unknown reason.

I sigh and fall onto my bed, staring up at the boring, white ceiling. Everything in this mansion is boring. It's all old and fancy, and I don't like it one bit. I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, so I pull it out and stare at the screen.

From: Dad

Come to my office please. I need to talk to you.

Geez, my own father has to send me a text when we're in the same house. This is getting rediculous.I feel so guilty and snobby. I hate the title I'm given at school. I'm the popular, rich, spoiled kid who's always attending parties and sleeping with girls. What they don't know is that I'm only sleeping with girls to fix my problem; that's what I refer to being gay as. It's my problem, and it needs to be fixed.

To: Dad

I'll be there in a sec.

I slide my phone back in my pocket and walk down the long hallway, receiving several hellos from multiple maids and butlers. I finally reach my father's office, feeling slightly threatened by the thick, oak door in front of me.

I put my hand on the knob and open it, then see my father sitting at his grand desk, typing away on his laptop. He owns a very successful car business, but I don't know much about his job description. It hardly ever comes up in conversation.