"Yeah... Shit." I facetiously bit.
"Do your parents know?"
"What?" I raised an eyebrow.
He tutted to himself and weakly removed his mask momentarily. "Do your parents know?"
"They were the paramedics that brought you here," I whispered, and his face dropped slightly. "You're gonna have to convince them to let you come home because... they just don't know what to do with you."
"Easy," He answered. "I'll tell them I was spiked."
I went silent for a few seconds as my throat was aching to speak the truth... but I kept quiet. "Okay."
"Nothing." I answered. There wasn't anything wrong with me, but there was so much wrong with him.
"There's something you're not telling me-"
"Theoretically," I interrupted. "Let's say, you need help- and telling my parents the truth is better than lying. B-Because you'll get to talk to a counsellor and-"
"I don't want to do that." He snapped.
"But what if you do acid again and the same thing happens?" I panicked as I pleadingly gazed in worry.
"It... It won't."
I glanced down thoughtfully at the many, many scars on his stomach. "On how many occasions did you get these?"
He didn't answer as he was deep in thought. "Five."
"How many times have you taken acid?"
"Too many to keep count." He shrugged in embarrassment.
I paused to internally meditate. "Okay... And how many times have you taken it since your family left you?"
He looked at me slyly, as if I already knew the answer. "Five."
"You need help."
He gently placed his mask back over his mouth and pressed his head back into his pillow. "I don't want it."
"You died on your way to the ambulance, you were out for almost four minutes but you came back to me. If it wasn't for God then you'd be dead." I barely spoke. I dragged my chair towards him closer and mindfully tried my best to change his mind, but I could see that look in his eye. I knew he found it amusing.
"No," I mouthed. "Don't think like that. I gave you a blessing, and God brought you back. I put my hand here." I palmed his forehead. "And my other one here," I trailed my left hand to his abdomen. "And I put my head down, and just prayed."
I removed my hands as he dragged his mask from his face again. "God didn't bring me back, you did. It was your touch."
I crossed my arms in denial. "That's not true."
"It is," He persuaded. "You don't realise how the feeling of someone's skin can make you feel so alive."
My head tilted slightly in confusion before I pouted my lips. "No, I don't understand."
He licked his bottom lip before biting it tenderly, and his hands inched closer to my face. He palmed my red cheeks and gently caressed my skin, his fingertips tracing my lips and jaw and running softly through my messy hair. I closed my eyes as I felt the most sensual, surreal sensation wash over my skin- and then his hands went back to holding my jaw.
"Doesn't that feel like something you've never felt before?"
I gulped and slowly nodded in his hold, and then he pulled back. "God's not real, Harley."
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Call Boy. (Harry Styles Fan Fiction) on holdFanfiction
Harley Thomas; an anxiously wrecked Christian who thrives on judging those who sin. Harry Styles; an emotionally wrecked Atheist who thrives on sinning.