"So, from what age did your anxiety start?"
I sat comfortably just under the small of his very muscular back, finger painting on his soft, warm skin. I calmly exhaled, my eyes closed as I reminisced back to the days when I was in fear for my own life. I carried on with the finger painting of a crane, using his spine as the frame for the bird structure.
"It was definitely at the age of twelve." I answered, and he hummed in response.
"That's young," He spoke softly. "What caused it?"
"Uh," I leaned forwards, my head resting on his shoulder blade as I squinted one eye, trying to get the perfect view to create the wings. I lay there quietly, my index finger dipped in jet black paint and trailing softly against his skin.
"I had this foster sister for almost a year, and she was very odd," I began, my throat going slightly dry. "She had a really bad upbringing, both her parents died."
"Jesus," He whispered. "Is she alright?"
I gulped, shaking my head although he couldn't see. "One day she told mam she was unwell, so she didn't go to school. And then when I came back, I found her hanging from the curtain railings over there."
Harry instantaneously shook, his head turning to the side as he gawked at me in disbelief. "She died in here?!"
"It was like, six years ago." I assured.
"Oh, my fuck," He panicked. "What the... Christ, why the hell didn't you tell me?"
I lightly smacked his head in anger. "Don't take the Lord's name in vain!"
I could feel the shiver run down his painted spine as he maintained his position, trying his hardest not to find himself in fear. "Harley, that's so terrible. I... I can't believe you never told me. You must have been traumatised."
I merely shrugged, although I felt that same shiver. "I was scared to walk into rooms by myself for three months. I would cry whenever my parents made me go get something from the kitchen; I just kept thinking a dead body would be hanging somewhere. It really messed me up."
The heat from his back was somehow gone, and I didn't feel comfortable anymore. I went to raise my head, but he immediately protested. "Keep leaning on me, it keeps me warm."
"Just admit that you like me comforting you." I whispered against his back.
He didn't answer, so he changed the topic back to our previous discussion. "What was the girl's name?"
I hesitated, although I remembered her name instantly. "Lucy Belle."
"You have good memory." He stated.
"I only remember her name because I would call her Lucifer Beelzebub," I spoke shyly against his skin. "I think she worshipped the... devil."
Harry's deep pink lips let an incoherent sigh escape them. He seemed somewhat exasperated, or exhausted. "What am I going to do with you, Harley?"
Innocence was on the tip of my tongue. "What do you mean?"
All of his words were now silent and begging to be heard, especially by me. My hands encouragingly tapped his skin, persuading him to speak. "You look down on others for not being religious. And you stereotype them as devil worshippers."
I felt slightly offended by his comment, but I had to response for the justification. Was it because he was right? "I-I can't stop it."
"This is why being prejudiced has its downfalls. You worry too much, way too much."
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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.