This Moment || Larry Stylinson

Prologue

White flashes blurred Harry's eyes. Pictures of the past focused in and out, one by one. A young boy sits on a tricycle, eating an ice cream cone. The vanilla dripped down the three year old's chin, a smile with too few teeth speeding through Harry's mind. 

Click, flash. 

There's a ten year old, gasping loudly as he opens up a box. The lid falls down to show a little brown puppy with curly fur popping out of wrapping paper. The birthday boy reaches out, bringing the animal into a hug. He presses a sloppy kiss between the dog's ears as tears fall down his dimpled cheeks. 'Thank you, Mummy,' he cries. 

Click, click, flash. 

Fists are flying, knuckles bloodied and broken. A thirteen year old Harry is on the ground, his cheeks brushing against the grass. Someone is on top of him, swinging their arms behind their back before bringing them down on the boy's face. He was Gemma's first boyfriend, the one who had cheated on her and caused her to lock herself in her room for days. Harry had thought he could take him on in a fight, but ended up losing his front teeth. 

Forward. Pause. Rewind. 

There he is, sixteen years old in front of hundreds of people. Scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, grey cardigan tight against his arms. He is singing, the words distorted as Harry's vision went out of focus. The sixteen year old goes forward with his audition, getting yeses and moving on in the competition. He's almost eliminated, is instead put into a band with other teenage boys who had a dream. They lose, coming in third place. Harry feels the devastation and hurt the sixteen year old felt at the time. He feels how he had felt in those days following the loss. 

Sad. Desperate. Alone. Lost. 

His life was flashing before his eyes, all of the concerts that One Direction had put on. All of the screaming fans. The friends he made along the way. The family he had lost in the most recent months. All of it meant nothing in this moment, as a lethal amount of alcohol and sleeping pills muddled his brain. Flowed through his veins to stop his heart. Harry couldn't help but to find it all so funny. At the time, so many of these moments meant the world to him. Now it was all worthless. Harry's life was completely and utterly worthless. 

This dark world was so silent as Harry went in and out of consciousness. He could feel his head pounding, his neck straining to keep his body upright as he leaned against the side of the bathtub. Harry could feel that his body was trying to fight the sleepiness, trying to fight to survive all he had done to it. 

Then, in the distance, an echo came through. Harry's bleary eyes tried to concentrate on whoever was calling his name. The world was so fuzzy and dark, his eyelids drooped down and couldn't open further than a squint. Harry's mouth was so dry, his throat was burning hot. The person, whoever it was, called out his name again. It was sobbing, begging for him to be okay. Harry opened his eyes as wide as he could, catching a flash of brown hair and blue eyes. He tried to hum softly, but wasn't sure it came out as anything more than a breath. 

His last breath. 

The person called again, this time louder than Harry had ever heard before. He could recognize who it was this time. It was his savior. The man who tried his best to keep Harry afloat. The man who had been Harry's best friend and guardian angel for years as Harry struggled to keep himself alive. And here he was now, trying to shove his fingers down Harry's throat to trigger his gag reflex. He was begging and pleading for Harry to be okay, screaming so loudly that Harry was sure if he did survive this, his eardrums would be wrecked. 

Louis. 

As the man scrambled to try to get his friend to puke up the booze and pills, Harry was slowly leaving his body. He wasn't sure if he had ever believed in God or Heaven, but he would sometimes send a prayer out when he could. He also wasn't entirely sure if he believed in souls and spirits, but if they did exist, Harry was sure that he wasn't going to make it to the Other Side. He could almost remember the times he had spent in church with his mother when he was a child. 

Oh, God, Anne. What was she going to think? What was she going to do when she found out her only son was dead? That he had swallowed back a whole prescription bottle of pills with a few bottles of vodka. Who was going to tell her? Would Louis be able to be there for her, to comfort her as she collapsed to the ground and sobbed? Or would she have to find out cruelly and coldly from the police officers dealing with the calls Louis was bound to make any second now? 

Harry could feel parts of him drifting away as sleep and darkness settled over him. He struggled for a few moments to pull away from himself. His limbs felt so heavy, his chest hurting and burning as he left. But after a few good tugs, Harry felt himself free from his body. In that moment, Harry looked down at himself from above. His face was a sickly pale white, his eyes nearly closed as they stared blankly ahead. His lips were covered in saliva and vomit. His body was hanging limply out of Louis's arms, his head was unnaturally bent to the side. 

It was official. He had done it. 

Harry had successfully killed himself.