Dark (Harry Styles Fanfic)

Chapter 56

"Harry?"

"I was just gunna see if they were alright."His hand pressed to the door that was somewhat ajar, pushing it open to reveal a stumbling figure. It seemed our entrance had gone unnoticed by the man as he staggered into a wall of shelved paint pots. He was drunk.My reflexes had me take a step back as he turned to confront us. My mind scanned for quick assessment, late forties, hard jaw, stubble, average height and eyes that could reduce even the most courageous into a quibbling mess. Those same eyes hadn't strayed from Harry and his face was unreadable as I intruded on the staring match between the two males. A fearless warrior, ready for battle.

"Where's Kathy?"The man knew Harry's mum. I had a feeling it wasn't coincidence. His rough question was tinted with accusation.

"We don't live here anymore," Harry sharply replied, using our linked hands to nudge me lightly behind him.

"This isn't your home...You shouldn't be here."The tone he held was an indication that Harry wasn't just pinpointing this exact moment, it ran to a deeper level. The man was unwelcome in Harry's old neighbourhood, had no right to be on the premises in which we were stood and he certainly wasn't worthy of being in Harry's presence.

"Your bike's out by the gate," he slurred.No.

"My bike was blue," Harry recalled.

"Mum got it for my seventh birthday. You reversed over it with the fucking car when you were drunk and then you blamed me for it."It broke my heart that he could recollect in such detail. He'd been carrying these traumatic childhood memories with him for years.It was that small piece of information that had things clicking into place. It made sense now. Harry's dad. It was his dad that was back. He was the man that Liam had talked about, the rumours that were whispered as if he were something of a terrible myth, renowned for the family he had tainted. Word had spread like an air-born virus among Harry's friends who still remained in the area he grew up in.

"You shouted at me when I cried," Harry roughly spoke.

"I was seven."I desperately wished I could have been there; cradled the little boy mourning the loss of his cherished present. It should have been his father that comforted him, but it wasn't.

"Mum couldn't afford to get me a new one. You didn't even say you were sorry."Harry hadn't told me his name, wasn't worth the time. The once mystified expression vanished, eyes hardening. A split second he had turned and I could sense the uncertainness Harry held. Alcohol fuelled confusion was combined with anger. The concoction of emotions was having a negative hold on the situation.

"You were a little shit," he bit back with venom.

"You never did as you were told."I couldn't imagine Harry being anything but a frightened child. With a father like that, it would have been silly to disobey.

"And you were a pathetic excuse for a dad. You know what I wished for on my eighth birthday?" he rhetorically asked.

"When I blew out my candles, I wished you would get hit by a bus."

"I'm still your father."The fuzz of inebriation appeared to be lifting, and the formerly, almost sad bewilderment was laid waste to coarse words and eroded sentiment. His true nature could no longer hide behind the drunken muddle he had me believe when first encountering him. The monster was lurking.

"Why the fuck are you even here?" Harry asked.

"I came to find you."

"We've moved on, we have lives that you're no longer a part of. Mum doesn't want anything to do with you."A barely visible flinch ticked his body at the mention of his former wife. But if he was disturbed by Harrys words, he refused to dwell on it, dismissing the response and continuing to chip away at the conversation