Dark: (Harry Styles Fanfiction) By Han_Rawr

Dark:(Chapter 56)

He put on a small, forced smile. But I could tell just how haunted he was to be stood in front of his old house, wondering how many skeletons inhabited the closet.

“We can go if you want?” I asked, concerned that the visit was having a negative effect.

I didn’t want him to feel remorseful of anything that went on in that house. I imagined the trip to be somewhat cleansing, a sort of detox. However, it was clear that it would take much more than a simple car ride to extinguish the emotions connected to the building.

We stood together, Harry holding my hand almost as if he needed something to anchor him to the present and prevent him from wandering off into his memories. His posture was tight, unwilling to let his guard down. Harry’s previously dwindling concentration snapped back to attention upon hearing a crash from the house’s adjoining garage. I hadn’t really thought much of it until I was encouraged to follow after the curious boy.

Loud, incompetent banging could be heard as we approached the side door sheltered by a well-groomed hedge. It wasn’t the sort of noise that could be mistaken for carpentry or construction; there was no method in the banging. The sound fitted more to the struggle of a caged bird, desperate for escape.

 “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.