Bound by Pages | larry

eighteen

Harry could remember this one time when he was younger. He burst out crying on the first day of school while they were playing icebreakers. His mother took him to see his doctor for anxiety issues. Even at a young age, Harry wanted to seem perfect for his mom. He lied about every single question the doctor asked him because his mother was in the room. He was too afraid to tell the truth because he was too afraid his mom would yell at him for being imperfect. Luckily, he doesn't have problems with being anxious anymore.

"Do we have a problem in here?" Oh great. His father walked into the living room, staring at Harry with those dark eyes. 

"No"

"I wasn't asking you." His father didn't raise his voice but used a mocking tone that Harry hated. His father seemed pretty upset about this. Although, the question was directed at the situation more than a specific person so Harry thought it was completely fair for him to answer it. 

"Harry was just raising his voice at me," His mother said with a small smirk. 

"Oh come on, really?" Harry's arms flew up exasperated. "That's ridiculous."

"Young man! That was uncalled for!" His father raised his hand slightly and Harry flinched. He saw his father grin slightly and a glimmer run through his eyes. Harry closed his eyes tightly, wishing he hadn't done that. He couldn't help it, the flinch was involuntary. He had just let his father know that he had all the power.

He didn't want to admit it to his father, or even himself, but he was afraid. Harry was afraid of his father. Even if he didn't think about it, his body knew. His automatic flinch was a danger sign to him. Harry knew he had to stand up for himself eventually. He didn't want to give up everything to his father. 

"I'm not allowed to speak anymore?" Harry looked from his father to his mother, then back to his father. Was he the only one who thought this was ridiculous?

"Not when you can't comply with my simple rules!" Harry groaned. Not the freaking rules again. "If I recall correctly, your marks are less than ideal."

"Yea, but that's not my fault." Harry tried reasoning with his father but there was no hope. Then his mom started talking, and they were both yelling at him. He took the chance to look at the television. His jaw dropped.

"Wait! Everybody shut up for a second!" Harry yelled over the two voices, effectively silencing the room. 

"You can't speak to me like that!" His father probably yelled something like that, but Harry couldn't hear the words. He knew his father's hand was flying towards his face, but he wouldn't feel the punch. He was just focused on the image on the television. The image that depicted a very familiar face.

"...victim confirmed to be seventeen-year-old Liam Payne. Payne was intoxicated at the time of the accident" 

Harry was frozen, then he wasn't. His heart raced and a tingle went up and down his spine.

"May I go?" Harry asked surprisingly calmly. His father was, for the first time, speechless. The man nodded slowly, then continued to stare at the screen in shock. It wasn't news to Harry. The man probably like Liam more than he did Harry. 

Harry didn't wait to see how the situation played out for his parents. He calmly turned around. Then he calmly walked over to the staircase before calmly going up the stairs. He calmly entered his room and gently closed the door. He crawled into bed, got under the sheets, and pretended he hadn't gotten up this morning. 

The boy breathed deeply in and out, feeling the air enter his lungs one breath at a time. He started to feel a gentle tingle on his cheek through the numbness, a gift left by his father. 

A small giggle filled the room. The sound stopped abruptly and it took Harry a minute to realize the sound had come from himself. Then the sound came back, only this time it was stronger and lasted longer. This time, Harry could feel the giggle in his chest, interrupting the rhythm of in and out.

His dad hits him, his mommy doesn't love him, his ex-girlfriend hates him, his boyfriend won't answer his calls, and his best friend just ran into a fucking pole and died. And Harry found that hilarious. Genuinely hilarious.

Harry picked up his phone and dialled Louis. It rang three times before the boy picked up.

"Hello?" His voice sounded groggy like he had just woken up. 

"LouLou!" Harry smiled. He actually answered the phone!

"Harry? Are you okay?" Harry could hear the boy's frown through the phone, but that didn't matter.

"Louis, do you want to come over?" Harry asked.

"What, like right now?"

"Yea!"

"Uh, hold on a sec." Harry heard some shuffling on Louis' side, then an abrupt silence. He probably got muted. A few seconds later, the shuffling noises came back.

"I uh. I can't stop by now but maybe later?" Louis replied cautiously.

"Awee fine. Only because I love you." Harry grinned and hung up on the boy.

The boy didn't do very much with his time.  He took out a piece of paper and started writing on it. He wasn't quite sure what he was writing, but he put a pen in his fingers, and let his hand to the talking.

He let his mind wander while letting the smooth pen flow across the paper. Wasn't it funny how people stared at the stars? Like in general, why do people put such high praise on stars? Literal stars, metaphorical stars, superstars. Who woke up one morning and thought 'Hey, stars are going to be synonymous with good!'

When you think of actual stars, they're just giant burning balls of gas trying to get by in life. They're not much much different than Harry himself. Masses trying to survive. Trying to burn through the darkest and coldest places they know. Stars are fierce, determined.

Maybe the meaning of stardom just got a little twisted. Maybe stars are just named that because they live in the coldest, darkest, emptiest places, but still, manage to shine through all of that. Maybe being a star didn't mean being caught up in all the lights and fame. Maybe stars were the people who were trapped in cold, dark places, but still managed to get through. 

In that case, Louis was a star. Maybe Harry was even a star. Harry sighed, running his hand through his hair. The energy he was felt while calling Louis was gone, and now he was overthinking again. Where had the energy gone? It was like Harry had a surge of confidence that decided to suddenly come, then leave with even less of a warning. Harry shook his head rapidly, trying to clear his mind. 

Once he had finished his letter, he signed the bottom and folded it into three. He took out a ribbon from inside his desk and tied a bow to keep the paper closed. He picked up the pen once again and wrote two simple words on the front. To Liam.

He tucked the letter away at the bottom of his drawer and deemed it a rainy day's read.

Harry stayed in bed. His best friend had just died.

He looked out the window. HIs best friend has just died.

Harry remembered the words he had promised to Liam. His best friend had just died.

He heard a doorbell, probably Louis. His best friend had just died. 

And then it all hit him. His best friend had just died. 

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