Animal

Chapter 1

His hair, Louis decides is his favourite feature. It's straight and stopped at his shoulders but curled a little at the tips. It was damp from a fresh wash and Louis stops thinking about what brand of shampoo he thinks this stranger uses. So he's the girl's boyfriend. That would make lots of sense. He's attractive, yes, but Louis knows his boundaries.

Louis watches, forsaking another half minute and a song change, as he gives girlfriend something. Her cellphone. He says nothing to her and nor she to him. He storms back to the awaiting vehicle with powerful strides, knocking several students and a teacher in the shoulder.
Louis recognises that teacher and panics. His French teacher.

Before he can glance down at his watch and take off in a sprint that will have him shaving off free time, he manages to unintentionally capture his subject's attention. The man from the Range Rover just glances to his left, glowering at everyone and everything, and his stormy orbs get hooked on Louis' peaceful blue ones.
Louis turns pale, maybe even green, from the persistent staring and steps back like the added distance will put his mind at ease. It doesn't only because the man across the yard from him stops walking just to tilt his head curiously at Louis.

Fighting the urge to collapse right then and there, Louis swallows and lifts his fingers just a little to signal a short wave. An awkward, stiff wave that has the newest of Louis' acquaintances frowning deeper. That is the end of all Louis' courage today and he decides to quit while he's not exchanging words. His French teacher is a few feet from him so he simply turns on his heel and takes off down the open hallway to the correct classroom.

The stranger doesn't haunt Louis' mind for the rest of the day, but he regrets that he wasted so much time that morning on him. Waving at a complete stranger, officially Louis' dumbest move.

Across town, at AKA Bar where lone rangers from everywhere and cross country travellers all come to get lost in the booze of life, Harry was drowning his second Scotch - no rocks - in his usual seat. Two Scotches and two vodka shots were his limit.

Earlier that day he and Gemma had fought. It was right after breakfast when she forgot her assignment in the basement - that's where she usually did her projects even though it was Harry's room - and went to fetch it. She uncovered one of Harry's less desirable hobbies wrapped in a few dog towels and pushed under his bed.

He remained calm and asked why she was snooping around when all she had to do was get her damn stuff. She argued that wasn't the point and even shoved him a little.

Shoved.

Harry got angry then because nobody's touched him so angrily or with such intent in years. He didn't hit her, because she was still his sister. Simply, he dragged her - kicking and protesting - to the basement and explained exactly why he bashed the head of thirty-something year old man in.

It was no thrilling experience or adrenaline-induced fit. He was tightly wound all the time and felt ready to combust painfully if he didn't release some knots.

This was one way: torture. Each time he did it he felt lighter and more at ease. He visited lady friends sometimes but they didn't work out too well and neither did the slutty boy-men. He fucked the way he felt. Hard and rough, ignoring the pained protests of his sexual partners. He was merciless because nobody gave him mercy, granted him the benefit of the doubt so why should he be any better?

"Anything else, sweetie?" The kind bartender he never learnt the name of asks as she wipes her hands.

He shakes his head and drops a flap of bills before leaving. Thinking about where to go and what to do, Harry let's his mind wander to this morning at Gemma's school. Where he saw Blue Eyes. He knew they were blue because they were striking in appeal all the way from across the bloody parking lot.