fifteen - harry

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fifteen – harry

         “How does it feel?” Eleanor asked as she carefully placed Harry’s corset around his waist, tightly wrapping the fabric and securing it.

            “Fine,” the boy replied, playing with one of his loose curls behind his ear, feeling the light pudge on back being squeezed by the crosses Eleanor was knotting in order to keep the clothing in place.

            “You look very pretty in that corset,” Eleanor smiled down at him, pressing a kiss on his forehead, “White suits you very well.” Harry then bashfully gave her an embarrassed smile, “I also talked with Louis a couple of days ago,” she mentioned, a devious smile playing on her lips. Harry’s jaw clenched angrily.

            “And – and what did you two talk about, then?” the boy decided to ask, trying not to seem too curious, or even nosy. His small fingers fiddled with the frills on his costume nervously. He did not like that Eleanor had already had an encounter with Louis; she could be quite persuasive at times, and even though Louis had not yet claimed him as his – and probably wouldn’t – he felt a deep connection with the lad; protection, possession – he couldn’t imagine how he would feel if Louis chose Eleanor over him –

            “The lucky lad entered my room when I had two fingers shoved in me,” she giggled, covering her coated with lipstick lips, hair falling effortlessly in front of her shoulders, “He stayed in there, though, and talked to me for a while. I should have asked him for some help, now that I think about it…” Harry was enraged, no jealous; Louis was his, and his only. No one was to touch him or be with him, because Louis belonged to him.

            It was unfair; after all these years of trying to find a shelter and rest in it, there was Eleanor, trying to take that away from him, with all the other things that were taken away from him so many years ago. He never got to keep anything, always having to give them back whether he was poor or rich; but he wouldn’t let Eleanor take him away.

            Harry had to do something drastic, he decided. He needed to show Louis that whatever Eleanor could offer him, he could give more –

            “Ellie!” Lilith squealed, reaching up to get the lipstick that Harry was supposed to wear. You’re not going to let that toddler toy with you, are you Harry? You don’t want her to look better than you do – you have to be flawless, ethereal – at that, Harry slapped her small, chubby hand, and then snatched the lipstick from her, “Ouch! That hurt Harry – “

            “This is mine!” Harry growled angrily, voice deeper than usual, “This is mine, you understand? I get to wear it, because I deserve it. Out of my way!” he shouted angrily, pushing past the two girls, swaying hips and clenched fists, as he walked towards Angie, who was smoking again, looking at him with an amused face.

            “Someone has begun acting like a bitch, it seems,” she mused, puffing out some smoke, “What has gotten into you, dear Harold?”

            Harry sighed, leaning against the wall next to the woman, crossing his arms in front of his face, “I – I – “ he began, “Nothing,” he murmured in the end, feeling Angie wrap her hand around his neck tenderly.

            “Silly little one,” she whispered in his ear, however she wasn’t mocking him; just cooing at him, “I can let you borrow some of my make up if you want, you don’t have to use the ones these bitches use.” Harry always loved Angie; from the moment Liam took him away from the streets, she took him under her wing, protected him from all the greedy bastards that passed from the circus and tried to have their way with Harry. And, according to Harry, she also sometimes managed to discipline him, in a better way than his father ever did. She resembled his sister so much; he actually managed to not miss Gemma, sometimes.

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