no one would listen (l.s)

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

He can’t be bothered with the pain. Right now, At this moment, he’s drifting off.

He lays down on the icy floor and drowns everything in his senses and just looks at the dark white ceiling. Stark naked, just letting the high fly him away.

He starts to get a bit tingly and drowsy and light.

It was soothing. Very much calming. The mood of the weather alongside the float. He’s enjoying this. He’s savoring it. He makes carpet angels. He reaches through thin air and looking at his hand funnily. He hums at the silence of the harsh rain outside the property.

“Master Harry everything is getting cold and your mother is waiting for you.” A light voice reports.

“Yes, I’ll be down.” He responds. He rises up and sighs. He locked the box and placed it back where he got it.

Everything was somehow spinning, but it wasn’t upsetting his head. He finds this rather amusing. Giggling and stumbling on his feet while dressing himself with his blue silk pajama and thin white t-shirt.

His teeth start to ache a bit and his joints as well, but he decides to resolve the matter back later.

“Honey, finally you’re out of your room.” Mother exclaims in glee. She leaves her food and rushes to her son. "Seems like you lost quite a weight. Come let's eat." She said, escorting her son to his usual sit.

“You reek of booze, mother.” Harry whispers.

“Do I? I just had a taste to wake up the system, darling.” Mother giggles.

Harry can't help but giggle along. Uncontrollably even when mother has already stopped.

He pauses for a moment and looks at his mother with a smile and sleepy eyes and said, “I love you, mother.”

“Such a joyous little angel.” Mother continues to eating her soup as he’s being given his, along with a mildly toasted grilled cheese and butter on the side.

The soup was bright red and steaming. The heat of it travels straight to the skin. And the spices used were very prominent to the senses. Hamish gulps, and he feels like vomiting.

“Deary, your face is turning green. Is there something wrong?” Mother worries.

Harry doesn’t speak and forces a smile as his eyes wells up. Still, he struggles to swallow the tomato soup. He can't tolerate it. He can’t keep it down. The cup of water was already ready on his side as soon as the other maid sees him choking, but he stands up and grabs himself his own glass and water from the tap from the kitchen.

He shuffles back limply, out of strength, sobering to the beige room to see his mother pouring herself a glass of vodka and then looking at him.

“Are you okay, my love?” Mother asks, stepping towards Hamish.

The deafening rumble of the thunder startles him. Making him jump from his skin. He can't breath. He feels like he’s suffocating. Hamish feels himself hyperventilating as mother moves closer. He's shivering with cold sweats, throat closing up. He's tripping badly. He needs another blow. Another high. Another distraction.

Before mother could reach him, he runs away and storms to lock his room. He quickly scrambles through his black box and picks up the next thing he wishes would bring him elsewhere. Back to somewhere better.