Chapter Ten
An ache burns in Harry's chest as he walks through the dense woods, brushing past tree branches and thorny bushes. Twigs and leaves crunch under his faux leather boots. The sun slowly starts to sink into the horizon, leaving fluffy wisps of pink and orange in its path. Harry tries to shake the voice out of his head that tells him to turn around and go back to Louis. He keeps telling himself that he doesn't need Louis. Even if it's a lie, he continues walking.
When he reaches the side of the main road, he sighs with relief. He wants to get away from all of this— away from Louis, specifically. Away from the constant reminders that he is no longer human. Away from the solitude of the cabin that claws at his ribcage and fills him with loneliness.
The echo in his brain says, Breathe.
Harry shakes his head and tries to ignore it. He pulls out his mobile phone from his back pocket and unlocks it, his numb fingers stumbling over the passcode. He ignores the texts popping up on his screen and decides to call Zayn. If he can rely on anyone in the world, it's Zayn. He presses the iPhone to his ear and waits patiently.
It rings three times before he picks up with a gentle, "Rose?"
Harry can't help but smile. "Hey, Angel."
Zayn chuckles lightly. "What's up, mate?"
"Not much," Harry lies, kicking a loose stone with his shoe.
"Are you working tonight?"
"Yeah. Actually, that's why I'm calling you. Think you can give me a ride?"
"Sure," Zayn says instantly. "I'll pick you up at your flat at seven, okay?"
"Um, I'm not at my flat," Harry murmurs, glancing around him. He sees a sea of green leaves and bright skies.
Zayn pauses. Harry can hear him fumbling with his phone. "Where are you, then?"
"Well, I was at Louis's," Harry huffs. "But now I'm just standing on the side of the road like an idiot."
"Why?"
" 'cause I needed some fresh air," Harry says passively. "Don't worry about it, mate. I just wanted to get out of there for a while."
"Well, if you say so," Zayn grumbles. "What's the name of the street?"
"Oakford. 'm about two kilometers down the road."
"Okay, then. I'll see you in 'bout twenty minutes, yeah?"
"Yeah. Thanks, Angel."
"Anytime, Rose. Bye."
Harry leans against a nearby tree and opens up his Scrabble app. He taps at his phone to make the time go by faster. He pushes Louis to the back of his mind, but no matter how hard he tries, he can't ignore what happened. He's shocked that Louis would keep bonding a secret. In Harry's opinion, it's pretty damn intimidating— the idea of being tied down to one singular person.
But now, in an odd way, everything makes sense. He knows why he constantly desires to be near Louis, why he thirsts for his attention, why he feels like he's empty when they're separated. He can hear Louis's voice in his head when he's dancing up at stange. He can sense the lust, the needy desperation, the hot desire that burns in his stomach. At first he thought it was his imagination playing tricks on him, but now he knows it's reality.
He tries not to think about the silver-eyed vampire who stole his heart. He doesn't know why he trusts Louis so much, but he figures it's a combination of bonding and dependency. When he's confused about becoming a vampire, he only has one person to turn to: Louis. He can't go to Zayn or the other dancers for vampiric advice, and he certainly can't rely on his parents or family. And so, by default, he needs Louis.
Harry scrubs a hand down his tired face. His mind feels jumbled with conflicting emotions. Even though Louis has helped him immensely, he's also the reason that he's in this mess in the first place. He wishes he could go back in time and undo it all. Wishes they never met in the first place.
His life was much simpler back then, before he became a vampire. He had a routine. Wake up, go to the stripclub, sleep, repeat. And Louis fucking Tomlinson decided to walk into his life and tangle up the simplicity of his lifestyle, all because he misjudged Harry's character based on his job.
And that's another thing that pisses him off. Ever since he became a stripper, Harry's faced daily judgements and assumptions from others. People think they know his life better than he does. They think he's worthless, dirty, has no self-confidence. Think he has some sort of sad backstory that landed him in this shithole.
Harry sighs tiredly and leans his head backwards, knocking it against the nearest tree. The bark feels cold and damp against his hair. He gazes upwards and sees a light pink sheet of sky, interlaced with puffs of white clouds. He's not a religious man, but for a moment he finds himself praying whilst squinting at the sun. Praying that some sort of divine being will save him from this disaster.
Whilst the fallen leaves rustle on the grass, flowing in the breeze, he thinks about his job. He wonders how long he'll be able to keep it. Now that he's a vampire, he's more sensitive to brightness, and the spotlight has already started to burn his skin. It's just a light shade of pink, not very noticeable to the naked eye, but it hurts. He hopes that the customers can't see his discomfort when he dances around the pole, flexing his muscles and wiggling his arse. Lack of relaxation isn't good for business, as Liam always says.
Zayn's lavish, expensive car pulls up on the side of the otherwise-empty road. Harry smiles softly as he parks and rolls down the passenger window. He flashes him a golden grin and sparkling, chestnut eyes.
"Hey, stranger," he teases. "Need a lift?"
Harry laughs and climbs inside, sliding over the soft, black leather. It smells like cigarette smoke, but Harry doesn't mind. Zayn's clad in black skinny jeans and a Rolling Stones t-shirt, and Harry thinks it's weird to see him wearing actual clothes instead of a thong. Of course, they've seen each other outside of work, but only a handful of times.
After Harry buckles his seatbelt, Zayn does a u-turn in Louis's driveway and heads back towards the city. The bugatti's engine purrs loudly between them, increasing as Zayn accelerates beyond the speed limit.
"So, are you gonna tell me what happened with Louis?" Zayn prompts. "I know you say that you're just friends, but it seems like you care about him."
Harry pauses. "It's complicated."
"Complicated?"
"Yeah. I just— I don't really wanna talk about it, if that's okay."
Zayn frowns. "Alright. But you should know, I won't hesitate to kick Louis's arse if he hurts you," he says, glancing at Harry for a quick second. "I'm serious," he adds as an afterthought.
Harry smiles fondly. "Thanks, Zayn."
"No problem," he murmurs.
They fall into comfortable silence as they enter the city. Zayn drives towards Fool's Gold and parks in the back lot. Harry gulps when he looks up to see the club with its bright, neon sign. This place feels like a second home now. It's familiar, comfortable, a place to unwind. A place for his mind to go numb and forget all his worries.
Zayn and Harry climb out of the car and walk inside, pushing open the heavy door that protests with a squeak. It's nearly empty, of course, and the club won't open for another hour. They spot Liam cleaning off the circular tables with a dirty rag. The golden poles on the stages look freshly-polished, not a single fingerprint in sight.
At the bar, a bartender stacks shot glasses in a pyramid to occupy his time. A variety of alcoholic bottles rest behind him on a shelf, ranging in intensity, color, and taste. Harry wants a drink to clear his brain, but as he discovered last night with Louis, getting drunk isn't easy for vampires.
"Hey, Angel and Rose!" Liam says, noticing their presence. He looks professional and wealthy with his black suit and golden tie. He hasn't shaved recently, leaving a dark stubble on his chin.
" 'ello, Liam," Harry greets with a smile. "How's it going?"
"Lovely. Will you lads go help Jag in the dressing room with makeup?"
Zayn laughs and claps a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I'm rubbish at makeup, personally, but Rose is a glitter master."
Harry furrows his brow. "Glitter master?"
"Yeah. You're amazing at that stuff, Harry. Have you seen your eyeliner skills? Top-notch."
Harry flushes and looks away. "Yeah, whatever."
Without another word, he vanishes into the dressing room, pushing past the red curtain. He walks inside and instantly sees a fog of smoke clouding up the room. The dancers lounge around carelessly, smoking blunts and giggling about nonsense. Golden thongs stick to sweaty, toned bodies. Harry purposely avoids the vanities in fear of passing by a mirror.
Jaguar sits on a stool with a spiff in one hand and a makeup brush in the other. It's an odd contrast, Harry decides, between the luxury and desperation of their lives. He leans towards another stipper and coats his eyelids with gold glitter. The other dancer, Romeo, bites his lip shyly. He's the newest employee at Fool's Gold and was hired less than two months ago. Needless to say, he hasn't opened up to everyone yet. He's quiet and reserved. He won't tell anyone his real name and insists that everyone calls him Romeo. He has pretty, blonde hair and soft, green eyes as wide as the full moon.
"Rose!" Jaguar laughs, joint bobbing between his lips. "I'm so glad you're here, mate!"
Harry gulps as he pulls up a stool. He grabs a palette of eyeshadow and a tube of mascara from Jag's makeup kit. His large hand seems to swallow the small brush, which, he supposes, was originally manufactured for small, feminine hands.
"Who still needs makeup?" Harry asks dryly.
Star raises his hand, and Harry scoots closer to him. Star looks higher than Mount Everest, Harry decides. His eyes are rimmed with red, and he's biting down on his bottom lip thoughtfully. His golden thong clings to his thick, milky thighs, and he lets his eyes flutter shut. Harry tenses a little before he takes the brush and dabs it over his lids.
"Open up," Harry commands, and Star obeys. Harry takes the mascara and swipes it over his lashes. The strippers at Fool's Gold don't wear much makeup, but it helps with sales.
"You look tense, Rose," Star comments.
He grabs the white, twisted joint that he left in the ashtray. Without saying anything, he lifts it up to Harry's strawberry lips and slips it in. Harry hesitates at first before inhaling deeply, letting his chest puff out.
He hopes that he can forget about Louis— at least for a little while.
So he spends the rest of the evening grinding on the pole at the peak of his high. But when he comes down, everything crumbles.
~
Back at his apartment, Harry's falling apart.
He feels weak, but there's a nagging instinct in the back of his brain that commands him to go back to Louis's cabin. He can't function without him. He just sleeps in bed all day and gets high to forget about him. He calls in sick and decides to skip work. He's physically and emotionally drained.
Bonding is more serious than he previously anticipated. It's like he's a small, vulnerable child who can't fend for himself. And maybe he is. Afterall, he's a fledgling: a young, inexperienced vampire, incapable of surviving on his own. Louis is supposed to look after him. It's his responsibility, his duty.
And to make matters worse, he constantly hears Louis's voice in his head.
I'm sorry, Harry.
Harry ignores it.
I should've told you sooner. I was just scared.
He pretends he doesn't hear it.
Please, forgive me. I need you.
Harry buries his face into his pillow and screams at the top of his lungs. His voice is muffled by the soft fabric, suffocating his worries. He lets a few tears slip out of his eyes and fall onto the sheets.
This routine of self-hatred and frustration continues for another day. The following afternoon, he's lounging around in his living room, watching some weird reality show. He eats an entire carton of chocolate ice cream, and even though he can't taste it, the coldness numbs his throat. It's a reminder that he can still feel— that he's still somewhat alive, even if he's dead.
Then, there's a knock at the door. As soon as he hears it, he knows it's Louis. He can sense it in the pit of his stomach.
"Harry?" Louis calls through, knowing that he won't answer. He just wants to talk. "I know you're in there, sweetheart."
His soft voice sounds quiet and sweet and comforting. It soothes Harry's aching heart. He actually shivers with relief, as if Louis's presence can heal him in an instant.
"I can't come inside unless you let me in," Louis complains with a gentle sigh. "Please?"
Harry whimpers quietly. He's still so angry. It's Louis's fault that he feels so weak, like he can't function independently. He wants to prove his internal desires wrong, even if it hurts. Even if it kills him.
"You're going through separation anxiety, H," Louis insists. Harry can see the shadows of his feet in the slit underneath the door. "I know how it feels, okay? I'm hurting, too. I need you as much as you need me."
Harry doesn't answer. He just pushes his ice cream aside, allowing his spoon to clatter onto the floor. He whines painfully and resists every vampiric urge to open the door, to collide into Louis's warm body, to breathe in his comforting scent. He doesn't want to prove what he fears— that this bond is real and powerful and overwhelmingly possessive.
"Okay," Louis says sadly, and Harry can sense the heartbreak in his tone. "I'll leave you alone, then."
Harry blinks away his tears.
"You know where to find me," Louis reminds. "I'll see you later."
Harry can hear him turn around in the hallway outside, but then, he stops. He tenses up.
"Just take care of yourself, alright?" Louis begs. There's a long pause. "I'd never be able to live with myself if... something happened to you."
And then, Louis leaves, and Harry feels empty again.