2 years later
Harry snuck out that day.
It was scorching hot as he tumbled out the front door. At the age of seven, Harry learned that him and his father do not see eye to eye. His eyes were puffy, his cheek stung, and he felt betrayed by his mother and Gemma.
'They didn't do anything to protect me.'
Harry also learned he was forever alone. Alone in his mind that is.
"I don't wanna get married, I don't wanna be a father, I don't wanna have girlfriend, gross." He angrily mutters to himself as he stomped around grabbing his chestnut colored hair.
"They make me so angry! I wanna run away! That's it I'm gonna run away!" At this point warm silent tears soothed his cheek. He sees in a distance, all the darker colored people working hard but singing happily in the back of the big home.
'Why can't I be happy like them' he thinks as he wipes his tears with the hem of his thin long sleeved shirt. Only if he truly knew, but that's why they say, ignorance is bliss.
He stares for a while longer as his crying did not seize and his tearstained sleeve is damp. The ache builds in his chest as his tears scream out for his heart because he couldn't find the words to describe how much he is hurt.
He begins to wander around the house. Not knowing where to go.
"Why would Desmond move us all the way into the stupid woods." He growls as he plops down in a high patch of grass only a couple of feet behind his house. He hides within the greenery as peaks to watch the slaves crowd around and sing. Some carrying baskets on their heads filled to the brim while two two others were lying weakly within the indigo plants.
"Harold! Where are you?" Anne, his mother yells for her distraught son. She grabs ahold of her chest in sadness. She saw the way Harry's eyes begged for her assistance but even Anne didn't have enough power to stand up to Desmond.
"Harry!" She screams much louder, grabbing the attention of many slaves. They too, survey the area for the pale skinned boy on the field but no one caught him watching all of them in contempt.
The sound of a pained mother screaming for a child is enough to summon a whole search. Especially if the child is from the Desmond Styles. Owner of one of the biggest cotton farms there is in the South.
"Just leave him! He cannot go far" Des waves off his wife as he struts towards the fields. The slaves notices his arrival and shuffles into a hushed labor. Even the two lying weak in the indigo hopped back up to their feet to pick at the plant.
Harry huffs, and just like that they forget who I am.
He sees Desmond from afar, towering over the slaves with a firm hand gripping the whip on the side of his hip. Harry's heartbeat quickens as he wonders 'why would he ever need that thing?'
Something in Desmond told him to turn around. Turn around to see if he could shut his wife's hollers by dragging that stubborn, ungrateful boy back into the home. And of course Desmond knows, he knows from his past, to hide in plain sight.
Desmond knew to himself that the incompetent little boy would not dare run into those woods. Eventually his eyes land on an uneven mass of grass near the house. He would've skipped over looking at such a thing until he noticed not just the brown unruly hair peaking from the top. But also his son's green bright irises blending with the red which replaced the whites in his eyes.
"Boy come 'ere!" Desmond demands with a chuckle.
Harry stumbles to his feet and out of habit trudges in the direction of his father. All eyes were on him and his cheeks lit up a fiery red as his father shoots him a mocking smile.
All of a sudden, Harry stops. Desmond's smile slowly fades as he contemplates his son's next move. Harry's next moves were unexpected, he runs away from his father and disappears into the thick coppice.
He weaves through clusters of trees until he finds a hollow dead trunk on the ground. He sits there to take a break and looks up. His sight was no longer blurred by tears and his rapid breathing dimmed. He lulled his head to the side, the rough structure of the tree scratching against his head soothed him.
He closes his eyes to relax, while listening to the beautiful chirps and twitters of the birds. His imagination pictures them beautifully canvasing over the pinky sky, conversing with one another on what route they shall travel next.
He then imagines himself as a bird as he begins to whistle a sweet tune. The pink and gold frothy clouds hover over his limp body as he lies blissfully unaware of his surroundings. At this point, he does not care if Desmond comes for him.
He heard a wig snap not too far behind him. He stands up and whips around, only to realize it was nothing to be afraid of, just a little rabbit. He smiles as he urges the brown animal with his hands.
The rabbit hops towards little Harry but completely passes by him. Still on his knees, he turns around to see why the little rabbit rejected him. Instead he came catches the sight of little toes wiggling around in the dirt.
Harry scrunches his nose in confusion and slowly looks up. Towering over him, like his father had done to the slaves was a girl who's eyes he faintly remembers with the rabbit pressed against her chest.
"Ya mama and daddy is lookin for ya. Why are you out here?" She asks plopping down on the ground still holding the rabbit securely in her arms.
Harry does not answer as he adjusts himself back against the tree stump. He just stares at her, dirt blended in with the color of her skin, her hair wild and out of place while she was wearing what looked like a large sheet carelessly falling from her shoulders.
Harry has never seen a girl like this in his school.
"Are ya gonna answer or keep starin? Mama told me starin is mean."
He shakes his head and stutters "I-I do not wish to go back there." His cheeks lit up a rosy color, it's not often that he speaks to girls.
"Well...okay den" the little girl rests the little creature down and watches it scurry away without turning back.
"You're Harold?" The little girl asks the tired looking boy.
"Call me Harry" his voice cracks from the mixture of embarrassment and sadness.
"I am suppose to call you Master's son or sir"
Harry smirks at the idea of being called sir why would he ever want to be called that.
"What's your name?"
"Darcy Orage" she straightens her back as she stares directly into Harry's eyes. "But call me Darcy"
"Orage? That's your last name?" He asks, he has never heard anything like that before. Not even at school!
Darcy giggles at his thick accent meshing in with part of her name. "No, I don't have one..I think"
"Then why you have two names?"
"Mama told me it means dark thunderstorm when put together. She said I was born durin one."
"Oh, well I am just Harry Styles" a little annoyed that he didn't get a cool name.
And with that introduction both of them sat there quietly. They made eye contact here and there before quickly looking up at the canopy of trees or the pinky sky, to avoid the confrontation of their reddening cheeks.
Harry hears the chirps of the bird again as a couple swoop down around their level. He sees one watching Darcy and him from a distance.
'Maybe if I couldn't get the rabbit over, I can get this bird'
Harry puts his lips together and blows. The attempts to lure the bird as a sailor to its siren. Yet the bird was not easily convinced as the sailor was to reaching his own death.
He may not have been able to attract the bird towards him, however there was another watching him in wonderment.
She was enticed by the new sound, "can you teach me?" Darcy asks, her eyes twinkling with suppressed eagerness.
"Yeah!" Harry states excitedly.
"Okay, so you bring your lips together like this" he inches closer to Darcy.
"And then you just blow through it, softly" he lets out a shaky breath as he caresses her slightly dirt covered cheek with his thumb.
She closes her eyes and complies to his directions.
Darcy gives it a whirl and no sound came out. So she tried again, then again. Yet her whistle, her sound could not leave her lips.
"It's okay, try again" Harry urges once more.
Eventually she whistles, her giddy excitement causes her to lose control of her actions as she places a gentle kiss on Harry's cheek.
His smile couldn't get any bigger. Yes, the throbbing pain had diminished yet the ache remained, until the little girl came and healed him. Healed him from his physical and emotional pain he had moments before.
"I will call you Birdie" Harry says to her.
Before Darcy could respond, they hear the wild barks of dogs. They both looked at each other before scrambling to their feet. Only one left the woods unharmed that day.
Desmond not only attacked her on the behalf that she was in the woods or keeping his son company. Quite frankly he couldn't care less. But this was the first time he noticed a distinguishing feature of her that caught Harry's attention years ago.
He noticed her eyes were green. Full blood black slaves did not have green eyes. He asked himself while he gave her another slap.
Why were her eyes green?
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✎Now we get into the actual story plot. I am excited! It will be written in first person until noted otherwise. 😊
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Will Harry's view of this little girl stay the same or will his attitude make a huge 360 as time goes on?🤔
Dedicated to louswriting