*picture is of Kristen Stewart, she is kind of who I picture for JoAnne*
Harry's POV
I press my fingers against my temple in pure aggravation. The throbbing pain thumping against my skull brought sudden flashbacks of my colleagues shooting their guns at the target while I watched in ignorance. I wince at the distant memories, some which I would like to keep buried.
Sitting up from my bed, I head over the my cherry wood desk and open up to a fresh page in my journal. Even though my vision was blurred, I began to scribble on the page:
Dear Journal,
I was overtaken once again. I became a slave to the clutches of alcohol. I nearly lost control and I succumbed to a negro. I cannot fathom why I found a desire, a lust, a need for such a thing. I am disgusted with myself. Yet, even with this self-shame, my hunger, my lust still remains. Whether or not it is that slave, I am in dire need for satisfaction.
- I bid this day Hx
Signing the first letter of my name to top it off I turn to the first page of my journal. I had this bloody journal for nearly a decade yet the pages seem never-ending. I sigh when I come to my messy handwriting from when I was young and I begin to read:
Dear Journal,
I have a secret. One night while everyone was sleeping I went outside. It was very cold. There was snowflakes littered over the grass. That made the legs of my pants wet causing me to shiver. I walked back into the woods again where I saw that girl. I retraced my steps and found the same trunk I remember crying at. I thought I was going to see her again. But I didn't. I got scared for a little bit when I remember what those dogs did. I heard a howl which caused me to run. Me being the clumsy person I am I fell. I fell. I got a deep scratch from my wrist to the inside of my elbow. I got this scratch waiting for her. I haven't seen her so maybe she wasn't real. Maybe she was a ghost, maybe she was dead. I cried again but this time I cried for her. But she wasn't there, maybe she was never really there. Maybe I'm just a crazy little twit like my father said I was.
I flare my nose when I recall that night. I was so dumb and now I am forever reminded of this terrible experience with that same scar on my right arm. Officially shutting the book, I lean back in my chair and use my fingers to delicately trace over the faint scar.
"Harry?" A small voice trickled its way into my room. Instantly I put my arm down to my side and look over. I see a messy haired, pale image of my sister Gemma.
"Yes Gem?" I sigh standing up.
"It's time for breakfast." She states warily, rubbing her dark circled eye. I give her a curt nod and she slams the door shut.
Running a hand over my chest, I look around at my clothing from last night strewn over the floor. My head still ached, the pounding was more faint than when I first woke up. The thrashing was like my brain charging against the side of my skull trying to escape its confines. Now it's more of a weak attempt of the brain knocking, hoping that it would soon seize the day.
I wish my brain could leave now more than ever. The hidden shame that haunted its every thought made me more entitled to find a way to forget last night. An easy way to forget is to drink, but I know damn well I cannot go down that root again.
I jumble with my toiletries and leave my room. With just a towel around my waist I aimlessly walk down the seemingly long hallway until I reached a door with 'loo' etched in the door encompassed by a gilded plaque. I remember for years, it was my goal to be as tall as this sign, and now that I am, the goal of my past self is so pointless and overall meaningless.
As I walk in I am shocked with my facial features in the mirror. The man reflected back had hooded eyes with dark circles, matching Gemma's and my lips were permanently etched in a frown.
I need to fix myself before Desmond sees my ultimate weakness, my lack of control over myself. It may have been apparent with the alcohol pumping through my veins like it was my very own blood. But even sober I could never truly find myself. I am a shell of a man with no career path but army skills. Looks but no sound. Just a last name that serves as my only foundation for some success.
Soon Desmond will be six foot under and I will inherit his massive cotton industry..and that's about it.
Once I am decent I descend down the stairs. Instantly, I can hear the clatters of silverware against plates. Even though the house was large, the walls were thin.
"Look who decides to join this morning!" Mother cheers happily as she stands from her chair. "Sit here son, you look knackered."
So much for me trying to look decent.
Refusing to answer, I plop in the seat and grab a bagel from the middle of the table.
"I can't believe he's auctioning Orum today. He grew up so much over the years. A little older than you H. He would be a great addition in the field. What do ya think?" Desmond flips through the newspaper absentmindedly.
"I guess so pops." I shrug my shoulders, taking a bite of my bagel.
"Boy I want you to join me."
"Join what?"
"I want you to come to the auction. See how it works and how to get the best deals of course."
"I uh, have plans today. Maybe another day." I shut him down quickly while finishing my bagel in a haste.
"Whatever, that's what you always say." He grumbles with his nose bury deep in the newspaper. Ha. Which is new, since it is usually buried so far up his-
"Is that all you are gonna eat Haz?" Gemma looks up at me from her plate.
I nod and get up from my seat.
"I'm leaving out." I state, heading back to my room.
I run my hand through my hair and strut to my dresser. I twiddle with my collection of rings before sliding the silver beauties on my fingers. These are my prize possessions. No one can ever take these from me.
I smile at them then throw on a simple white button up and dark colored jeans. I grab my brown boots and run back down the stairs.
I don't try to issue a goodbye and walk out the door.
The weather is simply..delightful. I would absolutely choose the South happily over the North. Back there it was always frigid, cold, and gray. The smell of smoke nearly suffocated me as I tried to take in the day. Up there was like, like an ash heap, it lacked varies of color, unlike the South.
I could walk for ages down these streets. I find my own short cuts and sometimes get lost amidst the newfound colors in my adventures. However, there is one place that I knew by heart would always have what I wanted.
The Luck of the Liquor, a pub not too far from my home fortunately.
When I cross the dirt covered road onto the familiar path that led me straight there made me feel nostalgic all of a sudden.
I missed my friends, especially the owner Niall. He knew about my lack of drinking habits and always questions why on earth would I go there to just sulk around on a red barstool.
The reason was for her. I remember sitting there, watching the way her hips moved succulently to the smooth jazz. Her dark red hair just falling onto her shoulders.
I would drink the cool water, yet my throat always went dry as the damn desert when her and I would make eye contact. And she knew what she did to me and she loved it.
I loved it too.
Oh JoAnne, my JoAnne I know you can truly appease the hunger bubbling up in my stomach.
I happily push pass through the dark wood door and instantly I am bombarded by boisterous music and clanking of glasses.
"Oi! It's to early to be havin' a drink 'ere bud!" I hear Niall shout at me while ushering me over with his hands.
"I don't drink Ni, you know that"
"That's not what I heard last night. Word aroun' town said Harry Styles party animal. I already knew that was a lie unless you had your cup laced with somethin.'" He cackles while wiping down the table.
"Ha ha. Is she here?"
"Oh, your little play toy. Of course she is, always. She's been waitin' for ya." He uses his rag to point in a direction.
My eyes wander and I see JoAnne dancing on a table with a tall glass in her hand. I chuckle as I took in her appearance. Her hair, frizzy yet beautiful. Her flowy dress twirls gracefully in the air as she dips and spins.
She must of felt it, she had to have felt my presence. Why else would she have looked at me? Why else would we be making eye contact at this very moment? I saw her ghostly smirk, because her and I both knew, my mouth has run dry once more.
______
How do you feel about JoAnne?
All the love xx
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Dedicated to poptartlondonstyles & rainvictus
There are so many people that I want to dedicate chapters to but they won't be notified unless they follow me or vice versa...the struggle.