Harry woke up on the hard floor of his bedroom. As he tried to move his body, his back ached from the awkward position he had fallen asleep in. It felt like he had been there for days, but a simple look at his phone told him it had only been a few hours.
It took him a while to remember how he ended up on the floor in the first place. He hadn't been so tired that he passed out, or been curled up reading on the carpet like he loves to do. The hint came from the slight tingle in his hand and the puffiness of his eyes. When the day came back to Harry, he wished it hadn't.
He blew a puff of air out and stood up, making his way to his bed in an awkward sore-jointed-walk. Harry crawled into bed again and rest his head on his pillow. He kind of just laid there with his eyes open looking towards the wall. He wasn't going to fall asleep, no, he wasn't tired. He just wanted to lay there and let his thoughts travel for once. He was usually such an overthinker, a dreamer they call it. Now, he wasn't dreaming of anything. His thoughts were wandering into an abyss and he didn't feel like they could ever be interrupte-
"Harry!" A deep voice yelled loudly from below. Harry groaned, suddenly snapped out of his abyss. He tried to wrap his head with his pillow, but the voice called again.
"Harry! Come down here right now please!" This time it was his mother. It wasn't the voice that gave it away, well it was, but the wording was even clearer. In no world would his father say 'please' to him.
Harry stumbled heavily out of bed. He was a pretty lanky boy, but his limbs felt so weighed down at that moment. The amount of dread he was feeling was insurmountable. He thought after the events of this morning, they would leave him alone for at least a day. Apparently, he was wrong.
He stepped lazily down the stairs. Harry froze at the bottom of the steps. He hadn't tripped or even grazed the bottom step. That fact almost made him cry. First Liam, then Louis, now this? It was like his whole routine was completely gone like his whole life was out of tune. And that almost made him start bawling at the bottom of the steps.
Before that could happen, his father stormed quickly towards him with a beige envelope in his hand. He flicked his wrist and the envelope came crashing down before smacking the floor with an audible sound.
Harry flinched subconsciously before his mouth fell slightly. "Is that..?"
"Yes Harry, that is your report card," his father spoke sternly.
"How did you get that?"
"Simple," his father chuckled softly, "I asked politely."
"I thought..." Harry opened his mouth and shut it a few times before speaking again. "I thought they weren't allowed to give that to parents until tomorrow."
"Talk normally son, I didn't raise a fish, did I?"
"But.. how?" Harry looked at the envelope, still flabbergasted.
"I didn't go to them as a parent," His father sneered, "I went to them as one of their top donors."
"But... you're not?" Harry was too shocked to form a coherent sentence. His father wouldn't even buy him fast food on a good day. There was no way he was generous enough to give anything to the school. His father absolutely hated the public school system.
"Ha, you should've seen their faces, they have so many donors, do you think they can keep track? As soon as I even mentioned the money they were all like, 'oh sir, do you need anything, sir?' It was great, I should do it more often." The man had a look on his face, a crazy manipulative face that scared Harry's very core.
Harry tried to snap his gaze off of his father's face, but it landed on the envelope. He had obviously brought it for a reason, called him down for a reason. Harry felt so anxious, his chest felt like it a knob turned fifty times past its limit. He looked back at his father's face, which was smiling.
"Here's the thing Harry," his father kept talking in the slow, twisted voice Harry hated so much. "I haven't opened it yet."
Harry felt his hand dart out for the envelope without thinking. Unfortunately, his father was probably expecting that.
"Nuh uh uh Harry, what good would that do? I could always just get a new one don't you think?"
Harry wanted to puke just knowing that this man was his father.
"Fine," Harry sighed. He could argue all he wanted, but his father would have every right to open the envelope tomorrow. What good was a day? "Open it then."
The older man was taken slightly aback. His smile faltered for half a second but returned shortly after.
"Wow Harry maybe we're finally starting to see eye to eye on something," He laughed, staring right into his son's eyes. Harry gagged.
He watched his father slide his finger under the sealed flap, ripping open the top. His hands were moving painfully slow as Harry swallowed. He knew his marks weren't ideal. Most of them weren't even up to what his father considered the 'minimum'. It was the first update of the year, nobody had good marks. Harry had an especially hard time this year getting used to the teachers and the heavy workload.
The white sheets slipped from within the envelope to between his father's fat fingers. Harry saw his eyes scan the sheet, turning from disapproving to almost... excited?
"Are they alright?" Harry asked, actually hopeful for the first time today.
"No, they're absolutely horrible," His father laughed. Harry wished he was being sarcastic, but there was no sarcasm at all in his voice. "You think this is okay?"
If Harry was feeling better, he might have argued a little. He might have explained how he had to get used to his teachers, how he still had to switch out of his summer work ethic. He might have told his father about his crazy chemistry teacher who only spoke for a minute at a time when the time was an odd number. He might have told the story of how his geography teacher knocked over the glass globe on the first day and shattered it.
Harry had so many excuses for why his grades weren't up to standards, but he didn't say any of them. Maybe it was because he knew it would get him nowhere. His dad didn't give a shit about the excuses, or the circumstances. He just looked at the numbers and gave disappointed stares. Even so, Harry could've at least tried. But what was the point in that? Harry was done, he didn't care what his father thought about him.
A sharp hand landed on his face with the sound of yelling but Harry was done. His father could say anything he wanted, so anything he wanted, and Harry still couldn't care less. Even as his head got whipped back and forth by his father's hand, Harry didn't feel it. His father was yelling right in front of his face. He was yelling numbers, expletives, and probably much more, but to Harry, it was all so distant.
"Harry!" His father never said his last name when yelling at him. He never wanted to say the name because he had the same one and Harry figured he didn't want to identify as a family.
"Yes?" Harry said lazily. He looked up at his father. Although he couldn't see his own face, he could just feel the emptiness in his eyes. He looked at his father but didn't try enough to focus his eyes, seeing just a blurry fleshy blob in front of him. He felt like he was incredibly tired, which was odd because he had spent most of his day sleeping.
"Why do you have a sixty-two in English?" Shit. He had an eighty-five before this debate project. Had he handed in his written part? He couldn't remember anything. Whatever, it didn't matter anyway.
Harry shrugged in response to his father's question. It wasn't that he didn't have an answer for it, he just didn't want to think about English. To him, it was just when everything went wrong.
"Was it Louis? It's his fault isn't it." His father spoke matter of factly. Harry cringed. He hated hearing such a perfect name come off of those cruel, ugly lips.
"No, of course not," these were the first few words Harry spoke with any sort of emotion at all. He hated himself for saying them with an obviously defensive tone. He noticed his father pick up on that, how his eyes glimmered with realization and an ugly smirk appear on his lips.
"Who's Louis to you hmm?"
Harry pressed his lips together and stayed silent. He looked down at where he was sitting on the last step of the staircase. He looked around at the eggshell walls, the crystal chandelier and the empty space they had filling the house. It was such a nice house, he really didn't appreciate it enough. He heard his father clear his throat loudly but continued to ignore him, looking around.
"Harry, answer me right now," it was kind of funny actually, watching his father get so mad. Harry never was confident enough to defy him. Not that he was confident right now, he just didn't care enough to respond.
"Harry, I'll hurt you," His father threatened. Harry really didn't like how he kept saying his name, but really didn't care about the words. Honestly, he wasn't surprised at the violent nature.
"I'll hurt Louis," Harry looked up slowly, seeing the smile on his face and how dead serious his eyes were.
"How about you don't?" Harry was so pleasantly surprised by his own voice. The words came slow and his voice was lower than usual. His voice didn't come out terrified like he thought it would, but instead, he just sounded incredibly annoyed.
Before Harry had time to smile at his own statement, a knee came fast and hard to his abdomen. A surprised shout came out of the boy's mouth as he got pushed backwards up the stairs. It took all his willpower to make sure that was the only noise that escaped his mouth. He really didn't want to inflate his father's blown up ego anymore.
The man stood on the bottom step of the stairs, between Harry's feet and put one foot on his calf, staring downwards at Harry. Harry felt increasing pressure on his calf, biting his lip as he tried to shake him off. Then the hands came, palms pushing into Harry's shoulders.
Punches came fast and hard all over his body. In the arms, legs, chest, stomach, sides, anywhere his father could reach except for the face. Harry closed his eyes and just tried to breathe as it felt like his whole body was on fire. He tried to convince himself that if he could still breathe, it would be alright. Punches came every few seconds that knocked the breath out of his lungs, crumbling his foundation.
Not even the places where his father couldn't reach were safe. With every punch, the stairs dug into Harry's back where the steps left bruises on his flesh. Each time he tried to curl up into a ball, the pressure on his calf increased as his father stepped on him.
Finally, everything stopped, and Harry just laid there, squirming, shaking, and just trying to get away. His father grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him upwards from the already inclined angle of the stairs.
"Don't think I won't hurt him," His father growled lowly into his face. Harry tried to think about Louis, but he hurt so bad, he just couldn't.
Then Harry was dropped back onto the stairs which knocked the breath right out of him. He was so lucky he hadn't hit his head. Even with all the luck in the world, it didn't help his situation. His father walked away, slamming the front door and Harry was left alone, cold, scared, and trying his very hardest just trying to breathe.
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