His backpack was dropped to the floor, creating a thud throughout the room, and Harry flopped face first into his bedsheets as soon as he got home. The back of his neck felt sweaty from the blazing sun, cool air washing over the damp skin. His thoughts raced in his head, thinking of all the things he should've said but didn't, and he had to fight the urge to add fuel to the fire by sending Sophie a text message filled with anger. The sound of his bedroom door popping open behind him was ignored, but Gemma's voice was hard to go unnoticed.
"What bills are you paying to be slamming doors?"
The eyeroll he gave went unseen by his sister, and when she came to stand beside him, her knee nudged his leg in attempt for his attention. "Go away."
"I did come in here to piss you off," she admitted. "Nice to see I've gotten a head start."
His words were mumbled into the sheets, partly sounding as a warning, but also a plead. "Don't start with me."
"Why are you being so bitchy?"
Her hands on his back began to shake and bounce him into the sponginess of the mattress, and the warning she chose to ignore was acted upon when he annoyedly shoved her away to sit up and glare at her. "Don't you have anything better to do?"
"No," she disagreed, "I've been bored all day."
That wasn't a good enough reason in Harry's mind. "Well, leave me alone."
Gemma grinned, seeming satisfied with her success. "What happened? Did your little girlie friend do something bad?"
The way she poked at his tickle spot irritated him enough to growl and slap her hand, the smack of skin against skin loud enough for him to realize it was a bit harder than he intended it to be. "She's not my girlfriend, and no she didn't."
"Wow." She shook off the pain in her hand easily. "You're a slut."
"No, I'm not."
Pulling at a loose lock of hair, she continued to tease. "What would mom and dad have to say about that?"
Once again, her hand was slapped away and Harry rushed to stand to his feet. "Can you leave me alone?"
He stepped around her while Gemma perched herself in the newly empty spot on his bed. "Better to be mad at me than whatever else it is that's bothering you."
As he approached his closet, nimble fingers began to pop the buttons down the front of his shirt. He left the cloth draped over his shoulders when the doors were pulled open to reveal the selection of clothes inside. "Or you could act like an adult and not purposely piss me off for no reason."
The shirt fell to the floor and he reached in the closet to pull an old Fleetwood Mac shirt off a hanger. His head disappeared into the fabric as he pulled it on, while he heard Gemma speak from the bed. "You're getting chubby."
The shirt was pulled down to cover his middle, and he tried his hardest to keep his tone level when he spoke. "I can't wait for you to go back to school."
"That's mean," she frowned, watching as he stooped down to find a pair of pants to wear.
The first pair on top were ripped out of the drawer of his bureau, and he stood to his full height. "Get out."
"No."
His jaw clenched at her stubbornness. "I'm not wearing underwear, so unless you want to see my fat ass, get out."
Gemma's face scrunched up, "Gross, who doesn't wear underwear?"
"I need to do laundry. Get out."
His sister slowly slid off the edge of the bed until her toes came into contact with the carpet. As she headed toward the door, she was sure to get in the final words. "You're nasty."
Just as the door clicked shut behind her, Harry began to strip his bottom half free of his school clothes. He found purple welts on the previously clear skin of his thighs. For once, it didn't give him a sense of satisfaction to see. Frowning at the marks, his fingers poked at one of the sore spots. The ache was familiar. A sensation he'd grown accustomed to over the several years he'd spent purposely marking up his skin, but it had been a while since the last time.
He hadn't hurt himself in a long enough time for the marks to fade away completely. His thighs had been clean of any sign of injury for several weeks, but they were back. Their return wasn't one Harry was happy to see, and he hid them away by pulling his pants up and pushed the reminder of just how mean to himself he could be to the back of his mind.
Gemma stepped into the foyer upon hearing Harry's footsteps descending the stairs, freshly clothed and an unhappy expression on his face. He brushed past her at the end, when she spoke to him. "Since you have to do your own laundry, can you do mine? There's not a lot."
"Not a chance." His words were mumbled and disinterested when he began to shove his feet into his shoes. "Ask mom, she'll do anything for you."
He wasn't patient enough to take the time to untie them. Instead, he resorted to wiggling his foot from side to side in attempt to slide them in with minimal effort. Unfortunately, they were too tight and she watched as he stooped down to pull the back of the shoes over his heels. "Where are you going?"
"Out." His feet were successfully lodged into his shoes, and he stood. "You're annoying today and I don't feel like dealing with it."
Before she ever had a chance to reply, he was out the door. Scuffled steps were taken down the front stairs and the pathway leading up to them, out of the shade from the house and into the sunshine on the sidewalks. There was no particular destination, only to get away.
Starting down the street, even after having just walked all the way home, he quickly realized there was no where for him to go. Liam was out with Grace, so walking past his house was a little disappointing, and the further he went into the neighborhood, the sight of Sophie's house annoyed him. The driveway was empty, and it appeared no one was home.
The end of the street joined with the dead end that was cut off by a sea of trees, and he headed straight for it. A path had gradually been beaten down into the ground with the daily trek through the trees, clearly showing where Aubry and himself had resided behind the tree line countless times. She wasn't there when he made it into the clearing, and late afternoon left the area much more shady than what he was used to seeing.
With birds chirping in the trees, and the seclusion paired with the fact no one knew where he would be, he felt a wave of safety wash over him. The surface of the boulder lacking Aubry's presence felt smooth to the touch when he stepped around to lean against it and overlook the lake. It had grown murky and green along the edges from pollen settling along the surface of the water, and cattails had sprouted at the shoreline.
The clean center of the water was tranquil. Without a single ripple, the clouds hanging high in the sky were reflected clearly under the shade of the trees. He found a sense of serenity in watching everything and nothing at the same time. The earth seemed to pause. His world ceased to exist.
This was his safe space.
His hands boosted him up as he scooted back to sit on the rock, feeling cool through his jeans. Shoes came to rest on the rock as well, and his arms hugged at his knees while his chin rested on top. The stillness of the air shifted to a breeze, rustling the vibrant green leaves at the top of the trees. He watched them sway and listened to the sound, beginning to ponder.
Why did the secluded clearing in the woods make better company than anyone or anything else? Was it because he always felt antagonized and made to feel like everything he ever did was wrong, or was it because he truly was bitchy and oversensitive?
Yes to both, he concluded. Maybe it was true he was pushed around a lot. Told how to look, how to act, how to exist. But, he also took things to heart too easily. Everything from mom trying to show him a better way of doing something, to getting an answer wrong on a test, he took as a personal attack. He treated it as if everyone were out to get him, though, sometimes, it really did feel like they were.
Gemma was notorious for trying to get under his skin, and poking fun at his tummy was a highly successful way to do so. Combined with Sophie getting angry with him for something that seemed so minor in his eyes, he was convinced everyone had the goal of ruining his day any chance they could. Maybe Gemma didn't mean any harm, and maybe Harry failed to see the error in his ways, but he gave up pretending to care. Sophie could stay mad all she wanted, because his anger blew away with the wind when he rendered it useless to hang onto.
He wanted to be happy. He no longer wanted to hide his feelings from himself, or anyone. He no longer wished to cover his body in marks just to cope with the secret rage he felt inside. Harry wanted happiness.
A seemingly endless amount of time passed watching pond skaters dance along the surface of the water before his bum began to feel numb. Cracking of sticks and rustled leaves in the woods alerted him to a presence part of him fully expected to arrive at some point, though he didn't think it would take as long as it did.
When the noise ceased, he never turned around to see her before he spoke. "You still going to prom with me?"
There was no reply. Not until after the grass shuffled beneath her feet and her hand leaned on the rock he sat on. "Yeah, why?"
"Just thinking."
Her body squished against his when she perched herself on the rock next to him, squeezing onto the small amount of space left. She found it odd how he hadn't looked at her. "About?"
Her eyes scanned the profile of his face, his lips jutting out when he thought some more. A broad spectrum of things had crossed his mind over the time he spend staring out into the distance, and there was no better way to answer than to be vague. "Everything."
She let his voice settle in the air. "This still about Sophie?"
"No." His overbearing need to be truthful with her took over, and he backtracked. "Actually, a little, but not completely. I have bigger things to focus on than her."
"Like?" Her shoulder delicately came into contact with his arm as she prodded for more information.
Harry's eyes dropped to the grass on the ground. "Like... What's gonna happen after graduation?"
"I thought you were all set on going to Harvard?"
A sigh pushed out from his lungs, the reminder of his impending move to the opposite side of the country was daunting. "No," he denied. "I mean with you. Where are you going, and am I ever going to see you again?"
The level of attachment he was showing to her was rather unsettling. Her eyes cast downward, subconsciously bringing her body just far enough away from him to break contact, though she lingered millimeters away. She would never admit it, but the largest fear she had wasn't spiders, heights, or even the inevitability of death. Her fear was of getting too serious. She feared an emotional connection. She feared commitment, and allowing herself to be vulnerable. Whether it was with Harry, or anyone else, never mattered. She had her walls built up, miles higher than his were.
Her shoes scuffled against the edge of the boulder when she curled in on herself just the way Harry was, her cheek resting on her knee while her eyes looked to the necklace around his neck. She spoke with mumbled words. "NYU."
His shoulders visibly relaxed. "Oh, so not too far from me. That's not bad."
A long, drawn out exhale left her nose, eyes flitting upward to look at his face. Stress still remained strong over his features, and her knuckles touched against his shoulder. "What're you so worried about?"
"I want to be happy." His expression told her he wasn't. "I don't want to change the things that make me feel the closest to that."
"It's only May," she reminded. "Don't have to think about that until August."
His eyes closed when he counted how far away that would be. "Three months. Not very long."
When he heard her sigh, he turned his head to look at her face to face for the first time since she'd entered the woods. His cheek pressed against his knee, leaving his face inches from hers. She tried to fight a smile from the cuteness he possessed with his face appearing slightly squished. "How long have you been out here having an existential crisis?"
"I've been having an existential crisis for eighteen years," he stated, only half joking. "But what time is it?"
"Last I checked it was almost six thirty."
"Two hours." Her tongue darted out to lick at her pink lips, momentarily distracting him from the impending doom he felt was coming.
"Surprised to see you out this late."
He looked down to the tiny space left between their bodies. "I'm supposed to be home, but Gemma called me fat and a slut so I walked out."
The way her brows pinched together was unseen by him. "You're not fat."
"I'm not a slut," he corrected.
"Well, I mean, obviously," Aubry agreed with an airy laugh. "You can't be a slut and a virgin at the same time."
Harry shook his head disbelievingly, accompanying a bitter laugh when he tucked his face between his knees. "I can't leave for college a virgin."
"Why not?" She sat up straight to await his answer, and watched as he lifted his head up to look to the water.
"That's like... the rule." His eyes landed back on her face, scanning the beautiful features. "You lose it before you get there, and then you can act like a slut."
Aubry's teeth chewed on her lip, trying her best to not show how surprised she was that he'd even consider something like that. "Never pictured you as one to care."
"I don't," he lied. "It's just funny to me that I'm three months away from my freshmen year in college and I'm sitting here mad that my sister called me fat."
The laugh she tried her best to hold in sounded like a chortle, her hand coming to cover her mouth to stifle the sound. "Let's be honest, here. You think going to college is suddenly going to turn you into a slut?"
"Yes."
She did nothing to hide the disagreeing look on her face. "I don't think it will."
Harry faltered, the brief smile of confidence he wore falling to the realization that he was fooling himself. "You're probably right, I'm too emotional." His finger pointed in her direction when he thought of more, "But that could be my downfall. Break my heart, and it'll set off the sluttiness."
It was her turn to shake her head with disbelief, chuckling when she regarded him with a caring expression. "Look, you have three months to enjoy where you're at in life now, and then you have an opportunity to start something new. Something potentially even better than being trapped in a small town. That's a blessing."
He disagreed. "This," he pointed between her and himself. "This right here is a blessing. Whatever happens next is unknown."
The sweetness and the sincerity in his words were ignored completely. "That's why you take one day at a time."
Gaze dropping to the ground, he nodded regretfully. "I have to go home before I get in trouble."
The ache in his lower body when he hopped off the boulder and his feet hit the ground was enough to leave him grimacing. His hand dropped to rub at the numbness in his rear end, and Aubry giggled. "Sit too long?"
"Way." His opposite hand rose to cup her cheek and hold her in place, while his lips tenderly met with her forehead. "Thank you."
Her fingers reflexively clasped around his wrist, eyes fluttering closed with the gentle way he touched. "I didn't do anything."
"You do a lot." Not just then, but always. A second kiss just as delicate as the first was placed on her cheek, just to seal the truth from his lips.
When he dropped his hold on her and began to step away, the overbearing need to remind him took over and she found herself calling after him. "Harry?"
The sound of his steps through the grass halted. "Hm?"
Part of him expected something more from her, something to show the affection he craved so badly when she peeked over her shoulder to meet with expectant eyes. That wasn't what he received. "I'm still not your girlfriend."
His shoulders drooped visibly with disappointment, but he didn't allow it to stick with him for too long. With a sigh, he turned around and started back toward the tree line. "Yeah, yeah. I know."
So much time had been spent forcing himself to accept that he was nothing more than friends with Aubry that the words bounced off him quickly. He didn't carry the sadness from the reminder after he stepped out of the woods and back onto the paved streets, the only thing he carried was a sense of determination and a want to make his time left with her worthwhile.
How long his relationship with her would last, whether it was as serious as she feared or as unimportant as he dreaded it to be, was unknown. What he did know was the feelings he had weren't something he'd ever get the chance to experience again. They were special. Just as special as she was.
When he stepped into the house after returning home, it was quiet. Gemma had spent days planted in front of the television in the living room, and the lack of the ambient sound leaking through the house made it seem unusually silent, but only for a moment. "Harry?"
It was his father's voice.
The door was pushed shut behind him, meshing with the sound of his own voice. "Yeah?"
"Just checking."
Harry used his toes to push the back of his shoes off his feet and kicked them to the side, the soles clattering on the shiny wood floor next to the doorway. He followed the direction his father's voice came from, leading him to the kitchen where he found him with papers spread across the countertop and glasses perched on his nose. His eyes were scanning the pages, but caught movement in his peripheral vision when his son approached. "Where were you?"
"Wandering," he answered somewhat truthfully.
"Mom doesn't like when you do that," dad mentioned. "Thinks you'll get kidnapped."
He knew. She was paranoid. "Gemma was being mean so I left."
His eyebrows lifted, sarcasm in his tone when he spoke. "Shocking."
Harry glanced around, as if he'd see her magically appear somewhere to bother him some more. A seat was taken at the stool opposite of where his father stood, and he asked, "Where is she?"
"Out shopping with your mother."
Lips were chewed as Harry's eyes grazed over the pages in front of him. It was something medical, and the light looming above their heads illuminated his father's tired features in a way that made him nervous to bother the man. "You busy?"
He sighed, and pulled his glasses off the bridge of his nose. "What do you want?"
He felt small under his dad's stare. Even though he was grown and stood taller, Harry would forever feel like a child when he had something he was nervous to talk about with him. "I mean, I'll leave you alone if you want me to."
"No," his glasses were set aside. He recognized the look on his son's face. He wanted to talk. "What's up?"
"I..." Harry stopped to let out a breathy laugh, feeling incredibly awkward all of a sudden. He always struggled to begin conversations with him that he desperately needed to have, but were of sensitive subjects. His father was an understanding man. Never once had Harry felt judged or scrutinized by him, which was the polar opposite situation from his mother. That was why he forced himself to quickly put out a disclaimer before he got to the real subject he wanted to talk about. "I'm going to ask you something and I don't want you to think it's for any reason other than it's probably something I should know. I'm not asking for now, but just in case."
The suspicious look he held almost appeared as a glare, noticing the tinge of pink to his son's cheeks. "What are you on about?"
Harry's pulse was racing and his hands had begun to sweat under the close examination of his father. Suddenly, he had every incentive to take everything he said back and chicken out. He looked to the flecks of mica in the granite countertop, reflecting in the light overhead and kept his mouth shut.
"Harry."
His father's urging of him to come out with what he wanted to say forced a harsh exhale from his nose, fingertips drumming on his patella. The words left his mouth as quickly as he could get them out. "How do you use a condom?"
The sound of his laughter was not an expected reaction, but when he heard it, he looked up to see him quickly force himself to be serious. He didn't want to laugh in his son's face. "That's what you're scared to ask?"
Shame was still felt despite receiving no judgement straight off the bat from his father. Still, he frowned. "Yes."
"Why do you need to know?"
The mischievous look in dad's eyes made him uncomfortable. "Not... don't look at me like that."
He laughed again. "You know your mother will kill me if she finds out you went to me for this instead of her."
"She'd rip my throat out for even insinuating." He stared at the man, the smug expression on his face causing Harry to feel two feet tall. "I promise it's not for anything now, just... something I should know and they don't teach us anything about it in a catholic school."
"I know." He stepped away from the counter and opened the refrigerator. "One reason I hated the idea of sending you there was because I knew there would be no sex ed. Mom thought that was a good thing."
The only reason Harry knew any baseline of what sex entailed was because of his father. School taught abstinence, but abstinence was unrealistic. At twelve, a puberty book was given to him to read. At thirteen, he was given the talk. At fourteen, curiosity got the best of him and porn videos were found on his computer. Needless to say, the computer was taken away. At eighteen, he watched his father pull a cucumber out of the fridge and he felt just as mortified then as he had all the years before.
The refrigerator door clicked shut behind him, and Harry looked down to the counter again. "I mean, I don't really need to know."
"You do," dad disagreed. "I'd at least like to send you off to Boston knowing I won't be getting a phone call telling me you got someone pregnant." He stepped around to the side of the counter and urged him, "Let's go."
Harry slithered off the stool, extremely embarrassed and wishing he'd never thought to bring it up in the first place. When dad lead the way up to the second floor with a cucumber in his hand, he knew exactly what he was in for. The light was flicked on in his parent's bedroom, while his father instructed him to sit. He perched himself on the end of the bed, while he watched dad backtrack and shut the door to avoid having the two women of the household come home and see what was happening.
The skin on Harry's thumb was chewed when his father opened up the drawer next to the bed, the idea that his parents had any use for condoms truly disgusting to him. A purple foil packet was ripped off a row of plenty more, and the cucumber was passed over for Harry to hold. The lesson began with an attempt to joke, hoping to get the reddened cheeks of his son to fade. "Sure you can imagine what this is supposed to be."
Harry's lips pinched together, and he fell silent as he was shown the do's and don'ts of male contraception. He tried his hardest to make it quick to spare Harry's sanity. However, even once the demonstration was over and he no longer felt like the physician in his father was taking over, he still felt embarrassed.
The cucumber wearing a condom was tossed aside on the bed and Harry stood to leave, his father was quick to add on to the subject before it ended completely. "By the way," he spoke. "For whatever the real reason it is you're asking, don't touch Sophie. I'll never hear the end of that one."
He watched his son shift uncomfortably on his feet. "Trust me, it's not for her."
A teasing brow lifted, exposing the fine lines of age on his forehead. "So you're admitting it is for someone?"
"No," Harry quickly denied. "But it certainly wouldn't be her if it was."
There was a sense of distrust as the words settled with his father. The guilty look on his face was easily mistaken for embarrassment, and before he sent him on his way, he finished with, "Don't be an idiot."
Note to self: Live free.
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ALL HAIL THE MAGIC CONCH LOOLOOOLOOLOOLOOLOOLOO
I spent the entirety of yesterday from 9am to 2am this morning writing and I'm fuckin tired
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