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Ba-ba-beating Again

1/1

Ba-ba-beating Again

Harry looked down at the slip of paper that had been slid under his door while he was gone. The words were small, written neatly, but just because they were passive in appearance didn’t mean that they didn’t pack a powerful punch. The words formed two definitions.

Abuse is the improper usage or treatment for a bad purpose, often to unfairly or improperly gain benefit.

Self-harm is the deliberate infliction of damage to your own body, and includes cutting, burning, and other forms of injury.

Before Harry could realize that his body gave out, he felt his cheek against the rough cool floor. It was actually a welcomed feeling against his burning body. An inferno was raging after reading two little definitions of words he was more familiar with than he’d ever admit.

On top of the fire, Harry’s mind was reeling. Images of bloody towels, and bruised battered skin whirred through his head in lightning speed. He closed his eyes, and wrapped his arms around his torso, but despite his efforts, poor Harry couldn’t protect himself from the gruesome images bombarding his fragile psyche.

Harry lay there for moment wincing every now and then over the repeating images until they started to change. It was subtle at first, but Harry would have had to have been crackers not to realize what was happening. And then suddenly Harry was up on his feet, running to the toilet, and rummaging through his medicine cabinet. He had to block out the new images, he had to escape from them.

Soon, he found what he was looking for, his method of release. He kept it in a small box most people would keep nail clippers in, but when he opened said box it was empty. He had the sneaking suspicion that one of the lads knew his dingiest secrets, but now he realized, they most certainly knew and took his colorful shard of glass he had kept since the incident.

Letting out a strangled cry, Harry toppled backwards and crawled on his hands and needs to his bedroom. There on the night stand, lay the answer Harry should have seen before. Harry reached up with one hand, using the other for balance and knocked off the bottle of pills he had been looking for. Next, he reached for the nearly full liquor bottle.

Flipping over onto his back, Harry held in one hand the open bottle of pills and in the other hand the liquor bottle. The label on the pills was hand written and read ‘For Harry’s Sadness.’ It wasn’t something prescribed, but Harry knew that he needed to get his hands on something to stomp down the pain when it became too much. So he found a willing dealer with a wicked sense of humor.

Harry took a deep breath before nudging a few pills out of the container and into his mouth, and in one motion he took a long pull from the liquor bottle, swallowing the pills. He wasn’t looking to kill himself, not this time. He was just looking to block those bloody flashbacks.

Pinching his eyes shut the boy in pain took a few more pulls from the slowly emptying bottle and before he knew it, he felt warm and cool all at the same time. The fire that had been raging inside him had subsided and he felt wispy, like he was trodding through fields of clouds. Finally, the poor boy felt peace, but it didn’t last long.

Harry’s body began shaking and sweat pooled on every inch of his body, his breathing slowed, his vision blacked out and the clouds he had been on disappeared out from under his feet.

Harry’s consciousness was ripped away from him, so he did not hear his phone’s constant ringing, or eventually the thumping on his front door. He most certainly did not hear his door being broken down.

Words could not explain the horror Louis felt as he took in the scene in front of him. A half empty bottle of Xanax lay in Harry’s curled fist and a puddle of the remaining whisky from the amber bottle encircled Harry’s upper body, soaking his curls.

“Harry! Harry! Harry!” Louis screamed falling to his knees as he saw his mate lying flat on his back convulsing with open unseeing eyes.

“S*** Harry don’t do this! Why are you doing this?” Louis sobbed reaching in his pocket for his mobile.

Louis fumbled over the familiar digits that would connect him to emergency services. When the operator answered Louis had trouble finding his voice, and when he did it was a dead panicked croak. “Help! My mate Harry has overdosed on Xanax. He’s.. I think he’s seizing, and he’s unresponsive. Please send someone fast. I don’t.. I don’t know how long he’s been like this.”

A, what seemed like hours, wait and a tear filled ambulance ride later Louis had to leave Harry’s side in order for him to get his stomach pumped.

Hours later, Harry woke up feeling like he had been run over by a double decker bus a couple thousand times. It took him a moment to realize where he was, he had to look over the grey walls, the grey ceiling, and the grey view outside the large bay window to realize he was in hospital room.

With that realization Harry began to panic, trying his best to get out of bed, but to no avail. He tried to simply wriggle his arms, but he couldn’t due to the restraints tying down all his limbs. Harry’s lip trembled as he fought against the ties, trying his best to be free.

He couldn’t be in the hospital; they would think he had tried to kill himself. The cuts and burns littering his previously flawless skin would be evidence enough for them, let alone the pills he had taken. He couldn’t let that get out, but more importantly he couldn’t be locked in a psyche ward.

“What. The. Bloody. Hell. Were. You. Thinking.” Louis asked his voice eerily bleak.

With that Harry crumbled. Tears streaked his gorgeous face, and his heart contracted painfully as if it were going to shatter right there inside his chest.

Wordlessly Louis got up from his seat and sat on the bed beside the breaking boy. He took Harry’s too cold hand and held it out of habit.

“I.. please.. don’t.. I.. kill myself..” Harry said in between sobs. He couldn’t bring himself to form a whole sentence.

He was hurting too badly.

“What?” Louis asked placing his free hand on Harry’s lips, causing his sobs to get stuck in his throat.

“Try again,” Louis encouraged shifting demeanors right before Harry’s eyes.

Harry gasped taking a few deep shaky breaths and tried to get his point across with actual sentences. “I didn’t do it. Please believe me. Don’t be mad at me. I didn’t try to kill myself.”

“Then how do you explain the ten pills and third of whisky they found in your body? Did you accidentally take all those pills and drink all that liquor?”

Louis’ words dug into Harry’s frail mental state like yellow jackets stingers dig into human flesh. “I got your note. I didn’t have my glass. I.. got these terrible ..flashbacks and I had read that Xanax helped with panic attacks and depression so I got me some. I didn’t realize how much I took. The liquor was just something sitting on my nightstand, to wash it down. Please don’t be mad at me. I didn’t mean to.”

Harry’s composure cracked and he started blubbering again, and turned his head so his face was hidden in his pillow.

“Shh, shh, say I believe you; then what are these for?” Louis asked running a finger gently up Harry’s scared arm.

Harry flinched wishing he could jerk away from Louis’ touch and prying eyes, but he couldn’t move much. “They run the wrong way for suicide. Cut down the river not across the stream remember?” Harry offered with a dry shrug.

“What the actual f*** does that mean, Harry? Are you trying to be funny?” Louis said and it was apparent on his face he was instantly regretful.

“It’s another way of coping. Don’t you get it; everything I do anymore is a way of coping! I can’t live a normal life anymore. I can’t be a normal person anymore! I decided to pursue music in hopes of escaping from my past, but it follows me, no matter how amazing things can be for a while. It always finds a way back to me.”

After airing that all out Harry was sure he was going to cry again, but instead he became eerily calm as if one wrong word would set him off.

Louis’ face drained a pale white and he leaned forward embracing Harry as best he could, Harry tried not flinch at the contact. When Louis sat up he tried making words, but only his lips were moving. Finally, it seemed as if his thoughts fell into place. “What ever happened to you Harry? What was so bad that made you this way?”

“Christ, where do I start? My mother started seeing real bumsuckers after the divorce. There was one who was particularly bad. He abused me, a lot. Any type of abuse you name it. I reckon the sexual abuse was the worst because I couldn’t lock myself away into my happy place, not when he was inside me. It was just something I couldn’t ignore. His breath was all around me, coke and rum, a drink I still can’t stomach the smell of to this day, and his sweat always soaked me.

Then one day he came to me straight from my mum’s room, he said she was asleep and he wasn’t satisfied yet, he had his rum bottle with him. He was really tanked, more so than normal. I was tired; he had woken me out of a deep sleep. I wasn’t thinking clearly, and when he forced his way into me I started crying out. It made him angry, so angry that I was frightened, and I started crying and screaming for him to stop. That was a mistake, I knew it, but I couldn’t help it. This time was different.

When his verbal warnings didn’t shut me up, he used physical warnings. But I didn’t stop making noise. I was too scared. He started threatening to kill me and to kill my mum and called me names. He wrapped his hands around my throat and tried to choke me, I started struggling, and losing air. I had to act fast if I wanted to live, so I picked up his liquor bottle and crashed it over the back of his head. I just kept hitting him with it again and again sobbing and crying, until finally my mum walked in and pulled me out from under his lifeless body.”

“Jesus H. Christ, Harry, how old were you?”

Harry licked his lips, his throat feeling extremely dry after finally telling someone about the incident. “Eleven. It started a couple days before my tenth birthday.”

Tears streamed down Louis’ face, but Harry didn’t feel the need to cry anymore. He felt as though it was a little easier to breath, as if he could stand a little taller. He finally felt free, of the secret that has ghosted him all throughout his life, if only slightly. It was a start anyway. It was as if his heart finally started beating again.

Notes

This was exrtemely hard to write so feedback would be amazing.

(shameless plug: accepting requests)

Comments

omfg that was so damn

@Cjparker
I'm sorry sweetheart. I'm just finishing up one fic so maybe I will have time to think of something to do.
@IxCantxStandxIt

I want to read more! Grr
@Cjparker
Well I haven't exactly decided what I'm going to do with this yet, because originally it was just meant to be a one shot. But once I get things figured out I will. I promise. :)
@IxCantxStandxIt

Update as soon as poosible, pretty plz?