SONG(s) FOR CHAPTER: 

♬ My Demons by Starset ♬ 

♬ World War Me by Theory of a Deadman ♬  

CHAPTER 20

♕ HARRY STYLES ♕

IT WAS GEMMA'S fourteenth birthday. A bright Saturday afternoon with the sound of children's laughter laced in the breeze, prancing around the park with no care in the world. Everything as it should be. Normal. Playful. Safe.

I remember telling my old friend Micah how lucky Gemma was that it was sunny on her birthday. Here in London, sunny weather it hard to come by. It rained at my birthday party a mere few months ago, leading to the backyard picnic being moved inside. I hadn't minded too much, but I'd be lying if I were to say I wasn't a bit jealous of Gemma for having better luck than me.

I was around ten at the time, so Micah and I were sitting in the grass under an oak conversing about the fourth Harry Potter movie that we had yet been able to go see. It's been out about six months now, but Mum was on a tight budget and I definitely understood that. It was rough, though, to hear everyone else at school praising it so highly and chatting ecstatically when I couldn't even afford the book to hold me over.

Anyways, Mum had just called for the kids as it was present-opening time. It was starting to get a bit cloudy then, most people already leaving the park. But Gemma had the biggest smile on her face, one that could surely blind someone from beauty and brightness. I wished she were that happy all the time. I wished Mum were that happy all the time.

Micah's sister, Sarah, was Gemma's age and her altogether best friend. Gemma opened her present first which happened to be an assorted makeup kit that seemed excessively large, and a silver necklace with Gemma's birthstone in the middle of a heart—tanzanite. She put it on and the vibrant blue hue accentuated her skin tone perfectly.

She saved mine and Mum's present for last. Mum and I had agreed to get her a new pair of Heelys since Dad burned her old ones. She had forgotten to do the dishes one night after dinner, which obviously was a mistake. Mum picked her out a snug t-shirt with ripped jeans, and I burned her a CD. She was always talking about how much of a great music taste I had, so it was the most creative thing I could come up with.

Mum really wanted to get Gemma a new television or stereo system, but the Heelys were as expensive as we could get. Even then, Mum exceeded her budget just to make sure her daughter kept smiling on her birthday. I forked a few extra hidden pounds out of my drawer and secretly into Mum's wallet to help out. She'd never take my money otherwise.

Little did she know I took it from Dad. He could live without an extra beer or two a few nights. He never gave Mum enough money to spend for groceries, so what else was I to do? Let her and Gemma starve when money was being kept from them?

Resurfacing from yet another tangent, Gemma just reached for my CD I made her. Her grin only widened, if it were possible, and the hug she gave me next was considerably tight. But I relished in it. Unlike most siblings, Gemma and I hardly ever fought.

We needed each other too much to have time for pathetic skirmishes, even with our four year age gap.

Next, we all sang that irritable happy birthday song no kid can ever seem to go without at a party. Gemma especially loved it because all eyes were on her while she waited to blow out her candles. When the opportune moment came, Gemma reveled in the attention, knowing she wouldn't get it for long. I was always the opposite—I never wanted it.

However, right after she blew the candles out, the unmistakable sound of screeching tires on asphalt made everyone look up. Mum already looked near tears and Gemma and I exchanged worried glances, while everyone else observed from the shadows.

He was supposed to be working. He wasn't supposed to be here. He would ruin it. All of it. He always did.

Dad got out of his car, angrily slamming the door behind him. I hated how I flinched. I hated how Gemma and Mum shrunk back instinctively. I hated how he dangled all of us by a single thread, knowing he could clip it at any moment and we'd fall into his hands like putty.

I was only ten. Still lanky, still closer to weak than strong. But I was protective and determined. Which is why I always stepped in front of the two when he was around. If he was going to hurt anyone, it'd be me. And most times, that was enough to content him.

He walked right up to the table, keeping a five foot distance between us. I tried to put as much hatred in my stare as possible, but his always overpowered mine. If there were to ever be a walking devil on earth, it was my father. You could practically see the horns sticking from the sides of his head.

Folding his arms, he tossed a mocking smirk at us before letting out a humorless laugh. "Throwing my daughter's party without me, yeah?"

This was a test. We all knew it. No one spoke. No one moved.

He dragged a hand down his face. I was thankful it was only Mum, Gemma, Micah, Sarah, and I. They had all witnessed him before and knew what to do when said episode occurred. I was relieved no innocent bystanders would get hurt because of him.

"I see." He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, bobbing his head up and down as if listening to a catchy tune. And maybe, perhaps, our fear was music to his ears.

Mum took a small step forward, yet still behind me. She could never handle the tension. Always nearly broke down or tried to prevent the inevitable. "Andy, please—"

All it took was a finger jab in her direction for her to stop mid-sentence. "Don't you dare try to say this was for her own happiness." He glared at Gemma and I wished I were taller to block his view. "Is this what you wanted for your birthday, Gemma? A neglected father?"

I almost threw up.

Gemma stammered. "N-no, I just... You were just..."

Dad slammed his fist against the trashcan next to him, a loud bang! surrounding us before fading away into silence once more. To be fair, I wasn't sure if I liked the abrupt sound or the silence better. Both were bound to bring tears and screams and cries. And pain. So much pain.

"No one told me about this damned party!" he yelled. "Do you think I would've gone to work if I knew?"

 That was the whole point of not telling you...

"I'm tired of getting disrespected by this family!"

 The rope swings both ways...

"I DON'T DESERVE THIS!"

 So why do we...?

After his brief tantrum, he had Mum crying and shaking and Gemma biting her nails. She once had to go to the hospital because she bit her nails so low, they bled. Mum said to blame it on an exam so the punishment wouldn't worsen. If only they knew about her severe anxiety.

He stepped closer. I attempted to stand taller.

"Move out of the way, kid," he snapped. "I need to tell my daughter happy birthday."

"You're at a reasonable distance," I said, using all the confidence inside me to do so.

Dad's nostrils flared, his eyes flicking back to Micah, who was comforting Sarah. "Both of you, leave."

Micah gave me an unsure look, but I nodded a little to him to say it was okay. He didn't need to be apart of this abuse. He needed to promise his sister safety, just as I intended to promise mine. It was a futile attempt of assurance, but Gemma always did the same to me after I took the most of Dad's whippings.

Micah and Sarah walked away quickly, Sarah pulling out her phone to no doubt call her own mother. They were a great distance away already, but Dad waited until they were practically miles away, looking like ants more than people. That's where Dad got his strength from, I think—belittling others.

His sharp eyes glared back into my own. "Move," he stated firmly.

I inhaled a nervous breath, clenching my fists to keep my hands from shaking. "No."

If looks could kill, I'd be six feet under.

"I-I won't let you hurt them." I hated how I stuttered. I showed my weakness and he knew it. God, did he know it.

He barked out an exaggerated laugh before grabbing a fistful of my hair, slinging me to the ground. I was quick on my feet in case he were to go after Mum or Gemma, but no. He kept on staring at me, almost in amusement. Like he was waiting for a fight. A fight no ten year old should ever have to participate in.

"Come on, then," he taunted, a smirk on his lips.

I didn't move, too cautious to try. But then he backhanded Gemma in such a swift and aggressive movement, tears pricked my eyes. Mum screamed, but she was already crying. I could never tell if she were scared or angry. Maybe a combination of both, but who could blame her for being either?

In the minute of distraction, I hadn't noticed Dad picked up a stick until it made contact with my cheek, leaving a burning sensation afterwards. I didn't even have time to get to my feet again before I felt the stick strike me in the back of the neck, the back of the head. I hated how I was crying. I hated how I was drowning in my own weakness. I hated how I couldn't even defend myself, let alone Gemma and Mum.

My self-loathing caused for an even more brutal attack. Dad lifted my shirt over my head, baring my back to him as I laid helplessly on my stomach. One strike across the back, then two, and then the stick broke because of how hard he was swinging.

No stick, no problem. I could hear him take off his belt as a replacement.

And then I could feel it.

One strike. Two. Three. Four, five, six, seven. Ten strikes later, my throat was sore from screaming, my voice hoarse. I had dirt pressing painfully under my nails from how tightly I had been trying to grip the ground, as if it could ease the pain. Gemma was screaming profanities, Mum was crying, but Dad... he made no sound.

I felt dizzy, to say the least, but somehow had enough strength to glance over my shoulder. An elder man had come to my rescue, shoving Dad far away from me and in the parking lot. He laid a solid punch to my father's face before my father struck back. Apparently, my father hit him so hard, my savior fell backwards. And in doing so, hit his head, hard, on the running board adorning my father's truck.

In thanks for saving a child, he was rewarded with death.

Dad stormed back over to me, grabbing my hair again and yanking my face up to be leveled with his. "You watch your mouth when you speak to me, understand?" he spat, saliva dripping from his chin like he were an animal.

Pathetic and defeated, all I could do was nod in his grasp.

He let my face fall back into the dirt before telling Mum and Gemma he'd see them at home, then he got in his truck, backed over my savior, and sped off.

★ ☆ ★ ☆

"That was the first time he left scars on me," I whispered, staring down at my hands. "I missed school for almost two weeks because I could barely walk."

I wasn't looking, but I could feel Grace's eyes on me. She wanted to know more about everything, fine. She was in her right to know, after all. I just stepped in front of moving vehicle. But just as much as I could tell her about it, I could regret reliving the scenes.

She wasn't speaking, and I hated when she did that. She knew I would keep talking if she stayed quiet. I hated that and loved it. I loved that she was so generous and down-to-earth and kind. But I hated that I was so pathetic and weak and spineless. I shouldn't be letting her see how vulnerable I really am. She'll never trust me to protect her ever again. She'll never want to be with me when she knows how much cowardliness lives inside me.

I kept speaking anyways.

"The next time was only a few months later. He pushed me down the stairs after I punched him in the jaw for catching him trying to..." Tears stung my eyes. I clenched my fists. I dug my nails in my bare legs. I did anything to keep the image away. "What kind of sick bastard does that to their daughter?" I whispered instead, not being able to finish the previous sentence.

"I got a concussion from the stairs," I continued, moving past the worst of it. "And broke my arm. If you look, you can actually see small nail marks from how tight he gripped me before he pushed me."

For visible presentation, I lifted my right arm and pointed at the tiny crescents that had mostly faded. They were minute, after all. I didn't expect them to be there for a lifetime, but eleven years was more than enough.

Grace traced her fingers over the marks so carefully, she sent chills down my spine. My whole body tingled and I had to move away. One more gentle caress and I might just have another meltdown entirely.

"Remember when we went to the beach?"

She nodded, her eyes sad and dull thanks to my sap story. I wished I wouldn't have made her so sad. I hated myself for that.

I ran a hand through my hair. "You didn't see my back then because there was this cream Aria found. Supposed to heal scars and it was waterproof. It didn't heal them, but it covered them. I was so paranoid that whole day that someone might see and ask about them."

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, her hand coming up to cup my cheek. I did my best to keep my emotions at a minimum, but I leaned into her touch nonetheless. How was I to put up an offer that so rarely passed me by? The last person to be so gentle with me was my mother, and I missed it. I missed the careful touched but loathed the concept of fragility that came with it.

"Say something, please," I said quietly, resting my forehead against hers. I closed my eyes, savoring how close we were. "I... I understand if you don't want to be with me anymore, Grace. You deserve someone that has their whole brain intact."

Hearing Grace laugh a little at my crappy attempt at a joke, I opened my eyes only to find that she was crying. We were just bat and a thousand, weren't we? It felt like all I've been doing is crying and now Grace has picked up on the new trend.

"You're so stupid," she murmured, stifling another laugh but letting a small smile show, "to think I would ever choose sanity over you. We're all insane in some ways, Harry. And me? I'm insanely in love with you." She pressed her lips softly to mine as if to emphasize her point.

I pulled her in close to me, nestling my face in her hair. She kissed my neck before resting her head on my shoulder.

"I'm always going to be here for you, okay?"

Before I could reply, there was a quiet knock at the door. Grace and I pulled apart just as the doctor I vaguely remembered from earlier poked his head in.

"I'm sorry, dear, but ten minutes is up," he said in a careful tone, glancing at me nervously as if I might pounce on him. "Visiting hours begin at eight, so you can come back then, yeah?"

I looked at Grace with pleading eyes. She couldn't leave me. Not here, in this place I don't belong. Or maybe I do. But I needed her. Couldn't she see the desperation in my eyes? Couldn't she tell how much I needed her? Especially after all she just said?

"It's okay," she whispered, as if reading my mind. She kissed my forehead and ran her fingers through my hair. "I'll be back first thing in the morning, I promise."

Was it pathetic to admit that I didn't want to be left alone in a place like this? Even though these people were crazy just as I was, they scared me. God, that sounded so childish to say. It wasn't like a crazy person would waltz in here specifically for me.

Honestly, I'm not even sure what I was afraid of. The atmosphere itself, I suppose.

"Get some rest, Harry, okay?" Grace kissed my lips again before standing.

My heart began to race at the thought of being left alone the rest of the night. My head was starting to throb again—it hadn't hurt the slightest when Grace was by me. "First thing in the morning?" I asked childishly.

But Grace only smiled. "First thing in the morning," she confirmed.

Then she and the doctor both left me alone in the room with only my thoughts to keep my company.

And that, my friends, was terrifying enough to make anyone go crazy.

(sorry this wasn't up yesterday. I actually planned for it to be, but my wrist went all bananas on me and I had to go to the doctor. Got a splint—kind of like a cast except you can take it on and off—and it's excruciating to write in. hope this was an okay chapter, though! another soon to come this weekend. love you lots x

p.s. I didn't edit this chapter because this splint makes it hella hard to operate a laptop. forgive me lovelies x)