The Sculpture and The Sculptured (l.s)

eighteen

TRIGGER WARNING: discussion of abuse

Harry,

I've done my best to improve my penmanship. Have you noticed? It amuses me that I work so hard on things that shouldn't matter, but I do so with the hopes of you not only paying attention to them but being proud of them.

I have kept you in my thoughts these past weeks. How are you? Are you being treated alright? You wouldn't tell me the truth, anyway. You'd suffer for my sake. I miss you dearly— your touch, your embrace, your soft whispers, your breathless laugh, and the gentle way you listen and ease me worries. Ah, this sound erotic but I promise that this isn't the intention of this letter. Though, perhaps I will write one some day— just to read your response, though seeing it would be more satisfying.

I've been brought to Mrs. Walker's home for my apprenticeship. She, too, is lost in why I'm doing another one. I haven't told her the honest truth of things back home, but I think her womanly insight has led her to believe that the Tomlinson household is having some inner conflict. After all, what father send his son away so fast after the passing of his wife and mother of his children?

The news of her death has traveled to Port City. Unbeknownst to me, Mrs. Walker was a close friend of hers. She has a letter penned to her from my mother, but she won't let me read it. She says she will when the day comes. Nonetheless, she has dressed in black clothing to mourn my mother. Her respect for my mother's death has touched my heart because I deeply believe that father has not. Anyway, Mrs. Walker is a warm woman. She has no children, they've all passed due to illness, so I think she has taken on a motherly role with me. This is fine— I've been wanting the motherly love, and affection for awhile now. I know you hold deep love for me, but a lover is different from a parent— this is a role you simply can't fill. I'm sorry.

However, I will say that her care is also creating a longing for you. She understands me as a boy, but you understand me as a man and treat me as such. You have no idea how much I want to see you. If I had the opportunity, just for a day, we would never spend those hours a part from each other. Whether it be rolling around in the sheets to create heated memories during an already hot season, or mumbling and chatting about nonsense as the world around us freezes to give us peace— I want it all back. I seem to have taken it for granted.

I know you are wondering about Ms. Williams, and perhaps it would be mean and inconsiderate of me not tell you. However, I will not. I know, despite your firm answer and seemingly resolute trust, you are a man of a passion. I've been told that passionate men are also friends with jealousy. So, writing about our courtship and talks will not serve you. Perhaps hiding it will be a disservice as well. I don't know which you prefer— tell me. As for now, there will be news of Ms. Williams in this letter. I apologize if you were hoping for the opposite, but I would rather this letter be a moment of smiles rather than a moment of twisted knots in your stomach.

I want to take a moment to ask about Zayn. I have doubts about you being able to see him, let alone speak with him. However, if you have, please inform me. I'm sure you have noticed his predicament, and I have known about it for years— hence why I have grown with him, to give a piece of sanity. I cannot imagine what father has done now that mother is gone. I would also like an update on my siblings. I deeply regret not properly departing with them, but I'm sure you know how difficult and shocking my exit was to me. I was embarrassed, as a son and older brother, to be treated in such a way by my father that I could not bare looking at the confusion and agony on their faces. Tell them I am sorry.

Finally, I want to take the time to reassure you of my affection. You are still my first, and only. I adore you so much, and this distance has made this even more clear to me. I want to reiterate how dear you are to me, and I hope you will care for yourself and be honest in the letters you send to me about your well-being.

Yours truly,
Louis

Harry steps back from his statue to look at his work, nodding to himself as he looks at the stone. It's nowhere near done, but the large chunks are gone and they've left a rough image of what the stone is to become. Harry wipes the sweat from his forehead, and turns when he hears someone clear their throat. Standing a few feet away is Zayn, dressed in a night gown and exhausted as both men are up before the rooster.

"I don't have much time." The pianist mumbles as Harry rushes over to him. He looks exhausted, physically worn down, and depressed. Bruises scatter his arms, face, and neck. Harry doesn't want to know what he looks like underneath the gown.

"Sit down." Harry helps him to the stoop of the shed, and goes to his bucket of fresh water. He rips off the sleeve of his shirt, soaks it, and brings it over to Zayn. It's clear the pianist hasn't washed in at least a week, he reeks of sweat and semen as well. He cleans what he can by himself as Zayn leans on the door with his eyes closed. "You're so frail. My goodness. How did you make it out here?"

"I got him drunk," Zayn mumbles, "he won't wake up until tomorrow afternoon."

Harry has a million questions for his new friend, but clenches his jaw to keep from asking them. It's clear that Zayn has been abused, tormented, and traumatized. He doesn't want to invoke him. "Zayn—"

"I want you to tell Louis that I'm sorry." He whispers, and Harry looks to see him holding back tears. "I came here right before he left for his first apprenticeship. His father was so cruel, and abusive towards him. I would listen to Louis cry in his room while studying, but he would never scream when his father beat him. Mr. Rodgerick did his best to take the beatings, but he lost his strength pretty quickly due to Mr. Tomlinson's constant fits of rage. When Louis left, there was a void in the house. I saw him snapping on the girls and Mrs. Tomlinson, and I thought... I thought I was young, and strong enough to handle it."

Harry dips the cloth again as he listens. "I told him that he could do whatever he wanted to me because I wouldn't break. He just needed to leave his family be. It wasn't long before his anger started to be directed towards me, but he couldn't be as open about it because I bring in money and sponsors."

"That's why you, and Louis are close." Harry concludes. "You saved him a lot of grief."

Zayn wipes his eyes, and stumbles to stand. Harry holds him up quickly so he doesn't fall. "I didn't do anything. Mrs. Tomlinson's death proves it."

"Listen," Harry whispers, "I can write to Mr. Payne. I'm sure he can find someone to buy you from Mr. Tomlinson, someone with more peace and has a kind heart—"

Zayn shoves him off roughly, and stumbles away. "Just tell Louis that I'm sorry..."