The Beacon [h.s]

51

Harry Styles

7 Years Ago

Biting my bottom lip in pain, I attempt to walk down the street. Anywhere but the house, anywhere.

I see the double takes people give me as I pass by, but I pay no attention to it. I'm too focused on getting closer and closer to my destination. I keep my eyes forward, away from the strangers staring down at me. I do my best to hide my limping, but it's hard when every time I take a step, my left thigh throbs with pain.

My nose guides me in the direction of where I'm going, the scent of fresh coffee pulls me closer, and in a few minutes of pushing through the pain, I'm pulling the door open with the very little strength I have left.

The bell chimes above me. I hate that bell. It's like a loud reminder of how I'm running to Mum for the fourth time this week. It's only Wednesday. I roll my eyes as I enter the cafe, cursing that stupid bell in my head too.

I drag myself to the backroom, this becoming all too familiar to me for the amount of times I've come here for this exact reason. I make myself think this is an escape, and it is, until I see Mum.

She pauses what she's grabbing in the backroom and only glances at me frozen in the middle of the entryway for a second before she's dropping the box and running towards me with worry across on her features.

I keep my eyes straight ahead, staring at her when she kneels in front of me, assessing my wounds. I can already hear what she's going to ask me.

My darling, what happened?

"My darling, what happened?" Mum asks like she did yesterday, and the day before that, and a couple days before that, and so on.

I don't know when I started realizing it, the repeated worried speech she gives me every time she sees me hurt, like she doesn't have a clue on how I keep 'injuring' myself. So I've started to keep quiet. I don't answer her questions and I don't tell her what happened because I know she already knows.

Mum hovers her hand over my leg when she sees me look down at it. It's the only thing I do, look down at my wounds as a silent plea for her to tend to it since I don't know how.

Mum scoots away some small boxes and helps me toward a low cabinet. "Sit, sit, I'll go get the first aid kit." She lifts me up and sets me on the top before rushing to the back bathroom.

Mum comes back with the first aid kit and that worried face she always has and kneels down in front of me. I use my finger to point to my left thigh, allowing her to roll my shorts up. I haven't cried yet, and I'm happy about that. I've been practicing not to cry, and it helped because my punishment was a little shorter today.

My leg stings with pain when Mum starts putting ointment on and then wraps it with gauze. She rolls my shorts down and I'm quick to start scooting off the cabinet. Mum helps me down, I close my eyes shortly to deal with the pain before opening them again. I don't like looking at Mum after she cleans up my wounds. This is the part where she'd ask me if I was okay, the part when she'd promise me what she always promises me, that Father will stop eventually and that I had to behave well. I'm sick of it, I keep my eyes down and head out of the back room once Mum serves her only purpose to me.

Limping, I slip behind the front counter where I scan through the glass to see what baked good Mum has for the cafe today. Sometimes I would take a muffin but on most occasions I grab what I always grab. A bagel.

I look up at Mum and point my hand at the glass where the bagels are on a tray. She grins down at me before sliding the glass door to the side and grabbing an everything bagel with a napkin and a small container of cream cheese.