Endlessly (Harry Styles Fan Fiction)

Chapter 9

                Harry walked through the front door of his home; thoughts of Casey and her violent past danced rhumbas in his brain.  She still hadn’t unveiled the skeletons in her closet, and it bothered him incessantly.  He peered into the family room and saw his foster dad sitting at the table with his back towards the door; head in both of his hands.  He could tell by his uneasy breathing and agitated sighs that he was upset, so he crept in and attempted to sneak up to his room unseen.  He had made it about halfway up the stairs until his father noticed he was home.

                “Harry,” his gruff voiced called from the kitchen.

                He sloughed down the stairs and greeted the only man he had ever known to be a father figure.

                “Yeah?”

                “Have a seat please,” he demanded, adjusting his glasses further up on his nose.  The look about Harry’s substitute father, John Wilson, was deceiving.  His salt and pepper hair with the rosiness of his cheeks gave off a jolly vibe, but John was far from that.  He had a temper that could ignite a thousand flames, and it proved to be even worse when he had alcohol in his system.  Harry trudged over to the table with his tail between his legs.

                “Where have you been?”  John asked, resting his elbows on the table and leaning forward.  He was the only adult figure that managed to intimidate Harry without a specific reason.

                Harry shrugged, “Out with friends.”

                John scoffed and leaned back, the chair creaking beneath his weight.  His faced suggested that he was utterly disgusted with Harry, and he Harry didn’t quite know why.

                “So your friends are more important than helping out around here?”

                Harry sighed, not sure how to answer.  He looked down at his hands in his lap and said nothing still, scared of what John’s reaction might be.

                “God dammit, Harry,” John smacked the table and all the articles rattled in response; Harry jolted at the cacophonous sound.  “Be a man and acknowledge me when I’m talking to you.”

                “No,” he whimpered. 

                John mocked him, his gold ring glistening under the lamp above them.  “Then what is your problem?”

                Harry waited, thinking his answer through before saying it aloud, “I don’t have a problem.”

                “Excuse me?” John asked, one eyebrow cocked.  He strained to make sure he had heard him correctly.

                “You heard me,” Harry growled.  “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

                “The hell you didn’t!”  John had stood up from his seat, the legs of the chair screeching against the tile in protest.  He was angered, and it was just then that Harry noticed a compilation of empty Budweiser’s on the sink.  The man had been drinking for what looked like the duration of the afternoon, and Harry had just angered him. 

                “John, I—” Harry began, not wanting to look the intoxicated man in the face.

                “Shut up, just shut up!”  He yelled, cutting him off.  “You don’t anything around here.  You’re lazy, you’re stupid, you’re worthless!”