Dealing With Absence » h. styles au

12ᵀᴴ CHAPTER

                                                   12ᵀᴴ CHAPTER               

               “Those who can forget the past are way ahead of the rest of us”

Sometimes it feels mutual.

But he doesn’t mean to hate his family, is not sure he actually does, really. It’s just that. Zayn had called plenty of times during the time Harry had been at the clinic (obviously none of those calls had been returned, but he’d tried, at the least). Zayn’d always been the best of friends and flatmates Harry could’ve ever found, up until the day he gave Harry out to his parents and fucked up the endless days which came next. And yet, he called. Every night around eight, when Harry knew was the time he was back from the gallery he worked at, where they both had worked at ever since they managed it once college was over.

They hadn’t the same classes together, hadn’t even studied the same thing, but ended up sharing a room nonetheless, which lead to what Harry thought to be a friendship for life.

He can still hear the audience laughing at him somewhere, funny thing.

But Zayn had pretended, is the point. He had called ceaselessly for two entire years until he apparently moved out, whereas Harry’s mother had called twenty times, if much. Gemma had maybe tried a bit more, but gave up soon after, and his stepdad wasn’t that much close to him to even try to push it. His actual father hadn’t bothered even before rehab, so that bit wasn’t a surprise to him at the least.

So. He doesn’t want to hate his family, but it feels stupid trying to sympathise with people who apparently don’t give two shits about his existence. He’s not a teenager at high school anymore, he doesn’t need to humiliate himself to get someone’s attention, he’s way past it. Same blood is nearly not enough of a reason to do so.

He stares at the phone in his hands.

“Not enough technology yet to dial by itself,” Leesha slumps down on the chair next to Harry, settling his plate on the table and sliding it in front of him. “Here’s your toast, I just burned it a little.”

Harry jostles into consciousness suddenly, only because of the smell of butter and fresh toast, also cold, probable old-dated coffee. He doesn’t really bug Elisha ‘bout it, since he’s getting breakfast for free in the kitchen of a café. He’s probably not even allowed in here, she’s too nice to him.

“Sorry?” he frowns at her lazily, head barely tilted to the side as he tries to catch her previous words. It’s no use.

“The phone, Harry. You’ve been staring at it for the past ten minutes as if it’s going to eat you alive. You okay?”

She has sheer concern adorning her features, something he hasn’t seen for a while, so he tries to smile at her to put her at ease. It’s useless, too. He can’t even manage a grimace.

“’ve gotta ring my family,” he mumbles half-heartedly, looking back at the phone and staring some more.

“So?” Leesh dares, biting her own burnt toast, leaning forward on the table with her feet folded under her bum on the chair, her fingers gripping the pitcher with juice Harry had refused a couple of minutes ago.

“They don’t like me,” he admits, not daring to look at her. He hears a soft ‘oh’, though, followed by thick silence and uncomfortable shuffling.

“Why’re you ringing them, then?” she questions quietly, not looking back at Harry either, probably because she feels like intruding into something personal. Harry likes her, definitely.