The Babysitter (boyxboy)

Chapter 2

TRIGGER WARNING FOR SELF HARM

Harry didn't understand what had come over him. That comment..."if you continue to wear pants that tight, the only problems we'll have will be in our pants"...Why had he said that!? Why had he flirted with his babysitter? And why couldn't he get Louis out of his head? He'd been up all night thinking about feathered hair and ocean blue eyes. It was strange, Harry hardly even knew the guy and he already had Harry feeling hot and flushed if he thought too much about him. Harry needed a distraction. He needed to stop thinking about his babysitter in inappropriate ways, so he pulled himself from the warm confines of his bed and over to his sock draw; as he had done so many times before. He moved his socks to the side, before he pulled out that oh so familiar black cardboard box. He opened the lid, his eyes lighting up as he looked at the boxes content. He smiled as he thought of what was soon to come. Relief. He picked out his weapon; a nice, new, shiny blade. He closed the lid and hid the box, just like all the other times, and closed his draw quietly. He knew Louis had left ages ago, and only he and his Mum were home, his step Dad most likely still at work, but he still didn't want to get caught.

Harry tiptoed back across his plush carpet, before curling back into bed. He pressed his naked back against the cool headboard and pushed the blanket up and off his legs, to expose his thighs...his sliced up thighs. That's right...Harry had a secret. He cut. Cut hard and deep. Why? Many reasons. He hated his family; mostly his Dad for leaving him and the man he got replaced with. He hated the fact that Gemma left him too. He hated his school, and how the teachers expected so much from him. He didn't like all the attention he got from girls, or the fact that he was 'the most popular guy in school'. No. Harry would much prefer to sit in the library with a good book then tease and bully the younger students, but of course that wasn't his life. His life was to act like a jerk, be a player, a prick...whatever other colourful language you could think of, Harry was it. And he hated it. He hated that he couldn't control his life anymore. He made one comment to a younger student and suddenly his life became a whirlwind as he was accepted into the 'popular group' and told to behave a certain way.

That's why Harry cuts. Not only because of his family and school life, but because it's the only thing he can actually control in his life. He can control how hard he'll push the blade. How long he'll hold it there. How far he'll drag it across his milky skin. How many times he wants to do that over and over. He's in control when he cuts. He feels powerful when he cuts. He feels like his old self again. The self that actually liked his life. The self that hung out with his two bestfriends Liam Payne and Niall Horan after school. Not the self that teases his, now, ex bestfriends because they're together. Because they're gay. Of course, Harry's 'friends' at school didn't know about Harry being gay. He wasn't so open about it. And he wasn't planning on being open about it for quite sometime, especially after seeing what his so called 'friends' have done to the gay kids at his school. What they had done to Niall and Liam. No, Harry didn't want that. As long as he acted like a conceded fuck, he was safe. 

Harry twisted the cool blade between his fingers. Admiring the shine of the tip as the moonlight hit it, as it crept through his curtains. Harry's eyes searched for a clear spot on his thigh; smiling once he found one. His hand moved towards the clear patch of skin and he paused for a second, before pressing the blade into his skin. He pressed harder and then dragged it in a straight, clean cut, right across his thigh. Blood started to seep through his skin and onto the blade as he continued to cut. Press, drag, watch, repeat. He did it four more times before his body fell into a peaceful bliss. He watched as the blood drizzled down his skin, tickling it slightly as it ran over previous cut and scars. And then Harry smiled a real smile. No one ever saw Harry's real smile. He almost always covered it up with a fake, cheeky grin to impress the girls and kept his 'friends' of his back.

As Harry continued to watch the crimson liquid leak from his skin his mind drifted back to Louis, wondering what he was doing right now. Probably in bed sleeping, Harry figured. 

But Harry was only partly right, yes Louis was in bed but he wasn't asleep. No, Louis was busy thinking too; about chocolate curls and a cheeky smile. Louis couldn't get the kid of his mind. The way he spoke. How his lips moved with every word that rolled of his tongue. How much he wanted to feel that tongue wrap around his- Louis cursed himself for thinking such things about such a young boy, but he couldn't help it. He was man, he had needs too! 

Louis groaned as he tossed for the seventh time in his bed. His mind was racing and it was preventing him from falling asleep. So, Louis pulled himself from bed after realising that he wasn't going to get to sleep anytime soon, and headed down the hallway, careful not to wake his housemate, Zayn, as he crept towards the study; or 'studio' as Louis liked to call it. 

He entered the dim room, and searched for the light switch on the wall. One click and the room lit up, revealing all of Louis' works. The walls were scattered with sketches, paintings and even hanging sculptures he had created. The shelves were stocked with different sized canvas's, bottles and tubes of paint and boxes upon boxes of different art supplies. There was an easel in the corner, right next to the small window seat that looked out onto the city. Lights glimmering in the dark of night. 

Louis crossed the room, pulling his small trolley with him as he took a seat on the stool placed in front of the easel. His eyes scanned over the various types and sized paintbrushes and pencils littered over the top shelf of the trolley, and then the different paints on the second shelf; some oil based, some water and even some acrylic paints his mother had brought him last Christmas.

You see, painting, drawing...art, was Louis past time. If he got the chance to draw everything he saw, he would. He usually carries a sketchbook around with him, just in case inspiration strikes, and with his mind racing like it is tonight, he knew exactly what he had to do. 

Louis picked up a pencil and started to draw an outline of curls. Once he had completed the outline, he stood up and grabbed a paint pallet from one the shelves, before sitting back down. He balanced the pallet on his knee as he squirted various colours of paint onto it. He picked up a paint brush and started to move it gracefully all over the canvas's surface. He squinted his eyes as he added detail to the young boys face and hair. He sat for hours painting. Emptying his thoughts onto the canvas in front of him. And the finishing produce was incredible. Louis smiled to himself proudly as he finished signing the picture.

Louis had draw Harry Styles, and he had done an amazing job.

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Thoughts? - T xx