Fifty Shades of Him (h.s. au)

XVIII

The silence over takes the air and Harry comes barreling into the kitchen, my feet turning to look at him.

"Reagan, I need to speak to you," he rushes, Anne frowning. He tugs me towards the backdoor and opens it, walking me down the sidewalk.

"Listen, I know you want to find out about me and I want you to know, but it- what I did...it's practically unforgivable and I can't handle you not being around right now. You need to understand that you know more than anyone, other than Gemma and my mum. Please, don't ask. I want to be the one to tell you because it's my story to tell," he says, his tense shoulders relaxing as I grab his hands.

I look up at him, his expression one that's clearly unsettled, and my thumbs run along his fingers.

"Reagan, I'll tell you. If you want me to tell you, I will. But it will kill me if you walk away. There is- I can't," he says, letting go of me and turning. His hands run through his hair and he grabs a potted plant, throwing it at the side of the house.

"Harry," I say, grabbing his arm and pulling him into my arms. His broad stature is hard to hold but his arms form around me, burying his face in my hair.

"It doesn't matter when you tell me, Harry. You telling me that you have a secret will make me want to know more but-" I'm cut off by his cry.

"Crack," he says, squeezing me tighter.

"What?" I ask, tightening my fingers around his shirt.

"I smoked crack. My friends all did it and then they started heroin. The feeling was amazing; but it led to so many horrible things. I took it every day and I never looked back; marijuana the second best thing to heroin. After all the drugs, I had gotten so high I ended up in a hospital. They had to flush everything out of my system then I had to go to rehab for a few months."

To say I'm surprised is an understatement. Drugs? He's done an obsessive amount of drugs and that is one of the things that made my father the way he was. Alcohol and marijuana were the subject of my father's life; never seeing him smoke but he reeked of it on his clothes and breath.

"Reagan, please say something," he chokes, my eyes so clouded by my thoughts. The only thing I'm unnerved by is the fact that he willingly did these things to himself. He smoked crack, marijuana, and he injected heroin into his arms.

His arms. Those scars are from heroin injections. Some of them are so bad and he will live with those the rest of his life. Why would he do this to himself?

"Your arms... heroin," I stutter, his eyes squeezing shut as I look at him. My feet walk backwards and I think of everything that could have happened to him. Harry could have hurt people, done things to his family, or so much worse. One of the things he's even said is he's done horrible things. I just can't imagine them.

"Harry, go inside," his mother says, my body not even registering right now. What if he did something to his father? What if he abused someone?

"No, mum. No, I've walked away too many times," he says, but Anne yells over him.

"Harry Edward, listen to me for once and go in the house!"

Anne helps me sit down and I feel a tear fall down my cheek, her finger wiping it away.

"What did he tell you, Reagan?" she asks, my knees coming to my chest.

"Crack, marijuana, and heroin," I say, her head nodding.

"He was fifteen when he started crack and marijuana. He hid it from me and I found his stash when I was cleaning his room. I yelled so badly at him but he didn't listen. When he was seventeen was when the heroin started and he came home with marks on his arms. When I was called to the hospital, I was so mad and upset. My son was abusing drugs and it was so hard to forgive him for it. It was horrible but he was a lost puppy out of rehab. I took him home but he went out again, meeting that bitch of a girl, and getting torn in two again."