It's 1967 and Harry is tired of being that little religious boy who everyone makes fun of. Tired of God pretending not to hear him, he decides to take other reins in secret; How bad could it go if he turned to the Devil? How fast would he answer him...
His mind didn't go back, nor did it go forward. It took more than a sigh to face what had happened, and a will to live to face what would continue.
He looked with his blurred vision -it could be his wounds, it could be his tears- his bloody, trembling, and bruised hands. He looked up and looked a few yards away at that bag, again he looked forward.
You needed to want to be well to want to die. He definitely didn't want to be okay, because he didn't deserve it. He deserved to suffer.
He stood up as if nothing had happened, feeling no pain at all, just tingling and a void in his chest, and turned around, trying not to trip, limping and with his hand pressed on his rib even though he didn't feel the real pain.
The real pain was now in his soul.
And he hoped, he really did, not to be alive past midnight.
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// 8 hours earlier. //
The boy opened his eyes because of his sister on him, waking him up without any sign of kindness, just an off-key and annoying song, but it made him smile.
—HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY SMELLY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU. —He received a kiss on his cheek that made him laugh silently and hide his face in the pillow, pretending to still be asleep even though he clearly wasn't. —Oh, come on. You have to wake up, you're nineteen. NINETEEN! —She shook his shoulder as she shouted that, causing him to laugh. —Mom wants you to get up, you won't get out of college just because it's your birthday.
Harry nodded and waited for his sister to come out of his room before sighing, rubbing his little eyes with his fists before sitting down slowly, half moaning. He blinked a couple of times and looked around, looking for something that clearly wasn't there. Louis.
A little more distressed, he took the rosary off his neck, nervously. He left it on his bedside table and closed his eyes, counting to ten, and then opened them.
No, it wasn't the rosary.
Louis was gone, and although it was time to accept that he wouldn't be coming back, it hurt. It hurt because he believed his reasons were valid, he felt that what he did was for the good of both of them. Maybe someone else could have done it, but it hurt to live in fear of not being loved, and Louis had practically rejected him when they talked about it. "I am the devil." What could he have done after that? Circled his neck, told him it didn't matter, and made love again? Harry knew and was aware that he had said countless times that Louis could do whatever he wanted with him, but he had already spent more than a year with him, there was no longer a contract for his soul, it was more serious than at the beginning.
