[COMPLETED] where she sat and ate her strawberries, while he smoked his cigarettes.
-harry styles au
-set in summer of 1998
-mentions rape, sexual assault, abuse, fighting, and suicide
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~Harry~
For most nights, sleep is never on the agenda for Harry. It's as if as soon as the sun goes down, Harry's mind rises. It begins to race a thousand miles an hour, and that's when the rage begins to set in.
It's nothing he has never felt before. It starts out with him being angry with his father.The man he hates more than anything in the world, its his fault why Harry is like this. Because of him... all that Harry has inside of him is anger and he never seems to find a way to be able to let it out. Then he gets mad at himself, for letting that sick son of a bitch fuck with him so badly that even though he hasn't seen him in years, it's as if he is still going to be around the corner he turns... just waiting for him.
He sits up from his bed as he looks around his room, still wearing the same clothes from his shower the day before. That's the vicious cycle for Harry, almost as though it's a checklist, when one thing happens they all do.
First it's the trigger. Although he isn't sure what caused his nightmare the night before, he concludes it has to be from sleeping in that room again, sleeping in the bed he spent his whole childhood hiding under.
Then the nightmare sets in. It has him so psychologically fucked up he can't even speak. It seems so real that it shouldn't even be considered a nightmare, more like he's sucked back in time and forced to relive his worst fears all over again.
After that its the complete shut down, mentally and physically. It could be hours or days and most of the time he doesn't remember much from either of it... the nightmare included. But then after a few days they come back like harsh flashbacks, blinding him with pain and suffering.
Now we drink.
He looks over to his clock that is hung up on the wall and smirks when he sees the time, 12:26. Stretching out his arms, he runs his fingers through his hair before he stands up and makes his way over to his closet. Throwing off his grey sweat pants and black shirt, he quickly replaces them with his signature black jeans, white tee, and red flannel. He opens his window and inhales deeply, breathing in the dewy air that had made its way through the town from the rain earlier that day.
His black boots lead the way as he steps onto the roof just below his window, carefully making his way down the roof and onto the windowsill just a few feet down and to the left of his room. When he safey makes it there he takes a deep breath in, before hurling his body down and onto the grass, slipping a little due to the water still there from the storm.
Checking his pocket, making sure his wallet is there, he makes his way down the road, thinking about the alcohol he is ready to consume before the last call.
~
Three shots and six beers later, Harry is finally feeling the buzz he had missed for the past nine months. His head was feeling fuzzy, but not the kind he felt after a nightmare. It was the good kind, the kind where he can feel the alcohol pumping through his veins, almost feeling his fears slipping away from him.
