Fuck Destiny and Fuck You

Chapter 4 - She revels in his suffering

Harry woke up to the persistent rhythm of someone knocking at his door echoing through his troubled consciousness. His head throbbed, protesting the unwelcome intrusion. Reluctantly, he parted his heavy eyelids, his bleary gaze drawn to the ornate clock that graced the wall. Time, it seemed, had carried him to evening, a cruel reminder of his nocturnal escapades.

His eyes wandered to the study table, adorned with relics of his restless night-a half-empty whiskey bottle, a testament to the numbing solace he sought but failed to find. The knocking lingered like an unwelcome guest.

At last, he surrendered to the nagging call and rose from his bed. As he opened the door, his sister Gemma stood before him, her countenance a portrait of exasperation.

"Finally! God! What is wrong with you? Who sleeps for this long?" Gemma's inquiry dripped with irritation, her patience all but worn thin.

"I do. What do you want?" Harry replied, his tone brimming with defiance.

"Mom insists we gather for dinner, as a family. She sent maids to rouse you, and when that failed, she sent me. Be at the dinner table within an hour. You must attend it." Gemma instructed, the word 'family' laced with an acrid bitterness.

Harry's face contorted to agitation upon hearing that he was expected to attend the dinner. The prospect of a family dinner was a chilling one, for Harry knew too well that beneath the surface of polished smiles lay unresolved tensions and unspoken grievances, haunting the chambers of their collective silence.

Though the thought of escape was tempting, he could not evade this familial obligation. He knew the dinner would be a disaster, with unresolved tensions and bitter feelings surfacing. It was a situation he wanted to avoid, but he had no choice but to face it. He wished for an escape from the suffocating reality of his family's dysfunction.

"Okay," Harry spoke, shutting the door firmly in Gemma's face. The footsteps receded, leaving him alone.

In his sanctuary of opulence, the grandiose bathroom, Harry shed his clothes. He was still wearing the one's from yesterday night not having had the energy to change clothes last night. He turned the faucet, inviting the cold waters to embrace him. As the icy droplets splashed his face, a sense of awakening coursed through his veins, grounding him in the present.

He instantly felt more irritated as his shower proceeded and he soon realized it was because the more he scrubbed his body, the more Louis's scent escaped from him. He had smelt a lot like Louis all night due to him scenting Louis.

Merely thinking about Louis produced a hollow, life sucking emotion within his being.

Even though the scent lessened, he could not escape the lingering presence of Louis-the phantom scent that clung to his skin, a haunting memory of an intimate connection.

Emotions he had never before fathomed churned within him, guilt and regret swirling like a tempest within his soul as he finally recalled the hurtful words he had spoken to Louis the night prior but he decided to not think about that anymore. Why should he care?

He concluded that he already had enough nightmares to deal with for example the family dinner and that those nightmares were more important and horrifying. He decided to pick a struggle.

Harry emerged from his shower, enveloped in a cloud of steam. He knew that in the presence of his parents, casual attire would be deemed inappropriate. Presentability was paramount, as if wearing comfortable clothes were an affront to their refined sensibilities. It seemed, in his mind, that they had a disdain for comfort itself.

As he slipped into semi-formal clothing, he was acutely aware of the dwindling time. With haste, he dashed down the grand staircase, determined not to be late. Upon entering the dining room, a sight of elegance and luxury greeted him. The table was adorned with fine linens, an array of delicately prepared dishes, and perfectly arranged cutlery and napkins, a masterpiece prepared by their personal chef.