Beautiful Nightmares (Larry Stylinson)

Chapter 4

HARRY’S P.O.V

“I’m tired Haz – no more talking! Goodnight Hazza bear!” Louis calls out cheerfully as he turns the knob on the beside table’s lamp, submerging us in darkness.

“Night boobear!” I shout back and pull the heavy duvet over my body.

I sigh and attempt to relax my tense muscles. Shifting into a more comfortable position, I shut my eyes and exhale heavily. Hopefully the nightmares wouldn’t appear tonight; maybe I won’t even dream! Adjusting my head on the huge feather pillow, I regulate my breathing while slowly easing into a sleepy state.

Louis’ soft snores soon fill the room, his soothing breaths lulling me to unconsciousness...

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The rain pours down on the street heavily, filling the neighborhood with the sound of ferocious raindrops falling to the power of gravity. The buildings sag from the weight of the water, condensation running in rivers down their walls.

A boy, around the age of a young adult, pedals furiously on his bicycle. Not bothering to dodge around the massive puddles that occupy the sidewalks, the boy powers right through, murky rainwater splashing on his beige chinos. The gusts of violent wind shake the bike, unbalancing the boy precariously perched on the tip of the seat. The front wheel swings dangerously from side to side, sending wet dirt flying upwards toward the boy. The mud splatters on the boy’s grimacing face, the brown substance smearing on his pale skin. The boy yanks on the handlebars of the bicycle, which has now begun to make its decent towards the pavement. Reestablishing his equilibrium, the boy begins his mad dash through the pouring rain once again.

 ~~~~

Two blocks away, another boy has his faced pressed up to the window, completely ignoring the scene of chaos taking place directly behind him. Glass shatters and furniture snaps in half, the splintering wood cracking from pressure. Insults are thrown back and forth between the mother and father of the boy, their shouts getting increasingly louder with every broken object. The mother’s face is purple with rage, the vein in the woman’s neck popping out in fury. The father is a similar sight, his body shaking and red from anger. They scream violently, throwing one another’s prized possessions at each other in exasperation. The man holds the woman’s vase above his head before smashing it on the laminate floor. The expensive glass fractures into a million pieces as it hits the ground, resembling their broken marriage.

 The boy cries silently, the tears overflowing from his eyes as they cascade in ripples down his cheeks stained red from blood. Maroon juice spills out from the cuts on the boy’s arms, the result of being a shield for his mother. As the boy twists his head around to face the warzone, something snaps inside of him.

The boy lets out a piercing scream, his mouth releasing the pent up emotions inside of him. The mother and father stop their rage fest to look at him, the menacing sound coming from the boy reverberating around the tiny house as it shakes the paper thin walls.

He glares at both of them in pure hatred, the disgust clear in his darkened blue eyes. The boy yells at them, angrily begging them to stop fighting. He swears at his parents for the first time, accusing them of being monsters; devils inside. The mother and father stare at him, both with a complete loss for words. They don’t even move a muscle as the boy grabs a rucksack filled with his few items that he owns and walks out of the door.