Chapter Fourteen

Like any Mother with a teenage son, when Anne Cox walked through the front door of her family home, she wasn’t surprised to be met with shouts and yells from her own teenage son, drifting through the walls of their home. When Harry had had his driving lesson, this lesson his most successful yet due to the amount of praise that he had received from his driving instructor, he had come home and texted Louis about it, but his best friend had texted him back with a demand for him to go on the newest Call Of Duty game that both boys had a copy of. Funnily enough, both boys brought it for the other at Christmas.

Harry’s bedroom was a medium size, although the double bed that was by the window seemed to dominate most of the space of his room. The walls were a pale blue colour, and still had some of the war scars from Harry’s childhood, like the scribbles on the wall made from a range of coloured wax crayons, or the small dents where he had jumped off his bed and hit his elbow or knee against the wall. Harry’s bedroom had been through a lot. His walls had been either empty or covered until they were suffocated with posters, before sooner or later the phase passed and the walls were once allowed to breathe again. At this current moment, his walls were a good balance of empty and full. The walls were clear, but there were a couple of band posters on one wall, near to his small TV, and then there was a pin board full of photos on another wall. It was just a normal room for a normal guy.

There was a large, blue bean bag at the bottom of Harry’s bed, which the boy was sprawled upon, as he looked up at his TV, which was stuffed onto an old TV stand that his step-father had found at a car boot sale. Alongside it were piles of videogame cases, odd bottles of deodorant, and of course, his beloved game consoles. Harry’s room wasn’t exactly the cleanest, which drove his Mother insane, but it could have been worse. His Mother hadn’t seen Louis’ bedroom before, and Harry persuaded her that for her own safety and peace of mind she should steer clear of his best friend’s bedroom. When Harry’s Mum walked into the room when she had arrived home from work, Harry had been lazily chewing on a couple of Doritos, as he stared at the screen in front of him.

“Harry?” Anne started, but Harry was too sucked into the game. He was trying to figure out what side Louis was on. Louis always had a habit of changing a battle plan without telling Harry, or any other of the boys that were playing. She rolled her eyes and walked further into her son’s room, picking up a stray hoodie that had made it’s way onto the floor.

“Harry!” She called a bit louder, and Harry mumbled a ‘hold on’ into the headset that he was talking to Louis in, before he pulled it from his head and looked up at his Mum, who was stood above him with her arms crossed against her chest. He smiled innocently, with a weird feeling that he was in trouble.

“Oh good, you can hear me now.” She chuckled, before she sat on the edge of Harry’s bed, as her hands slowly folded the hoodie in her hands.

“So can Louis…not that he’d listen anyway, he never listens to anyone.” Harry replied with a slight smirk, knowing that his best friend will have heard his words and yet Harry would not hear Louis’ protests about them.

“Yes, well, would you mind telling Louis that I want to talk to you for a few minutes?” She chuckled, and Harry repeated those words before pausing the game properly and looking back up at her.

“You’re still friends with Zayn, aren’t you, Harry? You know, Zayn Malik?” She asked, a small smile on her face even though her brown eyes showed Harry just how curious she really was. Harry gulped a little, and could already hear his conscience start to rumble in his head like an oncoming thunderstorm.

“Yeah, Mum.” He spoke quickly, even though he knew that he couldn’t be classed as Zayn’s friend. Only hours before he had rushed away from him as Zayn had hugged him for being seen. Zayn really did not deserve Harry as a friend; at all.

“Oh good…I just saw him earlier, and he has such a big bruise on his face, I was just worried, that’s all. He tends to walk around the bus station as I drive past.” She explained, before placing the hoodie to one side before combing through her son’s curly hair.

“Oh…and yeah…I’m not sure how he got it.” Harry replied coolly, since it was the truth after all. He didn’t know for sure how the bruise on Zayn’s forehead came to be there, but he had a sneaking idea. It was just such a serious and scary idea that he found himself not wanting to speak it out loud. Confirming the bruise’s presence as a mystery fell from his lips much easier than anything else would.

“Ah, I see.” His Mother spoke softly, looking away for a moment as if she were having her own battle with her conscience, just like he was. Harry was sure that his Mother’s conscience would never be as thundering as his own, though.

“Just,” His Mum’s hand softly combed through his hair again, “Look after him, okay? A friend is a friend for always.” She spoke, and Harry chuckled a little.

“Which kid’s show did you get that off, Mum?” He joked, which earned him a playful hit to the back of his head.

“You know what I mean, Harry, just look after him. It’s hard enough for him to try and understand the people around him, the least he needs is no one to help him through it.” She spoke, her eyes sad even though there was a smile set on her face. Harry stayed silent and tried to push another smile onto the surface of his lips, but it seemed the minute that it did, his conscience grumbled inside of his head like thunder once again. Even smiling seemed wrong to Harry’s conscience.

“I will, we hang out at lunch.” Harry insisted with another smile, which made his Mum smile too.

“Everyday?” She asked, and Harry had to suppress a gulp as he nodded eagerly. If his thunder like conscience could strike, then he would have been hit by lightening at that slight lie.

“Good. I’m so proud that you’re my son.” She told him, before she leant forward and pressed a soft kiss onto his cheek, still combing her son’s hair affectionately. He could only smile even though he felt like complete shit on the inside. He was lying to his own Mum…what in God’s name was he doing? His conscience was screaming out for him to plead the truth to his Mother and ask for her forgiveness, but as he opened his mouth to try and start on some sort of ‘well actually, there’s a slight hitch to that’ type sentence, his Mother beat him to it.

“There’s something that makes Zayn different, love. All through primary school both myself and the other Mum’s could see that something wasn’t quite right. The poor boy never talked, and everytime he looked at you, he could see so much more than any other person would see. I know once he walked out of school, and came over to me and felt the button of my handbag before smiling and walking away. Poor Zayn isn’t as lucky to be like you, that’s why I’m being like this.” She spoke up, and Harry felt his heart sink with each word.

He too, remembered observing the small, dark haired boy throughout their primary school days. The boy was always quiet, never spoke a word, and never had a desire too. Harry still remembered how the big brown eyes that belonged to Zayn would look straight through a teacher when thy stood above him, demanding to know the answer to a question. Harry still saw this look in Zayn’s eyes today. It didn’t matter how old the boy was, when asked a question the boy’s eyes would still flash a glance of fright. A seventeen-year-old boy feared talking to teachers, or any other people that frightened him. Harry’s heart tightened, a need to protect the boy growing bigger within his body.

“I understand, Mum. I’m looking after him, I promise.” Harry told his Mother, a smile coming back to his face as his thoughts flooded with thoughts of Zayn once more. There was something about Zayn that kept him on Harry’s mind. He didn’t know what it was, but it was something.

“I know, baby. I just wanted to ask after him, that’s all. How was your driving lesson?” His Mum asked, and soon the conversation moved onto lighter topics, about both of their days and how they had been. After Harry had explained how well his driving lesson had been, his Mum finally said that she was going to get dinner ready, before kissing his forehead lovingly and leaving the room.

Harry’s green eyes watched her leave, before they slowly landed on the pencilled drawing that was clipped onto one of his walls, in the centre of lots of photos of him and the boys, or his family. Even from across the room, Harry could still see every fine detail of the drawing that Zayn had done of him, and Harry found it absolutely remarkable. On some nights when he couldn’t sleep, he would take the picture down from the wall and look over it next to the light from his bedside lamp. His green eyes would go over every tiny piece of the drawing that Zayn drew for him; on the first time they properly met. Everytime that Harry looked at the drawing, he seemed to find some new beautiful detail that Zayn had drawn in that he had not seen before. Looking over the picture was like an adventure, and that’s a bit what Zayn Malik was for Harry Styles. He was an adventure.

Harry looked back towards where his TV was still paused on Call Of Duty, and he knew that Louis was probably waiting for him impatiently, or had maybe even roped Andy or Liam to come online and play too. Harry really wouldn’t be surprised if his friend had done that while he was talking to his Mum.

Harry let out a sigh and pulled the headphones over his head.

“Hey Lou, I don’t feel like playing anymore. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Harry spoke, before he took the headphones straight back off with yet another heavy sigh. He reached over to the plug and switched all the electronics off, before leaning back into his beanbag, his green eyes glued to the ceiling in thought. His old toy cat fell onto his lap from his bed, and Harry pulled the toy into his body, as his guilty conscience consumed him.