1- My Life Style.

1-My Life Style

[Harry P.O.V.]

I took a long sharp breathe and closed my green eyes, waiting for the stinging pain to shoot through my body. I hate this time of the day, when he arrives back home, drunk; and decides it was best to beat me up to take out his stress and anger all on me.

“Ughhh!” I groaned loudly as his fist connected with my abdomen.

“You stupid ignorant boy. You think killing your own brother is something to be proud of? Huh?” My father growled at me and continued to slam his large fist into my stomach and chest.

“B-But, I…I didn’t k-kill him!” I whimpered.

“Shut the fuck up!” He screamed.

Suddenly, his fist connected with my face with a strong blow, sending me off guard. I slumped down on the living room floor, feeling my nose starting to bleed. I looked up to see mom leaning on the door frame, watching dad beat the shit out of me. I still can’t believe that she believes dad.

I really miss my old caring and thoughtful mother. The mother who used to back me up at any time and in every obstacle I come to face. The mother who wouldn’t let a soul lay a finger on me.

Where is the old Anne Styles?

I can barely recognize her…

I shook my head trying to shake these thoughts away from my mind and concentrate on my current situation. I crawled backwards until my back hit the wall behind me. I stared up at my dad, waiting for the next blow to come, and it did.

He started to kick my already bruised stomach, legs, shoulders and even my face.

All what I could do was groan in deep pain and plead for him to stop.

“George! Someone needs you on the phone.” Mom shouted from the kitchen. And here is me thinking she was screaming for him to stop beating her son. This will only happen in my dreams.

He stopped and glared at me.

“Saved by the phone. Don’t get so happy you little piece of crap! I’ll be back later!” He said sarcastically and left to answer his call.

Is he serious? How on earth can I be happy when he was beating me up not even one minute ago? Sick bastard.

I placed my palm on the wall beside me in attempt to push myself up. Just as I thought I could finally stand up and walk to climb upstairs to my room, I winced as my legs wobbled and gave away.

The thing about me is that over the past four years of getting beaten up by my own father, I gave up. I just lost hope of him ever believing me.

Now, I won’t deny the fact that I’m quite built. I have enough muscles that would take to be able to defend myself, but I have no strength.

What do I mean?

Well, my strength comes when I know I’m safe while living with my family. My strength appears when I know that I can depend on every one of them. However, knowing that my dad will always hit me and that mom and my older sister Gemma will always look at me in disgust and remorse will always be the reasons why I’m weak.

So, why should I defend myself and stand up to my father when I know it would eventually end badly for me? At the end, he will find a way to torture me which will be even harsher than this.

Today was the worst day of “the beating”; that’s what I call it now. He really hit me hard this time that I can’t bring myself to stand. He’s been hitting me since I was thirteen years old and today was the most terrible day.

I started to painfully crawl towards the stairs; I just hope he doesn’t come back now.

“Ahh.” I groaned when my abdomen hit the stairs. It really hurts. I kept on looking behind me, afraid and scared he might be following me to my room. My room is my only private place, he can’t go in there.

I don’t know how, but I finally managed to reach my precious room. Still on the floor, I closed the door and locked it. I leaned on it and rested my cheek on the cold wood to make my heated cheek at least cool a little.

Then, I started to sob. I didn’t care if they heard me or not, they were the least of my concern at the moment.

What did I do to ever deserve this treatment from every one?

Kill my brother?

How exactly did I kill my own dear brother when I don’t even remember what happened four years ago?

All I know is that I didn’t kill him. I’m so sure about it, but neither my family, nor anyone else out there believes me. Everybody thinks I killed him so they call me “The damned boy”. My name isn’t Harry Edward Styles for them, just “The Damned Boy”.

Wherever I go, I get people looking at me with accusing eyes. If a day goes by and I don’t get beaten up at home, which is so rare; I have the jocks at school who can do that mission for my dad. Long story short, my body is an “object” now for everyone to take their anger on. That’s why my bruises never heal.

By now, my tears got mixed up with my blood on my face and I didn’t care. I just can’t stop crying from the pain. The pain inside my heart was even stronger than outside. I’m sure that one day or another, I’m gonna die this way.

My cellphone ringing shook me out of my thoughts. I managed to stand for five seconds to at least reach my bed. I took my phone which was laying on the night stand to answer it. Who could it be? I have no friends to talk to and no family as well.

“H-Helllloo?” I answered, but it came out as a sob.

“Uh, this isn’t Jake I guess?” A girl’s voice said from the other end of the line.

“N-No, w-wrong numberrr..” I answered while still crying and then ended the call.

I then stood up and walked to the mirror hanging on the wall opposite to my bed. I was limping due to my fucked up leg.

I stood in front of my mirror and took my shirt off. This process made me wince cause of the terrible pain. I stared at my horrifying body in the mirror. It was full with bruises from the colors yellow to red to blue and purple indicating that some are fading and the others are still fresh. I started to trace the line of the bruises when I heard a small beep come out of my phone.

I turned around to get my phone. I opened the message which was from the same number as before. That’s odd.

-Are you okay?

[Zayn P.O.V.]

“Hey baby.”

Ughh, here we go again. Why the hell did I go out with her again?

Oh right, it was a bet I had to do with my dear best friend Louis. If I didn’t agree, he would have dug too deep into it and found out everything and I can’t let him know. No one must know.

I’m currently sitting around the lunch table in the cafeteria with my best friends Lou and Niall. We were discussing some personal stuff when the bitch of the town Leona Grande came out of nowhere to say hi.

I turned around to see her standing with her hand on her waist. She was wearing a tight shirt which showed cleavage making me gag mentally. She thinks that her short skirt that could be used as a belt might turn me on, but unfortunately for her, it makes me wanna run towards the hills.

“Leona.” I just said her name indicating that I acknowledged her presence and now she can scatter away.

“Aren’t you gonna talk to me love?” She asked.

Love? Oh God, somebody please snatch me away from here, or better yet; kill me!

“And what will we talk about? You and me in bed? That’s never gonna happen sweety. Maybe in your dreams it might, but not in mine that’s for sure.” I replied making my two lads chuckle next to me.

“How dare you speak to me like that?!” She asked while stumping her foot on the ground.

“Hey! Remember who you’re talking to pumpkin!” I glared at her.

She then huffed and ran away angrily. Apparently everyone in the cafeteria heard our intimate conversation. Like I care.

“Haha! Z you always know what to say man! This was hilarious!” Niall laughed.

I just smirked.

Everybody knows their limit here. They know when they can talk to me and when they can’t. They know who can talk to me and who can’t. That’s cause I’m known as the bad boy of Bradford. I honestly don’t know how I got myself that title, but I did. It’s like they all fear me. Only my best friends know my true personality so thank God they don’t fear me.

Ni and Lou think they know my biggest secret, but fortunately for me, they don’t.

They think my secret is that I joined a gang, and that’s why I don’t hang out with girls so much; afraid that something might happen to them. At least that is what I told them.

But the real secret that no one will ever know is that I’m gay and that’s why girls are a turn off for me.

I’m trying to hide this fact from everyone and especially my family cause if I come out, I might face some serious problems. I’m not willing to be thrown out of my house cause I’m gay. I’d rather keep this secret to myself.

Before I knew it, school finally ended and I found myself entering my house.

“Zayn! You’re finally here. Give me your phone!” Doniya demanded while reaching for my back pocket.

“Wow, wow, wow. Why would I give you my phone?!” I asked, confused.

“Cause my dear little brother, you were the one who broke my phone in the first place so now I need your phone to call Jake.” She answered.

“And how will I know that it actually is Jake who you wanna call and not some other bastard out there?” I asked, challengingly.

“I’ll put it on speaker so that you can hear him and make sure.” She replied.

Hmm, sounds fair enough to me.

“Okay then, here you go.” I said while taking my phone out of my pocket and handing it to her.

She quickly dialed a number and put it on speaker. After about one minute, a voice finally answered.

“H-Helllloo?” A boy answered. It looks like he is crying.

“Uh, this isn’t Jake I guess?” My sister asked, confused.

The boy sniffed and said while still crying, ““N-No, w-wrong numberrr..”

It was the most angelic voice I have ever heard. Even though he was crying, his voice sounded like music to my ears. I wanted to hear more of it. It just calms me down.

“He ended the call. Poor boy, he sounded so sad.” Doniya said.

“Give me the phone.” I demanded.

“No! I need to call Jake!”

“You can call him later! I just remembered that I have a call to make.”

She glared at me but gave up and threw the phone at me.

I caught it and ran upstairs to my room. I then slumped on my bed and looked up at the ceiling.

I lost myself in my own thoughts. Who was that sweet boy? Why was he crying? Is he okay now?

I found myself wanting to know if he is okay. Something just pulled me to him even though he might be a thousand miles away or maybe more.

After a lot of thinking, I found myself thinking “Why the hell not?”.

So, I took my cell phone and searched for the number Doniya dialed by mistake.

Once I found it, I started to type a message for him.

-Are you okay?

Hitting the send button, I looked back up at the ceiling, waiting for his reply.

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Fin.