Smile For Him
Prologue
The sound of chalk screeching down the blackboard awoke Harry Styles from his daze. For a moment he forgot where he was, but at the sound of, “Are you listening, Mr. Styles?” his hopes sunk as he realised he was still in the classroom. Students snickered at him from their wooden desks. The plastic clock on the wall read 3:12p.m, not long until the end of the school day, but it was going painfully slow for Harry. “Mr. Styles?” the voice was harsh this time, demanding the attention of the young student.
"Yes, Sir?” Harry asked in his polite yet quiet voice, not quite meeting his teachers gaze as his cheeks flushed a light pink. “I asked you, what did Freud’s study of Little Hans showed evidence of?” Harry’s emerald eyes flickered to the blackboard behind his old and withered teacher hoping for signs of the answer. “The Oedipus complex, sir?” Harry replied as more of a question than an answer. His teacher sniffed in disappointment – he was hoping to humiliate him, but he nodded anyway. “Yes, well done.” He stroked the grey stubble on his chin before turning back around to scratch more words onto the board.
Harry sighed and slumped in his chair. Underneath his thick eyelashes he could see the minute hand had barely moved since the last time he had looked at it. Around him students were writing with neat letters, taking in everything the teacher was telling them. Harry looked at his own notebook. Messy scribbles designed the page, joint with the occasional black smudge or crossed out word due to his spelling errors. He took his black pen in his hand and twirled it through his long, spindly fingers. The movement fascinated him until the clock read 3:28p.m. Harry shyly picked his brown bag up from the floor and silently slid his pen and notebook inside. By the time the final bell went Harry’s bag was already on his shoulder. He was determined to be the first out of the door. Pushing his chair back before the other students had even registered the sound of the bell; Harry was in the corridor before anyone else. “Mr. Styles!” he heard the old bastard shout from the classroom. Harry didn’t listen though, he never did. In fact he found it odd how his teacher was surprised at his behaviour every single day when he was the first to charge out of the door.
He hated school, you see. Every moment he spent in the cold, Public school where each student was the same snobby, arrogant twat as the next was complete torture. He didn’t have friends, nor did he really want any. Not if they were going to be the same idiots he shared the classroom with. But, to be fair it wasn’t as if the other students were begging for Harry to be their friend either. Because Harry was weird. He wasn’t the same kind of weird as the boy who use to eat dirt for money. Nor the girl who sobbed fat tears if she got anything less than 90% on an exam. The thing about Harry was there was no reason for him to be weird. If Harry was really that bothered he could fit in no problem. He had the money, he had the potential looks, and he had the prestigious parents to go with it. In fact, if Harry really tried hard enough, he could even be the most popular boy in school. But that’s what made Harry weird. Because he didn’t want that. Harry didn’t have neat, cropped hair like his peers; his hair was thick and curly, messy ringlets flopping into his pretty green eyes framed by dark shadows. Harry wasn’t lean and muscular either like the good looking boys in the year above, and he wasn’t short and stocky like the rugby team. Harry was thin and lanky, his frame swamped by the tailored blazer he had to wear. Just a little too big in the shoulders and too long in the arms so that only half of his fingers were visible from the cuff. Harry kept quiet, he didn’t like the attention. People treated him different; he didn’t need a reason for them to dislike him more. He would only speak when spoken to, and that was hardly ever.
He breathed in the fresh, cold air as he flung the front doors open. Hurriedly he descended the small flight of stone steps before taking a right. This was his favourite part of the day. The twenty minute walk from his school to his house. He could have gotten the bus, or even be picked up by his kind but elderly butler, Tobias, in a posh car. But Harry refused both modes of transport, because this was the moment when Harry could truly escape. Shuffling down the pavement in rain, wind or shine. Letting his imagination take over for a short while, where he could leave school behind him and forget about the home life he was heading to. His home life wasn’t abusive, but it wasn’t affectionate either. Most people would be jealous of Harry, although Harry couldn’t understand why. He lived in a big house, with a maid and a butler and money to burn. But that meant nothing when there was no warmth within that home. His mother, Anne had remarried when Harry was five years old after Harry’s real dad had run off to live a magical life abroad. Meaning Harry was stuck to live with his Mum, sister and unaffectionate step-father, Robin. His house was a house. It would never be a home. He never felt like he belonged there, not with Robin’s constant mutters of how disappointed he is in ‘the boy’. Whenever Harry was away from there he felt free. But Harry never had an excuse to be away from there. Because, of course he had no friends, he had no hobbies, no interests. He was blank. The only time he felt a hint of emotion was when he walked home. It was just a shame it never lasted long. But he swore one day he would escape from there, and he’d show them all one day he wasn’t useless, pointless, or weird.
"Yes, Sir?” Harry asked in his polite yet quiet voice, not quite meeting his teachers gaze as his cheeks flushed a light pink. “I asked you, what did Freud’s study of Little Hans showed evidence of?” Harry’s emerald eyes flickered to the blackboard behind his old and withered teacher hoping for signs of the answer. “The Oedipus complex, sir?” Harry replied as more of a question than an answer. His teacher sniffed in disappointment – he was hoping to humiliate him, but he nodded anyway. “Yes, well done.” He stroked the grey stubble on his chin before turning back around to scratch more words onto the board.
Harry sighed and slumped in his chair. Underneath his thick eyelashes he could see the minute hand had barely moved since the last time he had looked at it. Around him students were writing with neat letters, taking in everything the teacher was telling them. Harry looked at his own notebook. Messy scribbles designed the page, joint with the occasional black smudge or crossed out word due to his spelling errors. He took his black pen in his hand and twirled it through his long, spindly fingers. The movement fascinated him until the clock read 3:28p.m. Harry shyly picked his brown bag up from the floor and silently slid his pen and notebook inside. By the time the final bell went Harry’s bag was already on his shoulder. He was determined to be the first out of the door. Pushing his chair back before the other students had even registered the sound of the bell; Harry was in the corridor before anyone else. “Mr. Styles!” he heard the old bastard shout from the classroom. Harry didn’t listen though, he never did. In fact he found it odd how his teacher was surprised at his behaviour every single day when he was the first to charge out of the door.
He hated school, you see. Every moment he spent in the cold, Public school where each student was the same snobby, arrogant twat as the next was complete torture. He didn’t have friends, nor did he really want any. Not if they were going to be the same idiots he shared the classroom with. But, to be fair it wasn’t as if the other students were begging for Harry to be their friend either. Because Harry was weird. He wasn’t the same kind of weird as the boy who use to eat dirt for money. Nor the girl who sobbed fat tears if she got anything less than 90% on an exam. The thing about Harry was there was no reason for him to be weird. If Harry was really that bothered he could fit in no problem. He had the money, he had the potential looks, and he had the prestigious parents to go with it. In fact, if Harry really tried hard enough, he could even be the most popular boy in school. But that’s what made Harry weird. Because he didn’t want that. Harry didn’t have neat, cropped hair like his peers; his hair was thick and curly, messy ringlets flopping into his pretty green eyes framed by dark shadows. Harry wasn’t lean and muscular either like the good looking boys in the year above, and he wasn’t short and stocky like the rugby team. Harry was thin and lanky, his frame swamped by the tailored blazer he had to wear. Just a little too big in the shoulders and too long in the arms so that only half of his fingers were visible from the cuff. Harry kept quiet, he didn’t like the attention. People treated him different; he didn’t need a reason for them to dislike him more. He would only speak when spoken to, and that was hardly ever.
He breathed in the fresh, cold air as he flung the front doors open. Hurriedly he descended the small flight of stone steps before taking a right. This was his favourite part of the day. The twenty minute walk from his school to his house. He could have gotten the bus, or even be picked up by his kind but elderly butler, Tobias, in a posh car. But Harry refused both modes of transport, because this was the moment when Harry could truly escape. Shuffling down the pavement in rain, wind or shine. Letting his imagination take over for a short while, where he could leave school behind him and forget about the home life he was heading to. His home life wasn’t abusive, but it wasn’t affectionate either. Most people would be jealous of Harry, although Harry couldn’t understand why. He lived in a big house, with a maid and a butler and money to burn. But that meant nothing when there was no warmth within that home. His mother, Anne had remarried when Harry was five years old after Harry’s real dad had run off to live a magical life abroad. Meaning Harry was stuck to live with his Mum, sister and unaffectionate step-father, Robin. His house was a house. It would never be a home. He never felt like he belonged there, not with Robin’s constant mutters of how disappointed he is in ‘the boy’. Whenever Harry was away from there he felt free. But Harry never had an excuse to be away from there. Because, of course he had no friends, he had no hobbies, no interests. He was blank. The only time he felt a hint of emotion was when he walked home. It was just a shame it never lasted long. But he swore one day he would escape from there, and he’d show them all one day he wasn’t useless, pointless, or weird.