Consumed

~Harry's POV~ "Dammit boy. Get your f*****g ass over here now!" I'm scared, hiding under the kitchen table to stay away from the bad man. I know what's going to happen if I come out from under here. He's going to hurt me again. The welts from yesterday are still healing but they ache when my shirt rubs against them. Why is he so mean to me? I've done nothing wrong. "Boy, you have two seconds to come out from under there before I drag you out by you f*****g hair!" I flinch, my tiny fingers trembling with anxiety. My hands let go of the wooden leg of the table and I slowly crawl from underneath it, standing to my feet. Instinctively my arms cover my chest, hoping it keeps him from doing what he always does. It never works... As fast as it comes I'm screaming and rolling on the ground, crying for mommy. Mommy is no where in sight. She doesn't come running to my side and telling the bad man to leave. He takes his cigarette from his mouth and presses the lit end to my chest, just like he always does. It hurts so bad. Tears stream down my cheeks and he laughs, pushing the ember end of the cigarette further into my chest. He removes it, pressing it to another place on my chest. *** I wake in a cold sweat, running my hand over my damp chest. My head falls back onto my pillow, my hands running down my face, sighing. Ever since I was little these nightmare's have haunted my sleep, making most my nights restless. I roll over onto my side, glancing at the clock on my end table. I might as no get up and get ready for a wonderful day at work - note the sarcasm. I swing my legs from the bed and run my fingers through my tousled brown curls. I make way to the bathroom and turn on the shower. Waiting for the water to heat I turn and look at my reflection in the slowly fogging bathroom mirror: tattoos and scars. Dark circles and sleep deprivation are clear on my skin. When I was fifteen I got my first tattoo. My mom and dad were not pleased about the strange inked additions. Back then I was a rebellious teenager who could give two f***s what my parents thought. I don't regret any of them, most were used to cover up my hideous scars. "Babe, why are you up so early?" I turn to see Alexa the girl I call from time to time when I need a quick f**k. She's leaning against the door frame fully naked. I scan her body and of course she notices. "Do you like what you see, Styles?" She smirks, walking towards me and stepping in front of me, blocking my reflection. "I was drunk last night. You look hotter when my vision is blurry," I shoot back. "Oh Harry, such a charmer aren't you?" her fingertips climb up my torso and over my chest. I quickly react and grab both her wrist in my hands, slamming them down at her sides. She jerks from my sudden movement. "I f*****g told you not to touch me there!" Her face pales and she looks as if she going to cry. I could care less. " Get your things and leave, I'll call you later," I lie. I don't even know why I ask her to come over most days. A majority of the time when we f**k she complains that it's not comfortable and most often than not I have to pretend I get off then excuse myself to the bathroom to finish myself off. I know, such a gentleman. I mean don't get me wrong we've had some pretty wild nights. Last night was good, but that was because I was plastered out of my mind. "You're an ass!" She storms past me, going back into the bedroom to grab her things. "And you have no ass!" She really doesn't, but I take what I can get I suppose. "f**k you!" she screams as she leaves and slams the front door to my flat. She'll be back in my bed tonight I can guarantee you that. *** A little after Alexa left she came storming back and we might have had angry, rough s*x in the shower. Told you she'd be back. She left straight after that. I managed to cover up the marks she left on my neck using the old makeup trick. God, I'm pathetic. As I walk into the school I'm greeted by empty halls and silence. It won't be like this for long so I make my way to the teachers lounge, grab my morning cup of coffee and head to Hell. That hell being a seventy minute English composition class that I teach.