thirty ◌ the terrible tale of harry kitson

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A home cooked meal was a luxury I certainly took for granted. I never really stopped to think about how blessed I was to have a warm, homemade meal almost everyday. Ever since I could remember, my mother was always in the kitchen. She never got tired, never complained, never showed any indication that cooking for her family was a burden. I didn't realize how a simple gesture like cooking, could speak loudly in terms of love and nurture. I should've expressed my gratitude for my mother's unyielding desire to prepare food for the family. I guess I'll never truly get the chance.

"What do you think?" Harry enthusiastically asked, wiggling his brows as he stood on the other side of the kitchen counter.

I sat on a cushioned stool, a glass plate filled with pipping hot pasta before me. It oozed with red sauce, melted cheese, and garnished with basil. The dish, as prepared by Harry, smelled like a dream come true and tasted just as heavenly. Closing my eyes, I sighed in satisfaction.

"Oh my gosh, Harry," I moaned with delight.

"Wow, if only I can get that kind of reaction from women in bed," Harry chuckled, teasing himself. I opened my eyes and grinned, shooting a thumbs up.

"Major foodgasm," I complimented, nodding my head several times. I wasted not another moment in stabbing my fork with more pieces of pasta, and stuffing the delectable dish into my mouth.

"That good, huh?" Harry was suddenly pleased with himself, as if he didn't know that his cooking skills were top notch.

"Why do you sound so surprised?" I questioned with a grin. "I'm basically giving you a free pass to be a cocky piece of shit, and you're gonna stand there and be humble?"

"I don't know," Harry shrugged, grabbing another plate from a cupboard next to him. "I love creating in the kitchen— it's a passion and it relaxes me. It makes me so happy that it would suck if I wasn't any good at it. I guess my feelings would seriously be shot if I put my entire heart in a dish, and everyone thought it tasted like shit."

I put my fork down and gazed at Harry with wonder. The dimpled boy in front of me seemed to always be so sure about life. His confidence was a top trait, and he never failed to let people know. But for Harry to admit this tidbit about him, this insecurity, only opened up my heart a little more to the idea that he and I could actually be friends.

"So what else are you insecure about?" I questioned, curiosity plastered on my face.

"Me? Insecure?" Harry scoffed, a playful undertone to his words. With a plate piled high with his creation, he strolled over to the empty seat next to me.

"Come on, Harry!" I pressed. "Clearly you're not that much of a pretentious fuckboy, so why the facade? What are you compensating for?"

"I'll have you know Tash, that I'm not a playboy," Harry defended himself with a smirk.

"Fine, who's the lucky girl waiting for you back home?"

"No girl is waiting for me back home."

"Who's Abby?"

Honestly, I didn't mean to ask. The question pelted out faster than my brain could recollect the memory of me eavesdropping on Harry's private conversation. Harry didn't even know that I knew of this Abby girl, so when the familiar name fell out of my mouth, he stared back at me with a raised brow.

"You don't have to answer that," I blurted in realization of my stupid error.

"No, it's okay," Harry dismissed. "I'll tell you."

"Oh," I muttered, my eyes widening with shock. "Okay, cool."

"Abby is the light of my life," Harry gushed, his dimples making an appearance. "She holds my heart."

"Aw, that's sweet," I admitted shyly.

It wasn't disappointment that I felt, it was more of a bewildering emotion. I didn't know much about Harry, though I was learning more about him everyday, and each conversation I had with him turned into a revelation. Since the day I met him, he's always been asshat Harry— always a nuisance, the ultimate fuckboy. I guessed I was more ashamed than anything, because clearly there was a girl back home who could tame the wild heart in him.

"Abby," Harry suddenly continued with the biggest grin on his face. His expression had an overpowering omniscient energy to it. Like he knew something I didn't.

"Yea?" I spoke, coercing him to finish his statement.

"Abby is my little sister," Harry finished with a satisfied smirk.

"Wait, what?"

"My sister."

Harry slipped his fingers into his pant pocket and pulled out his cellphone. Pressing the circular button at the bottom of the device, the lock screen glowed in our faces as he showed me the background image. The wallpaper I remembered was something I saw on the flight to New Orleans. The photograph, Harry explained, was him with some camp kids, or so I thought.

"I lied," Harry addressed. "I was never a counselor for science camp."

"Oh thank God, those kids would've gone back home traumatized," I deadpanned. Harry shot me an insulted expression before I bursted into laughter.

"And you call me an asshat?" Harry shook his head in disapproval.

"I'm sorry, continue," I giggled.

"These kids on my phone are my siblings," Harry revealed, a spirited glint in his eyes. "You already know that I was almost adopted by The Feliz family, but shit went down and I was put back into the system."

"Harry..." I paused, unsure whether or not it was safe to enter uncharted territory. Nevertheless, it didn't hurt to ask, so I did. "Harry, what happened? How were you put into the foster system in the first place?"

"My family and I moved to Massachusetts when I was eight years old," Harry started, and honestly, I was surprised he was willing to tell me. "Two years later, we got into a huge car accident. Both my parents and my big sister, Gemma died that night. The other driver was fucking drunk out of his mind. That is why I don't drink; why I pretended I did in New Orleans." 

My heart dropped a thousand feet, and suddenly Harry was no longer the boy I always pegged him to be— he was human.

"I'm sorry," I frowned, grabbing Harry's hands and holding them in mine. We both looked down at our connected hands, and I gave them a reassuring squeeze. My eyes flickered to his left arm, and the blemish decorating the skin beneath the ink. "Is that how you got your scar? From the accident?"

Harry shook his head. He closed his eyes and his chin dropped to his chest. The lightness I felt from him no longer existed, and instead a cold darkness cloaked his entire being. Harry squeezed my hands tightly, and I responded by doing the same.

"We can drop the subject," I told him. "I don't need to know."

"No, I wanna tell you," Harry protested. He lifted his head, opened his eyes, and when his green ones met mine, I saw that they were filled with tears. "It's just us now, and you need a reason to trust me."

"I do," I proclaimed, no hesitation to it. "I do trust you. You don't have to tell me this. I can tell that the pain is a lot."

"I might not be as strong as you are Tash, but this— talking about it, will help me get one step closer to matching your mental strength," Harry professed, his words tumbling out with such eloquence, I felt his raw emotion punch my chest.

"If you're sure."

"I am."

"Then I'm all ears."

"When the Feliz family could no longer adopt me, I was pushed around from foster family to foster family," Harry confessed. "They all were terrible, but my fourth foster family were the most cruel. They tormented me almost everyday, that I would purposely get myself in trouble in class so I could get after school detention. I tried to avoid that home a much as I could."

"Harry," I gasped, letting go of one of his hands so I could rest a gentle touch on his cheek. My gesture seemed to bode well, because Harry leaned into my hand. I rubbed his cheek tenderly with my thumb, like he once did for me,

"After three years and seven foster families later, the Kitson family rescued me," Harry revealed with a small smile. He took his free hand to grab mine, lacing our fingers together like second nature. "When I came to live with them, they already had adopted three other kids. A year later, we brought Abby into our home too."

"You got your happy ending," I declared happily.

Harry nodded his head, "yea... it didn't last long, though."

"What? Why not?" I cocked my head in puzzlement.

"My adoptive mom was diagnosed with a debilitating brain disease," Harry confessed. He swallowed the lump in his throat and I could feel the heaviness of his heart like doomsday. "There was nothing doctors could do, and instead of using their money to pay for medication to make the dying part easier, my adoptive parents used it to pay for my MIT tuition."

"You went to MIT?"

"I like science."

Harry was an enigma at best. He has this whole other life I wouldn't be able to guess in a million years. It was one thing to learn that he was adopted, but to be told of his tortured past really put my life into perspective. Maybe that's why Harry always made it a big deal whenever he accused me of being some lazy rich bitch. He had to work 100 times harder to reach his goals, and even then, it still felt like the universe was out to get him.

"I was introduced to Professor Dela Cruz by my Chemistry teacher at MIT. Next thing I knew, I was being offered a job and a full ride to Cal Tech," Harry blew out a heavy breath as he shrugged his shoulders. "I couldn't say no— not when I made it a promise to repay my family for everything they've done for me."

"Harry, I— I wish I knew what to say to make you feel better," I told him honestly.

It really occurred to me then, that I sucked at pep-talks. Channeling my feelings and translating them into coherent words for the human ear was something I lacked skill in. However for Harry, who had been so honest and so organic with me, deserved something sweet.

"Your childhood sucked," I blurted. "But despite all that has happened, you didn't let it turn you into a monster. It's not what happens to you, but how you react to it that truly matters. You could've become a druggie, a delinquent, a psychopathic serial killer and no one would blame you. Instead, you studied. You had hope for a better future, and now, you're still moving towards a happier tomorrow. You're inspiring Harry Kitson— you're dope."

Harry's lips lifted into a smile, before he chuckled in response. I gazed at him quizzically, wondering why he began to laugh. I poured my soul out to him and he was sitting there cackling at me.

"Are you actually laughing at me right now?" I exasperated, my mouth slightly agape in pure shock.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you or your lovely words," Harry claimed, his chuckles fading. "I'm just very amused. I mean, look at us. We're such saps. Several weeks ago we wanted to dropkick each other's ass, and now..."

"It's like we care about each other or something." I laughed at the irony of it all.

"But to go back to what you said... thank you. That means more to me than you understand," Harry looked at me with eyes gleaming with fondness.

Our hands were still linked, and the way our fingers interweaved together seemed to fit well. I refocused my eyes from our entwined hands, to Harry's lips, and I immediately was brought back to that almost-kiss moment. I still wondered what it'd be like to feel his lips against mine; to feel a sensation as instigated by a simple kiss— a simple kiss from none other than Harry.

For most of the afternoon, Harry and I did nothing but channel our inner laziness by lounging around on the beach. But in the midst of soaking up the sun, I had a lot of time to think, and the one thing that kept popping up in my mind, was Paris. More specifically, in the vault chamber right before Niall was shot. Harry did his best to apprehend the guards, but without a weapon, his hand to hand combat skills clearly lacked.

And that needed to change.

Harry rapidly bolted from somewhere in the villa, to our personal backyard. He ran through the open glass door, tripping on the bottom panel, and came to a sudden halt on the grass. In his hand was a gun, and fear washed over his face as he held out the weapon in front of him.

"Tash!" Harry yelled.

"Wow, that was fast," I excitedly grinned, clapping my hands together as I merrily skipped over to him.

"What's wrong? Why did you yell for me? Are you hurt?" Harry bombarded me with several questions, concern in his voice, and I simply smirked at him. Noticing the lack of distress, he shot me an unamused glare. "You don't look hurt. What's going on?"

"I'm going to teach you how to fight," I declared.

"What..." Harry's facial expression dropped into smooth lines as he lowered his gun.

"Harry you suck at physical altercations. You're great with a gun, but when it comes to fighting, you're a bag of dicks," I pointed out.

"Well I'm sorry. I haven't been training in a specialized martial arts facility since I was six years old," Harry nagged, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

"Look, you said it yourself: it's just us two. You have my back, and I have yours," I reassured. "If we're going to succeed in this whole thing, I gotta teach you how to properly fight and defend yourself."

Harry didn't reply right away. Instead, he stood there and marveled over my proposal. After what felt like several minutes, he sighed, rubbed his face in frustration, and let out a defeated howl.

"Fine," Harry reluctantly agreed. "Show me your ways."

I beamed enthusiastically at him, and moved to the center of the patch of grass. Displayed on the lush turf, were a couple sets of fingerless gloves. I bent down to pick them up, tossing a pair to Harry before I slipped mine on. From there, I shot Harry a smug look, clearly pleased to in having permission to kick his ass.

"Fucking shit, Tash!"

Two hours later and things were definitely entertaining— well, entertaining for me at least. The setting sun kissed the horizon, and its rays of light stretched across the painted sky. Orange, lavender, and light pinks melted together, creating a majestic backdrop. While the environment around us radiated paradise, the scene before me however, dripped with wince-worthy moments.

Harry groaned loudly, his face contorted with pain. I hovered above his body which lied atop the grass, and shot him an apologetic look.

"If its any consolation, you're getting better," I told Harry, an exaggerated beam planted on my face in hopes that it would ebb his irritation.

"Something tells me that you like torturing me," Harry guessed, as he sat up and rubbed his back.

"What? Me? Enjoy kicking your ass? Pshh," I playfully dismissed his theory, flicking my hand to further enhance my claims. Harry was not at all convinced, and darted a pointed look of skepticism my way.

"Uh huh, okay."

"Alright, fine. You caught me," I confirmed, holding my hands up in surrender. "I do like seeing you suffer a little bit."

And shirtless. I liked seeing him shirtless. 

Harry soon got back on his feet. He did a few simple stretches, wiggled his body to insure nimbleness, and was ready to try again. He let out a puff of air, then maneuvered into position.

"Let's do it again. I got this," Harry stated, a touch of determination in the way he lowly spoke.

I smirked, getting into position. He and I glared at one another, thriving off of the natural energy diffusing from our own forcefield. Harry observed my every move, patiently waiting for me to strike. I didn't lie when I told him he was getting better. In all honestly, Harry learned a lot during this first session, and I knew if we kept training a couple of hours each day, his hand to hand combative skills would greatly improve.

I arched my arm back, driving a clenched fist towards Harry's face. He ducked below my arm, swiveled his feet and struck his knuckles into my side. A small groan escaped my lips, but so did a smile. Not only did he retain the information I was feeding him, but Harry was able to execute the mechanisms too.

"Okay, I see you," I complimented with an impressed sneer. "Now let's challenge that streak."

Pivoting my entire body 180 degrees, I faced Harry once again. My left hand prepped itself for a jab, but instead of following through, I carried out a cross-hook combo. The power punch landed right into Harry's side, and a grunt slipped from his lips.

"Come on asshat, don't be easily fooled by a fake punch," I taunted. "Pay the fuck attention."

Throwing in a double jab, I finished the combo with a straight cross. Harry thwarted my punch by lifting his left arm to protect his face. What he failed to do however, was anticipate my left hook.

"Fuck," Harry groaned, stumbling slightly upon impact from my fist.

"I told you, focus on the chest," I reminded him. "You'll be able to see your opponent's movements better."

Harry and I bounced on our toes, continuously staring at each other as we waited for one of us to strike first. The sun was just about to set, falling behind the horizon where the sky and the ocean line met. Everything around us gained a dark blue tone, mirroring the dusky aura encompassing Harry. I could see it in his eyes that he was determined to get this right.

Straight cross, uppercut, left hook.

Two rapid punches landed perfectly, but the last one became a blunder. Harry moved his body fluidly, diving beneath my rounded hook and rammed his body against mine. All in one, swift maneuver, Harry grabbed my waist with his strong arms, manipulated my center of gravity, and tackled me to the grass.

He fell atop my body, his legs straddling my waist. With me in a compromising position, Harry arched his arm back. I blocked my face, waiting for his fist to collide with my arms, however the blow never came. I uncrossed my arms to find Harry beaming proudly at me.

"I did it," he declared with extreme satisfaction.

"You did," I cheered, clapping hands.

"Thanks for teaching me this stuff," Harry mentioned.

"It was no problem," I shrugged my shoulders. "I had a good time."

Realizing he was still sitting on top of me, Harry snapped back to reality and leaned back. He slipped off of my body, and sat on the grass with his legs sprawled out in front of him. Bringing myself to an upright position, I sat next to Harry. Our shoulders— skin sticky with sweat— grazed one another and I felt a tickle of energy spark my entire left arm.

"You did well today, Harry. I'm proud that you learned so much today," I told him. I didn't look at the boy, and instead kept my eyes focused on the bright blue ocean before us.

"You're a really great teacher," Harry complimented. "A piece of shit hard-ass who didn't sugarcoat anything, but a great teacher nonetheless."

I laughed loudly at his criticism, turning my head to look at the dimpled boy next to me. He stared right back at me with an unreadable expression illustrated on his face. Suddenly, he had his hand resting on my neck. His exposed fingertips glided against my skin with a featherlike touch, and my breathing hitched. Harry leaned in slightly, and then switched his focus from my eyes, to my chest.

"Tash?"

"Yea."

"Where's your mom's ring?"

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Hey all! It's been a while since I've updated, & I'm sorry about that. I've had this chapter written for weeks but I didn't have the time to edit it. Summer break has been eventful to say the least.

Anyway, I hoped you all liked this chapter & enjoyed learning more about Harry's backstory. Thanks for reading my story & giving it all the support! I hope everyone's summer is going by great & I'll see you in the next chapter.