Regrets and Runaways

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fan Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Yet another fanfiction!


I might as well tell everyone that I am absolutely OBSESSED with McFly (a band). Even more than My Chemical Romance (And I love them A LOT).

Just briefly, Harry is feeling angry at his parents, his life and the world. He makes some decisions and a few bad choices, but doesn't regret them at all.
Until he ends up hurting the one he loves the most.

** This is pure fiction spawned from my own mind. None of it ever happened. I do not own McFly *sighs sadly*


Submitted: May 15, 2009

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 15, 2009



I was past feeling upset or depressed. Well, maybe a little depressed.

Wouldn't you be too if your world was crashing down around you?

Despite all the times I'd been through this, I still jumped when I heard the sound of smashing glass. I wondered why Mum kept buying more plates and glasses when she probably knew they'd be thrown against the walls.

The screaming intensified. I had to give it to them, they were teaching me many things.

One thing I'd learnt was that the human vocals could stretch to tremendous levels. My ears were ringing with my mother's loud sobs and Dad's acidic accusations.
I winced at some of the names he called my mother.

Another thing I was beginning to learn was that no one could be depended upon except myself.

Not me, I suddenly realised upon seeing the evidence that even I couldn't help myself. I'd rolled the sleeves of my flannelette shirt up to my elbows and red lines glared up at me. Some were very deep, spilling enough blood to make me worry slightly. I didn't want to die, well, not at the moment at least. How much blood was too much blood? And then, like every other concern, I shrugged it off. Let the chips fall where they may and I wouldn't object.

Was I that insane?

I drove away anyone, anything that tried to make me reason. I drove away the part of me that used to shun emos. Why the hell would they do that? It doesn't fix anything.

That was a year ago.

It is terrifying how fast life can change. I'd been so happy once. You know, that cheerful, hyper guy that did funny things and helped others when they were feeling down.
I hated the person I'd become.

"You're trying to make us poor, that's it, isn't it?" My father roared. "Fucking gambling away shit we don't have!"

"Leave me the fuck alone!" Mum used to just take it and hope he'd tire himself out. Now, it was like she edged him on; like she WANTED to fight.

"All I wanted was you to stop stealing off me---"

"I'm not stealing anything off you, you paranoid fuck-head!"

I don't know who to believe anymore. Mum did have a problem, and it was making us suffer, but did Dad really have to go on like this?
I gritted my teeth and look towards my window. Escape. freedom. Silence.

My neighbourhood wasn't the most kid friendly one. There was a strong possibility I could get mugged, attacked, raped or worse. Cool with me.

I rushed over to the window and yanked back the blinds. I'd never run away before. I had no money, nothing of value. I bit my lip, having second thoughts.

A loud beep made me leap forward, startled. I hit my head on the window. It hurt, but I didn't mind.

I walked over to my desk and checked the caller ID. I sighed. I'd been wrong; there was one person out there who I could depend on.

I answered the phone and placed it to my ear.

"Hey," I said softly.

"Harry," They returned, their voice strange.

"Is something wrong?" I asked, only slightly concerned. That was how selfish I was. I could only think about myself; the stinging cuts running up the entire bottom of my forearm like a ladder, most of them still oozing blood; my open window, letting in the icy night air and furthering the stinging.

"I'M fine," he said uncertainly. "I just suddenly had this... it's weird. I just felt like I should call you. That something was wrong."

I froze. Did he know me that well? In the entire year that I'd been loving him, had he somewhere along the way developed some extra sense that warned him when I was in trouble?
Did he love me that much...?
I shook my head, also trying to shake away these strange thoughts. I was analyzing this way too much.

"So..." Danny urged, breaking me out of my thoughts and I realised with dismay that this probably concluded for him that something wasn't right. Sometimes, it sucked to be the happy guy; being depressed was so utterly different that even people who weren't that close would notice and begin to pry.


Why did I find my tongue suddenly glued to my mouth? I was terrified, terrified that I'd let Danny into a part of myself that I hadn't even understood yet. I couldn't let him see me like this, I couldn't let him know that I was this bad. He didn't know about the cutting. Or the drinking. Or the pills I kept stashed in my school bag, always too cowardly to use them, but not enough to throw them away. They sat there, waiting for me.
I looked at my school bag from across the room.

"Harry Judd!"

I blinked and forced my eyes away from that bag and the dangerous items it contained. I tried to pry myself from the sudden temptation to swallow all those pills.
One thing at a time, I told myself, alarmingly calm for someone contemplating suicide.

"Hey, Dans, what's up?"

"Harry, what's wrong?"

I laughed. The sound was so utterly fake and I knew Danny could tell. "Nothing, mate. Just a bit tired; Mr Winslow really killed me at cricket practice today---"

"What's wrong?" He was so damned stubborn. So persistent. I sighed. It was one of the things I loved about him.

"Look, it's nothing---"

"Answer the question, Juddmeister,"

"Don't call me that." I told him, half irritated at the name, half hoping I'd distract him from his line of questioning.

"And no avoiding the question, either." Damn that boy. Damn his springy brown curls, his adorable freckly face, warm embrace, his soft, beautiful eyes that made me feel... DAMN HIM.

He was stubborn, but I was too. I was so determined not to bring him into this that I decided to do something that I know would kill me.

I made my voice, emotionless, cold. It was surprisingly easy when I pictured my parents faces instead of my lover's.

"Danny... I'm going away for a while."


"You heard me."

He paused, obviously taken aback from the venom in my voice. What he didn't know was that I was saying this to my father, not to him. I was meaning for my words to have the same effect as all those plates that'd been shattered against walls. Hard, sharp, terrifying.

I knew Danny would never be scared of me, but I was hoping he'd get so pissed off that he'd just move on. Like he was supposed to.

"Harry... I don't understand."
I winced at the pain in his voice. I was his comfort, as he was mine. He may have been strong, but even the strongest fell when their loved ones suddenly turned on them. Believe me, I would know.

"I'm taking a break," I went on, my voice slightly rushed because these words were beginning to hurt more than anything I'd ever felt. Worse than cutting, worse than burning; an intense mixture of the two. "I'm going on the road to think things out."

"You can't drive."

I almost barked out a laugh. Of course he'd be logical about a thing like this; he wasn't sure about what was going on, so he kept himself calm with stating things that he DID know.

"I'm hitching a ride with a family friend," I lied easily.

"But... why? What do you need to think out?" His voice wavered on the last word and I felt my heart stop. I felt surprise, because I'd thought it'd stopped months ago. I was making him cry. I was hurting him. I was a monster.

"I'm... confused right now, Dan," My voice softened only slightly with the slight truth I told. I was confused. So confused. "I..." I trailed off, skipping through excuses that'd he'd believe.

"What?" I stayed quiet. I didn't know what to say. "HARRY, please, your scaring me. Why are you doing this? Did I do something wrong?"

You're an angel, I wanted to tell him. I didn't. Inspiration struck.

"Well, not exactly..."

"Stop playing with me!" He cried out. "You're killing me!"

"Daniel," I said his full name, the name he hated. "I... I don't think that I'm... into guys anymore."

He went quiet. This was good; it gave me time to recover from that horrid lie. Not into guys? That's all I've EVER been into. The last girl I kissed was a girl in year nine, and that was to make Danny jealous. It'd worked in the end.

"What do you mean 'not into guys anymore'?" His voice was cold now. He'd always worried that he'd never be good enough for me -- ludicrous, of course, -- but one thing he couldn't fathom was getting dumped because his boyfriend might be into girls. It'd happened to him before, and he'd been extremely bitter about it.

By doing this, I was pushing the only good thing left in my life away.

"I mean that I'm definately not into the idea of playing with some guy's cock anymore," I snapped. The window. I had to get out. Tears started building, burning behind my eyes when I refused to let them fall. Yet.

"Is this some kind of joke?"
His voice was still quiet, but I could detect the anger, the coming hatred.

"Why would I joke about a thing like this?"

"I told you how I felt about this kind of thing. I told you. You promised you were into guys."

I wasn't 'into' guys. I was in love with one guy and one guy only: the guy that was going to hate me.

"Well, truthfully, I thought I was in the beginning," I droned, making an effort to sound like the cruel, sadistic bastard he thought me to be. "But, being with you made me realise that I really couldn't handle that sort of thing."

I made 'that sort of thing' sound dirty. Filthy. Like how someone would say 'sewer rat'. The burning of my eyes, and the burn of my words, intensified.

"So you aren't even sorry about this?" Danny's voice could've given me frostbite. "Sorry that I've fallen for you, and love you so much it makes my ribs ache --- you aren't sorry for taking that love away from me?"

He couldn't even fathom how sorry I was. "Not really." I added, "And aching ribs doesn't sound all that wonderful to me; you should be grateful."

"Grateful?!" Finally, some volume. "You've fucking hurt me, Harry Judd. Hell, you practically killed me!"

I couldn't handle that. "Don't say that!"

"It's true!" He yelled. "I'm dead. I'll never love again."

"Don't be so overly dramatic," I said, thinking how I would be the same. Well, it'd be different for Danny; he was gorgeous, amazing, funny, kind and smart. He always knew how to make you feel better. He always made you feel loved.

Guys will be lining out the door for this guy. And I was throwing him away.

"Fuck you, Harry." He suddenly spat. "Fuck. You."

"Danny---" I'd been trying to tell him to take care of himself, but he interrupted.

"I hate you. HATE YOU!"

And then, just like that, I was gone. The life fled from me like the shadows from the light. I stopped hearing, stopped seeing.

All that I knew was that I HAD to get through that window. Get away. Far away.
I didn't even try to cover the misery that was in my voice.

"Take care of yourself, Dan."
But the only sound that replied was dead tone of the phone. Without even hanging up, I threw the phone against the wall above my bed. It cascaded onto my bedspread like rain, distorted pieces falling into a heap of rubbish.

Like my heart.

My face blank, I turned towards the window. I had one leg hanging out when I remembered something.

I reluctantly came back to my hellish room, going straight for my bed. Ignoring the sad remainders of my phone, I flipped back the blankets and retrieved the black handled metal. I then practically leaped out of my window, landing with a painful thud, but quickly getting up and sprinting down the road.

I had no idea where I was going, but that was irrelevant anyway.

My hand tightened it's grip on the blades of the scissors, and I wondered how far I'd get before I gave into my misery.

* * *
Sorry for the depressing stuff. *apologetic smile*

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