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Big beams of light swept across us, blinding me. Blinding Harry. Well, we were already blind to them. How couldn't we have noticed them? What with their banging and racket, surely the whole ship must have heard them approaching the lower decks of the ship. But then again, stuck in a predicament where Harry was pushed up on me and snogging me, there's only so much room for me to make an excuse. Of any kind.

"You little bastard, get off of him!" One of the guards raised a hand and violently smacked him in the face before retrieving a pair of cuffs and snapping them around his wrists. Harry was still locked in a mild stupor after that rather harsh use of force.

"Come along, son. He won't give you any more trouble," the chief officer said comfortingly. He placed an arm around me, which I shrugged off.

I was mad. I was mad at them. I was mad, though, mostly at myself. Why couldn't I speak up, say something? I forced my mouth open, trying to say something in Harry's defense, but one look at the big batons in their hands had me silenced before anything could be said. I was trained all my life to be passive, to let others do things for me or let God take control, and to defy that with any ounce of rebellion was treason against your family. Not just your living ones, but your entire bloodline. Every member of the Tomlinson-Austin family would be turning in their graves if they knew what I was doing. If they really knew what I was doing.

"Here, you appear rather chilly." I accepted the coat just so I could use it to shrink into something, whenever embarrassment or . . . or something happened. It would be my shell.

"Thank you."

After a few flights of stairs, we began to see more activity of the passengers aboard the ship. More onlookers to stare at us, and wonder what heinous crimes were committed. At least on Harry's part. Most would probably guess I was the victim. Yeah, poor First Class gentleman assaulted by a Third Class felon. If tensions between the two social categories could increase evermore, then this would be the ice-breaker.

Thankfully, most of my kind were already in their cabins sipping away daintily on tea or stroking a feline or whatever the hell they were doing. At least there wouldn't be as much attention focused on us as I'd thought.

"W-Why are we here?" I said.

"Because your parents wanted you and requested for him as well." And sure enough, we arrived on my parents' threshold. Someone rapped on it before my mum opened it, tears in her bloodshot eyes.

"Mum?" I said worriedly.

She turned to look at me, and suddenly her gaze grew stone-cold. The sorrow, the tears, they all seemed to vanish. There was an air of authority around her like an aura, and she straightened her jewel-studded dress as she stood next to Mark. His fist was clenched, and a prominent vein stuck out in his neck as he locked eyes with me and Harry.

"Louis."

I looked up at him, my thoughts interrupted. "Yes . . .?"

"I asked you a question. Would you like for me to repeat it?" he said scathingly.

I nodded, my head hung in shame.

"Where were you all afternoon?"

My mouth was dry and my tongue felt like leather. A dozen excuses flooded into my mind, all of them pushing against the other to get to the forefront of my mind and out of my mouth, all impatient to be heard. But all were irrational, all had loopholes in them too easily to spot.

"Were you with this—" Mark spat on Harry, "—dirt the whole day, Louis?"

A raw anger throbbed inside of me, a contempt for what he did. And I instantly became quick to respond, "Yes, I was."

I looked at mum, and her stony gaze softened. But not in a relaxed way, more like into a please-don't-prove-my-husband-correct way, into a worried stare.

"And were you with Harry the night before last as well?" He began to pace around the room, specifically around me.

"Yes . . ." I said with more hesitation. How does he know about that time?!

"Drinking your insides out I'm sure," he said. Mother gasped slightly, the first actual reaction to everything else she heard.

Despite the rage that boiled in my stomach, I didn't say a thing. I knew he was just waiting for a reaction from me, a reaction that would only give him the satisfaction that he managed to penetrate through all my barriers. Well, I would not give him that satisfaction. I gulped down the bile accumulating at the back of my throat.

Father looked at Harry, then at the guards around him. "Here, why is he in chains?"

"We caught him snoggin' the other, sir," one of them piped up eagerly. I wanted to glock him a good one in his smug face.

Father's eyes almost brightened, but not with a good kind of light. Just a new card to play against me. "Is that so . . .?"

I kept my head bowed and wormed myself between the shoulders of the coat around me. But not even the clothing could keep those searing eyes off of me, those that burned into my soul and examined everything I did, prying out the things I would've died to keep secret from him.

"I'll deal with you later." He gave me a sharp look before walking in a calm manner up to Harry and standing before him. My heart was pumping wildly in anticipation for what would come next.

"Mr. Styles." Harry nodded to him, a tenuous glint in his eyes. Before anyone was able to do anything, Mark struck him full-blown in the face with a pulsing fist that sent Harry reeling.

"No!" I said, trying to push my way through to Harry. I never saw my dad be so violent before, certainly not in front of me before. As I tried shoving past him, Mark pushed me to the wall with little effort before telling the guards to allow Harry release.

"You are to never make contact with my boy, you hear? If you do, I'll make certain that the police shall be informed of it upon arriving in the States," he said ominously.

I saw Harry giving my dad a hard stare, trying his best to remain calm as the guards undid his cuffs. One of them gave him a rough push away from the cabin, and after a fleeting glance at me over his shoulder, he was forced to leave.

Father looked at me briefly, as if just acknowledging my existence in the eerily quiet room. My arms were crossed over my chest in a non-defiant way, and my eyes refused to meet his or my mother's, but were instead transfixed on the paneling of the front door of the cabin.

Mark snatched his glass of whiskey (maybe it was that, I don't know) and began pacing again, his eyes glued to the carpeting. Mother was in the corner of the room, one hand leaning on the backside of the sofa, probably fumbling with her other hand nervously. There was an uncomfortable feeling in the room, a sort of quiet tension that no doubt everyone was feeling simultaneously.

"Johanna, would you be a dear and check up on the children?"

She started at the sudden request. It was obvious that Mark didn't want her in the room, but she obeyed him without a word. Dahlia appeared in a flash, striding alongside my mother as they went to go see the younger ones.

"Hopefully they didn't arouse to our . . . mostly civil discussion," he murmured, chuckling to himself. The fire inside of me that began to dim a while ago sparked back again furiously. A gut instinct told me that an argument was about to ensue between us. Nothing new, we argued frequently since my early teenage years.

"Louis," he began, "what was it that I told you earlier today? Hm? Oh yes, I reminded you of your behaviour. I also expressed my displeasure, and I also told you not to disappoint me again."

A heavy quiet followed. Probably to let that sink in, to let me know of my shameful acts. To let me know of my disgracefulness that, once again, brought unwanted drama and shame to the family name. That those dead Tomlinsons and Austins were, indeed, turning head over heels in their graves somewhere back home.

He opened his mouth again before closing it, and opened it again. Nothing came out. He opened it again, and as I took notice of the throbbing vein on his sweaty forehead he reared back and delivered a smashing blow to my face. It was so full of power that the joints in my neck cracked against each other. I held my face in my hand as the pain settled and the numbness wore off. My hand almost molded into the handprint on my cheek.

"How dare you?!" he roared. "You defiled the family name, you disobeyed me, and now you desecrate your own body?! Your God-given body made holy again, now tarnished and given to some scum from the streets? How dare you, my own son?"

I couldn't stand it. Silent tears swam in my eyes and dropped like rain all over me and my desecrated body as Mark continued to roar at me. I dropped to the floor, leaning against the polished wood panels of the cabin. The tears kept coming, and sweat dampened my hair but I didn't care. My mind was in another place, a place of solace where his bombarding voice was but a mere hum in the background. Where Harry and I were all alone with just each other for company.

I heard Anabelle coming through a door somewhere in the room. Her arm patted mine as she tried coaxing me from my fetal position on the floor, and after several attempts to get through my stubborness, she prevailed. I was guided to the bathing room, where I didn't even care to wash myself but just wade in the shallow water and sharp-smelling soap. Eventually, my stubborness won out and I was brought to bed. That was when I realized Anabelle was talking to me, albeit it being very one-sided.

". . . and yeah, although ya did go against your daddy's requests, I must admit that your pre-adult years are ones where you should live life like it should be."

I turned to her as she slipped the night-gown over me. "You really think so?"

Anabelle looked surprised to see a response from a until-then dormant body. "Yes, I really do, sir. But for now, at least while you're on this ship, keep your distance from Mr. Styles. That's just my take on it, mister."

"I suppose so," I murmured, pulling the covers over me. Anabelle forged a smile before blowing out the candle flame and departing from the bedroom. And just before the door was shut, I was already in a deep sleep. I remember dreaming that night, a dream about a place of solace where Harry and I were all alone with just each other for company.

----

The following morning felt oddly cheery. As if the events from the previous night, the drama and the use of physical punishment, were just a memory from the distant past. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes as well as the crustiness, I rolled out of the big bed and realized that I was naked.

"I could've sworn . . ." I began. What I meant to say was that I could've sworn I was wearing a night-gown. I was, but after finding it crumpled up underneath my covers, then it dawned upon me that I undressed in my sleep. Wow, Harry's effect on me stretched even to my unconscious hours.

Looking out through the circular window, I saw that it was just a little until dawn. That meant I was awake much earlier than usual. Usually, everyone in First Class was required to attend church service every morning. Mother and Father would go with the children, while I just slept through it and met everyone at breakfast. But since I was up, might as well attend the service.

"Rise and shine, Mr. Tomlinson," Dahlia said, my clothes for the day in her hands.

"Thanks, Dahlia," I murmured in a croaky voice.

"Are you feeling alright this morning, sir? Planning to attend the service?"

I nodded as I began to dress into the clothes for the day. Already, just moments after stepping into the trousers and snapping up every button, displeasure settled in. The thing was already becoming hard to breathe in, but as I recalled the events of the last night, I would not do anything to draw unnecessary attention to myself.

Just take it and suck it up, I thought grimly.

When that experience was over and done, I walked out of the room feeling tied up in silk ropes and trailed behind the rest of my family as we proceeded towards the chapel. Activity was little everywhere else we passed by, while the wealthy elite began peeking out of their doors to arrive for morning service. When we arrived, the service had just started with song. We sang and sang and sang until my throat felt raw, and when I felt like giving up, we were granted our seats at last.

I zoned out immediately after the captain stepped down from the podium and reclaimed his seat in the audience. I was locked in my world of silence and peace as the sermon was given, and after coming back to reality once or twice, I sighed with impatience at how lengthy it felt. Sure, I sat through church before when I was in an upset mood, but this felt like downright torture. I wanted to get out and do something, anything but sit in a church and listen to the drawling voice of a man preaching the Good News or whatever it was.

Eventually, the time came for me to receive that privilege. But all it was was time for breakfast. That day breakfast consisted of jacket potatoes and cold meat, which I ate fairly quickly and in a short amount of time while ignoring the mistress's questioning glare from across the table. I still didn't like her.

"Louis, you have a spot on your neck," Félicité said, gesturing to an area on the underside of my jaw.

I scrunched up my eyebrows. "Do I?"

She nodded. "It looks kind of like the color of a plum."

Still not sure what she was talking about, I grappled at the butterknife amidst my dozens of silverware and held it up as a reflection. Sure enough, there was a reddish mark on there. I thought back to how I got it. Maybe it was during my sleep? No, I didn't remember bruising myself or any pain. Wait . . .

A blush crept on my face as I realized it was from the previous night, after Harry and I were down below. A love bite. I must have received it as his teeth nipped at my skin, as he was hot and sweaty against me, as every thrust he made . . .

"Louis," my mother said, "are you alright?"

I looked at her oddly, wondering what made her think that I was not. But after dabbing the sweat off my forehead, clearing my throat, and readjusting my "lower half", I nodded and resumed eating my meal.

"Yes, mum, I'm perfectly fine."

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