Shattered

I climbed up the ladder to his quarters and let myself in. Harry was sitting cross-legged on his bed with fists full of his knotted hair. I could also smell a bit of alcohol in the air, and I saw an open bottle of Vodka on his bedside table.
I crossed the room and leaned up against the bedpost.
"I didn't know you were a drinker."
"It's a habit I'm picking up."
"It's unbecoming."
"Then we'll add that to the list of my faults," he said somberly. "Lord knows I have no shortage of those."
I frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Harry seemed to have realized what he had said. He shook his head vehemently with an uttered, "nothing, nothing."
He picked up the glass off of the bedside table and took a drink of the clear liquid. He winced then drank some more.
"Look..." I started.
But I didn't know how to finish the sentence. Where do I even begin? I had a tendency to pry but I've never wanted to overstep my boundaries. How does one admit to their wrongdoings? I wanted to know everything. I wanted for there to be no secrets between me and them, between Harry and I, but I was also afraid of the truth.
"Look, I'm sorry for what happened at lunch. He was right to tell me to stay out of his- and ultimately your- business. I shouldn't have said anything."
"It's oka-"
"No! It's not- it's not okay." My lip trembled and my vision grew blurred. "It's never okay, that's the problem. I just want to know what is wrong with me. I just want to know what I am doing wrong," I sputtered.
I had begun to cry.
"I mean, I was pretty fucking rude to him, but... what did he mean you guys have a 'couple of issues'?"
Harry shook his head.
"Harry," I said again. "I have a fucking right to know because I said something that I shouldn't have."
Harry shook his head and picked up his glass and stared at it. He looked like he was about to take another swig of it when he abruptly set it down. He proceeded to move closer to me before he enveloped me in a comforting hug.
"We were just kids.." he began. "All six of us. It's kind of hard to imagine that was all nearly four years ago..." His voice trailed as he pondered the memory.
I pulled back and saw memories flooding and glazing over his green irises. The corners of his rose petal lips turned up into a reminiscing smile. They were fond memories. With a smile like that, I could not imagine the boy before me having any sort of resentment towards the dark boy I met that day.
"Zayn had begun to drift from us. Wyatt and him both. They were always together and-" Harry wiped the corners of his eyes and untangled himself from me and withdrew into his shell.
"I... I-I guess here's your third answer. Wyatt and Zayn did some very very bad things, Becca. I don't want to paint a bad picture of your brother, but I suppose just like your parents, Wyatt was not good. Hasn't been good for years." Harry tapped on his forehead. "He's a bit sick in the head, if you know what I mean."
"Zayn Malik, the bloke you met today, fed into that... fed into his..." Harry was at a loss for words by this point.
"What are you saying?" I asked. I took hold of his hand.
"I'm saying that-" he swallowed roughly. He closed his eyes.
"My father is fucking dead because of Zayn."

Notes