Vetis

Control

A/N: Hi guys! I am back! I won't be posting as often, and I hope you haven't all disappeared. But I was dealing with some stuff, because sadly some of Vetis' themes overlapped with my own life. But I am so much happier now. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I really have missed writing and I hope you enjoy :) This isn't too eventful, just me getting back into the flow of it. But enjoy regardless!

Chapter song: This is me trying - Taylor Swift.

Niall decided to not tell me about his little frat holiday and leave me with Harry, who has now decided to be my babysitter. Niall begged to stay of course, but I knew it would be like having two dads constantly fussing over me, watching my every move. So one is better than both of them. But, Harry must think I am made of glass the way he hasn't left me alone. I know I am a bit younger than him, but I am not incapable.

He even insists on sitting outside the bathroom door when I shower. Maybe there's some monster in the shower drain I am not aware of but he sits there just staring at the door, waiting for me to finish. He is like a lost puppy, following me around everywhere. Personally I think it's just an excuse to see me in my towel, but he's not a silly frat boy so I don't think he has those intentions. Then again, sometimes I catch him staring at me. Like how I stare at my record player or fresh cups of ginger tea. Admiration, maybe? Adoration?

I haven't heard from Hugo since the incident. I think that has something to do with Harry I just haven't mustered up the courage to ask yet. I don't think I want to know what happened to him. It is getting easier over time, I don't get so skittish over loud noises anymore. I also don't dream about it which is good, those nightmares could have scared Stephen King.

Back to the present, after a week of being babied and nurtured like a child, I have had enough. I am gaining the power that Hugo took from me and bringing back the feisty, arguably bitchy Francie that has been hiding underneath.

Control.

A noun.

Definition: The act or power of controlling, regulation, domination or command.

Time to get it back.

Time to show Harry that I am not so much of a child, and that I don't need to be babied.

Here is the list, which has been fittingly titled 'Steps from being babied to being railed."

Actually scratch that. Steps from being babied to being taken seriously. Not trying to stroke Harry's already inflating ego, I wouldn't touch him with a five foot pole.

1. Wardrobe. Gain control from both the inside and out.

2. Make him jealous, if possible...

3. Set boundaries for both Harry and Niall.

4. Post on social media. Show Hugo what he's missing. (Not in a I-want-you-back type way, in a Look-what-you-can't-get way.)

5. Start working at the florist again.

Mission number one: Wardrobe. Let's get sexy baby.

Also, call Niall to find out where on earth he's run off to. I don't believe his 'frat' trip for one second. We're English for goodness sake, his frat is just an excuse to drink. Of course, he'll deny it to the grave.

Stirring the honey into my tea, and a book next to me, I look up at Niall. Questioning, "Why do you even go to these 'frat' events? We're not American. What do you even do? Just drink? You know, you're Irish people know you drink."

Niall stalks over to me, resting his index underneath my chin to cast my gaze to his eyes. "You don't need to worry your pretty little head, Francie. It's mens stuff, innit? Like we chat about girls and games and stuff."

"Girls and games and stuff? Right. Now, go get me a snack you sexist bastard." I cackle as his jaw drops and he exclaims, stomping into the kitchen.

Grabbing my laptop, I flick open the lid, a sense of excitement filling me. A feeling that has felt rather foreign lately. Typing in all my favourite brands, I click and select all my favourite items. Some rather out of my comfort zone, but that is the purpose. I want to have a new sense of life and confidence. It is rather odd, not having to worry about whether I show too much leg or too much tit. I am shocked a man would complain about too much tit. But there we go. I can finally pick my own clothes to wear for me.

I am free.

For once in my life, I feel totally unshackled.

I am going to life my life for me. Without Hugo constantly behind me tightening the rope around my wrists.

Libre comme l'air, Francie. Libre comme l'air.