Teeth [Harry Styles Fanfiction]

Prologue:

The loud clamour my father made right above my ear made me jump up, almost immediately out of bed. My green eyes opening slightly, shifting around my setting. "Oh good, you're up." he spoke, the way his words came out was as if he was annoyed or something. "Yeah... why am I up, exactly?" I questioned him, and he stood above me with his arms crossed.

"We've got a job, son," he spoke briefly before walking towards the door. "Wait," I groaned, holding my hand up. I was so tired that I felt as if my hand were to give out any second. "What?" Impatiently, he asked me. "Where are we working this time?" 

"Across town, the Fiscella family," he said, almost as if I were to know them. Honestly, I didn't - nor did I really care. I just had one job, and that depended on what they wanted done exactly. With a loud groan, I nodded my head, feeling my curls tickle the gap of my neck. "Oh, and Harry, before I forget..." he began to speak, turning around to face me. 

I looked over at my dad and waited for him to continue. "This is a very rich family, they have a very long line of important people, extending all the way from Italy." My dad spoke to me as if I was a child. I didn't need to be talked to like this, but I suppose I understood why he used such a tone. 

"Yeah?" I sighed, from being tired, but also aggravated. "So, I don't want you to mess it up, you understand me boy?" this time, his tone was much more defiant, much more harsh. Again, I nodded, but hastily. I wanted him to see that I understood him. "And... for the love of god, keep your hands to yourself. I don't want to repeat the incident last time." 

I couldn't believe he even said that - last time... last time was an accident. I thought I had been careful, but I wasn't as much as I had anticipated. I hated that my father used this against me every single time. "Alright dad, I understand. Can I get dressed in peace now?" I inquired, my emerald eyes giving him a sharp glance. I heard his deep and raspy sigh, and he opened the door and left.

It hurt to know that one accident caused so much drama between my father and I. Sure, it was in the past, and now, his little rude comments have become somewhat of a 'joke' to him, but it still hurt. No one told me things would turn out the way they did, nor did I expect anything like this. 

I suppose I should be happy that I can at least get a couple of jobs now, but nothing felt right. I'd never be the son he wanted, or the guy they wanted, I'd just be me. Everything in me screams 'fuck 'em, you do what makes you happy.' I just can't get myself to believe that anymore. Hopefully this job will be over quick, just so I can pick up my check and leave. 

I got up, looked in my bathroom mirror and gave out a tired sigh, "Just get it done," my voice was dry, and raspy. "Get it done."