Teeth [Harry Styles Fanfiction]

Chapter Five

Jay’s Point of View:

“Jay,” I could hear my mother’s voice hovering over the gap of my neck, her hand slightly caressing my skin. I winced a bit, a little shaken up by the sudden touch. What time was it anyway? I didn’t even know. “Mom,” I mouthed slightly, my head bowed away into my plump pillow. I tried to fold the pillow over my head, in hopes of blocking out the sound of her calls, but it was impossible. Her thick Italian accent tickled my ear and I finally caved. 

“Time for breakfast.” I felt her hands brushing over my purple covers once again and I finally sat up in bed. “What time is it?” I asked, sluggishly. She looked around for a second, “It’s already 10:30 am. Why did you sleep so late, mia cara?” she asked me, her accent very distinctive. For some reason, 10:30 am was considered late for us. I usually wake up at 7 am every day (even on weekends) and I don’t know why I did it, but I did. It was kind of just my psychological clock. However, last night was different. I didn’t get to actually sleep until about two in the morning. For some reason, the excitement from seeing Annie lingered. I had thought a lot about what she was telling me last night, about how she snuck out of her house over the weekend. How she went to a party and met a guy, how she got so drunk, Alex (a mutual friend) had to escort her out and bring her home. She lived such a lively life and she was so careless about what anyone thought of her. I wish I was like her sometimes, even if she risks things all the time.

“You need to let go of yourself.”

For some reason, those words played back in my mind like a broken record. Let myself go – I didn’t know how to let myself go. In most cases, I’ve always played it safe; I’ve always done things that either benefited me or kept me safe. Before, I preferred that – I preferred safety over recklessness, but now – things are different. I suppose being safe is what I should aim for, but I’m not a child. I’m eighteen years old, and I do absolutely nothing for myself – I don’t live in the moment.

I spent most of my night doodling away in a notebook I’ve had since I was about twelve. It was full of nonsense, doodles over almost every page. I couldn’t believe that after all these years; my book was still in good condition. It was funny; I was looking through it and remembered every single mark I had left on it. Since room in the notebook wasn’t available, I decided to look through it all night and just reminisce on all the memories it brought to me. Some good, some bad.

The first time I got the journal was in sixth grade (which was also my final year of public education, ironically). I went to a close elementary school and I will not lie; it was a pretty nice school. The kids were taught ‘good’ values and we had a lot of educational outlets and after school activities. If I was a different person, I may have actually liked it there. Unfortunately, I wasn’t – I was Jaycee Lynn Fiscella, the ‘nerd’, the ‘dweeb’, the outcast. I believe my only two friends in grade school were my pen and this journal.

All night I scanned through the pages, giggling at some of the stupid doodles I’ve put in over the years. The of course, I came across the small notes I added – the small, depressing notes.

“I hate everyone here, I want to go home. I want my bed. I want to get out of here.” – 04/23/07

That particular note made me chuckle because I remembered that event better than any other. I wasn’t really angry with anyone, I was just mad because I didn’t want to be in school. But there were notes that still… hurt me.

Before I knew it, the time read two am and I finally dozed off.

Now, I turned over and found my notebook lying closed next to me. Casually, I tucked it away under my pillow and got out of bed. I headed downstairs and found my mother and father sitting at are large marvel dining table. The two of them focused on their eggs and didn’t look at each other or utter a word to each other. My mother wasn’t smiling, matter of fact, she didn’t express any emotion. My father was looking down at the newspaper that lay flat on the table and the room was silent. I tried to sneak into my seat without them noticing, but since the room was so silent, they heard me instantly. “Jaycee,” my father cleared his distinctive voice. “It’s so nice to have you join for breakfast… finally.” I could hear the sarcasm lingering in his voice. I hated it when my dad tried to be sarcastic because his comments didn’t come off as witty or joking, they came off as harsh and rude.