Tears of an Angel (One Direction/Harry Styles Fanfiction)

Chapter One: Torn Beginnings

Chapter One: Torn Beginnings

...

Tammy's P.O.V

I just wasn't quite tall enough.

I knew that I would be one day. One day I would be older and taller, easily able to achieve what I could not now. But despite having this knowledge, I knew that it wouldn't help me now. No, now was an entirely different matter in comparison to later on.

Bitting my lip in contemplation at this thought, I stared at the obstacle before me. It posed a definite problem. One that I needed to solve, and wasn't overly sure how. The question was simple enough: how to reach my lunch? How to get it down from the tall white-marble bench it sat on? The same one, that was just above the height that I could manage a stretch too.

My puzzled eyes absently drifted over the familiar room which I stood in, deep in thought. It was just the same as always. The same old blue carpet, regular high ceiling and faded yellow walls. Same plain furniture and dusty coffee table with one window that had its covering drapes drawn to a close, preventing the natural light from getting in. Near that the table was situated, humbly supporting the weight of a large vase of sweet smelling flowers, surrounded by boring wooden chairs.

Exactly the same as it always was, boring wooden chairs included.

Hold on,

That's it.

Abruptly, an idea came to my befuddled mind. The aquatic blue eyes that I sported lit up while my pink, thin lips tilted skywards with the smile that I gave. Within the same moment that the newly thought up plan had settled itself in my brain, I had automatically leapt into action. I wasted no time running across the room (positive my idea would work) as I searched for what I would need to achieve my goal.

The grin on my baby-face only grew wider when I reached the specific object that I had been heading for.

The chair.

The process of dragging the large wooden piece of furniture across the room was tedious, but I got there in the end: slowly stepping backwards as I pulled it along, and cringing slightly when it scraped against the hard floor.

The chair ended up where I wanted it sooner than I had expected, and with one final tug I was able to let go and step back happily. Blowing the white-blond hair that made up my fringe out of my eyes with a huff; I raised my hands and let them sit loosely on either side of my hips. I looked over my work.

Nodding once to myself, I moved forward again, careful in my climbing so that I didn't fall and hurt myself. I was proud, as I was able to get up on two feet. Granted, I was using the chair back to hold myself steady but it still felt like an achievement on my part. It was with this feeling coursing through my blood that I kept one hand on the chair and used the other to reach out, taking my paper-bag encased lunch with satisfaction.

Dragging the chair back to its original spot was just as much work as the first time I had tugged it along, but the difference was that I felt happy in doing so: knowing that Iíd done something grown-up. I wouldn't tell my parents though, they'd scold me for it. Tell me that I could be injured and all of that kind of stuff, but I was brave and invincible. Adventurous at heart. I also liked to think that I was fairly independent, and clever to. My Mum and Dad always said that I was a lot smarter than most kids my age. They said I was special. I know a lot of bigger words that most kids my age didn't, but I wasn't quite sure on that one. Special. What made someone special? What did you have to do to achieve it?

I ought to ask Harry, he might know. Oh! Harry!

At the thought of my best friendís name I suddenly remembered, I was supposed to be meeting Harry before school today. We'd see each other at our usual place under the big tree. I loved that big tree; it was so tall and thick. It had little wrinkles all over, (which meant that it was old) and its branches were the perfect size and height for climbing. Harry didn't like the tree as much though, I think he might be a little bit scared of heights but I've never asked him. I know that Harry likes to pretend to be big and tuff, but the truth is he's actually quite small for an eight year old.