Blue ( Harry Styles - Fanfiction)

Fluffy Pancakes

Author's Note: Hello everyone! It's been two weeks, and I am so so sorry! Wattpad was blocked for a while in my country, and I couldn't update, as well as having a shitload of exams.

However, I filed a complaint to the people who blocked the site, and they must've listened to my complaint and started Wattpad back up. YAY!

So new character joining us today! Mr.Avery More, who will be played by Eric Dane who also plays Mark Sloan on Grey's Anatomy (I've got a sort of Grey's Anatomy thing going on here with Patrick Dempsey and Eric Dance ;) )

ALSO THANK YOU FOR THE 5.1K+ READS AND 115 VOTES! THANK YOU SO SOSOSO MUCH!

This chapter is more like a filler, the next chapter will be very, very interesting. I have a lot of surprises in store for you. I haven't edited it yet, so sorry for some mistakes :)

Anyways, I hope you enjoy this!

ENJOY, VOTE AND COMMENT! Xx

---------------------------

Helena's P.O.V

"Bye Darla!" I scream, as she drives off and I am now standing in front of my father's porch. The lights inside the house are off, and I sigh in relief. I am in no mood to deal with my father right now. I am slightly over my shock towards his lovely news, however I am royally pissed off at the fact that he's kept it from me for six long months.

I am still intoxicated, and I can still see green eyes and pretty pink lips. I can also hear a faint noise that ironically sounded like a British accent. I want to slap myself for obsessing over a man who has only ever seen me in my drunken, and rather obnoxious state. Poor Harry.

I stumble forward, and make my away up the steps of the porch, and drop to my knees, looking for the keys that I knew my dad kept under the doormat, or was it under the plant? Did he even have a plant? I shove my hand under the doormat and feel the cool metal underneath my fingertips, and I grip it tightly and pull it out. I stand up, almost falling backwards and possibly cracking my skull open.

I look down at my hands, and see that they are slightly shaking, and then I realise that my eyes are sweating? Wait, those are tears. Right. That's nice. Why would I feel the need to cry at.. what time was it anyway?

But once the tears hit my hand, and the rusty keys, and the keychain that was in the shape of a heart, and within the heart it said 'Daddy's girl'. This was my key. My key, that my father made for me, and bought this keychain because he's nice like that. And now I was choking down on my tears, because I didn't understand where this wave of sadness came from. I was trying so hard to comprehend why I chose to cry instead of scream, or kick the door in front of me, or grab the plant and smash it against the ground.

I rested my back against the door, and sunk down to my knees, and soon I was just sitting in front of my dad's house, sobbing and gripping the keychain in my hand, turning it over between my fingers and re-reading the words indented into it through my blurry vision.

When I was seven years old, my mom and my dad were yelling at each other, just like they had every night, or every chance they got to argue, they did. I was seven, so I just stood on the sidelines and watched it all happen. I watched, and I analysed. I knew that it would start out as a heated discussion, with harsh whispers flying back and forth, and then my dad will say something stupid that will tick my mother off majorly, and then they'll start raising their voices, and soon they're just screaming and my mother starts to cry and she begins to smack her hands against his chest, pushing him away physically, and shoving him out the door emotionally.