~Close your eyes and picture the warmth of the sun on your skin... that's how being loved by her felt~
Harry Styles is a nepotism baby turned new father, left clueless with a newborn baby to raise, he is overwhelmed and under pressure. Matters are...
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Loneliness has sat heavily on me like a bruise that feels like it gets darker with each day that I spend living with the weight of my family's hatred.
Every time I think it is starting to heal, someone aggressively pokes at it and the bruise grows a shade darker.
I am convinced that one day, I will be so bruised and bloodied that I may just become a dark dot of greys, purples and dark blue hurt.
Pacing up and down the length of the corridor, I continuously walk past the door of the hotel room I booked in a rush for Sunday and myself only a few hours ago. She is on the other side of the door checking her appearance and readying herself for the show of a lifetime she is going to have to put on in a second.
"How the fucking fuck am I going to make this-" I stop myself short, kicking my foot into the red carpet of the corridor. "-Shut the fuck up, Harry."
Slapping my own thigh in contempt, I continue to pace up and down.
"I can hold a wet bar of soap better than I can hold a conversation with my own parents, what does that say about me?"
I shake my hands out in front of me, feeling useless without the comfort of Amos sleeping in them there to guide me. I feel frivolous without my little boy and with Sunday mad at me, I don't know how I am going to act tonight.
Not only do we now have to act married, we now have to pretend to actually like each other.
Or rather, Sunday has to pretend to like me.
"Mosi, what am I supposed to do?" I speak to him, pretending that he is right here in front of me instead of an hour and a half away in the care of Sunday's parents. "Your fake Mumma hates my guts. Your grandparents hate my guts and everything is falling apart and now I am fucking talking to myself."
I slam my hand into the doorframe, using the base of my palm to take the blow of the impact.
"Fucking hell!"
Suddenly, while I have my head bowed and my shoulders slumped, the hotel room door opens. Keeping my arm outstretched on the doorframe and leaning against it, I look up at Sunday and the disgruntled scowl on her face.
"Are you ready?"
"As I'll ever be." I mutter, standing back up straight and taking a stride towards the elevator on the other side of the hallway.
"You know, saying things like this doesn't actually fill me with a whole load of hope, Harry?"
"Sorry."
She glances across at me and I notice that she has reapplied a new layer of sheened red lipstick to her lips. The defined heart shape is more prominent than normal but I like the way it looks.
