Wildflower [h.s.]

Chapter 3

Harry Styles
October

Two Saturdays a month I'm expected at my parents estate to put on a show for the rich and snobby of Seattle. It's usually the only time they put on functions that I'm required to attend when id much rather being locked away in my office writing music. They stopped forcing me to travel with their business associates but I have to show face every once in a while.

I also hate Saturday's thanks to them.

I begrudgingly make my way into my house knowing that I'll have to spend the whole night plastering a fake smile on my face with Jazmine hanging off my arm. My parents company is putting on some kind of charity auction that I'm being forced to attend with my ice queen of a girlfriend that my father loves more that his own son. I told them I wasn't up for it, tried to act poorly, but of course after some very choice words from my father that almost ended in a brawl, I caved.

I can already hear loud music blaring upstairs as Jazmine gets ready upstairs. Fucking hell, and it's Taylor Swift of all things.

I throw my keys in the bowl, throw my bag down on the ground, and kick off my boots.

Making my way into the bedroom I see a plain black suit hanging on the back of the bedroom door. I grown in disdain. I told her I didn't want a solid black suit. I had a floral printed one already picked out sitting in my closet; if I was forced to attend, I was at least still going to be myself.

I walk right past the stuffy suit and pull the right one out of my closet. Getting dressed in something so eye catching physically brought a smile to my face. I've always loved expressing myself through my style, Jazmine said it was always "too much", so I'd always toned it down. But now? No fucks are given. 

Walking out of the closet fully dressed, I sit down on the bed to slide on my loafers. Jazmine sees me out of the corner of her eye, "Baby not that one. I grabbed you a proper one, please put it on." I huff back at her, not saying a word.

"Harry, please? Your father insists and you always look sexy in black." She gives me those annoying pleading doe eyes that used to make me drop to my knees, but not any more. I don't acknowledge her request and sit quietly scrolling through my phone. The air around us has been so suffocating and it was really eating away at her. She was tapping her perfectly manicured fingers against the marble counter top, nose scrunched and eyes glaring. "Harry I am so sick of the silent treatment!" Her shrill pained voice screams at me from the bathroom as she slams down her tube of red lip stick.

I've barely spoken to Jaz since Monday, and she was at her wits end with me.

I don't care how many fucking Baby's breath bouquets she sends me, actions speak louder than words.

I came home Tuesday and thankfully she wasn't home. I ate dinner by myself, played my guitar, watched a shitty rom-com, and went to bed. Jazmine eventually strolled in at about 12:30 smelling of vodka and cigarettes making all sorts of ruckus. Even though i was still awake, I pretended to be asleep. When she's drunk, she gets handsy, and I was not in the mood.