Breathe (Harry Styles)

Breathe

So I was walking in the woods today and I got this great idea in my head. It just came to me, so I had to write it down and see what you guys think of it. So, yeah, comment below your thoughts :)

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Breathe

She was crying.

The tears were pooling out of her eyes faster than a waterfall, and I was motionless. I had no idea what to do. I didn't know how to comfort her. I mean, you grow up your whole life with your mother being the one doing the comforting, then all of the sudden your mom bursts into tears and you're supposed to know how to handle it.

I did the first thing that popped into my brain; patted her on the back. As she was sobbing, I asked, "Mom, what's wrong?" which only made her cry harder.

"Y-your father," she stuttered out after a while. "He-he left. P-packed up everything."

It took me a while to register what she was saying.

"He's gone."

I ran. I didn't think of what I was doing. I just ran out of there as fast as I could, slamming the front door open and slamming it closed behind me. My feet thudded against the pavement as I ran, but I could barely hear it over the sound of my thudding heart. I kept running, and running, and not looking back.

Finally, I reached a park about a mile or so from my house. I couldn't believe I had run that far.

I walked slowly over to one of the swings and sat down gently. I felt the tears slipping out and down my cheeks, but I didn't think to care for even a second of what I looked like. I knew I must've looked pretty trashy with my mascara running down my cheeks and my eye shadow smudged, but I did't care. My father had left my mother, had left me, and I felt so alone. I knew I shouldn't have ran away from my mother when she needed me most, but I couldn't help it. I needed to be alone.

I slipped my iPod out of my pocket, plugging in the headphones and and slipping one into my ear, quickly blasting away the lyrics that would take me away from here.

Suddenly a twig snapping brought me out of my thoughts. I quickly looked behind me to see a man who was probably in his late teens, or early twenties heading towards the swing next to mine. I quickly bundled the edge of the sleeve of my black hoodie over my fingers and wiped around my eyes to try to rid myself of the evidence that I was crying.

I heard the squeak of the swing and turned to see the man sitting next to me. I gave him a polite, tight-lipped smile, and turned back to look out at the emptiness in front of me.

"You wouldn't happen to have any One Direction on that thing, would you?" he suddenly asked, gesturing to the iPod in my hand. I noticed he had a British accent.

I looked up, his green eyes meeting with my brown ones, and brushed the hair from my face back, putting it behind my ear. I bit my lip and shook my head. "Um, no."

He raised his eyebrow, which was hard to tell because he had the hood of his jacket over his face and was wearing sunglasses, even though the sun wasn't out because it was winter. "Not a fan, eh?" he asked.

I shook my head slowly. "Um, not really. I mean, I like their song Little Things, but I don't really know much about them or their songs. I don't even know their names!" I chuckled a little at myself, and the man laughed too.

"Are you a fan?" I asked after a moment of silence.

He turned to look at me, his curly hair flopping out of the hood and over his right eye. "Fan of what?" he questioned.