Dispirited (Harry Styles Fanfiction)

Prologue

Life was unfair. It was a challenge too hard for me to complete. I hardly ever got the time to just take a step back from reality and breathe. Once you fix one problem, another is to come. It was a constant thing, the cycle never seemed to stop. Whether it be something with work, or friends, or even just me. I always wondered if it was only me who struggled with this, turns out millions have suffered the same as I did. Maybe even billions.

Everything in my life was a joke. Was it fun to play with someone like a rag doll? All my actions were forced, I'd force a smile, force myself to get out of bed everyday even though it was obvious that every time I woke up I was digging myself a bigger hole. Nothing ever helped the ache I constantly felt in my heart, no one but the four people I call my best friends and saviours knew about why I was all corruptive. I didn't give a shit if people judged me for going out practically every night to drink my stupid adult problems away. I didn't give a shit if anyone thought I was someone looking for attention cause only I knew what kind of a human being I truly was. I simply didn't give a shit.

My childhood was something I cherished deeply, cause of the memories of loved ones that were still there at the time. I'm not saying anyone ever passed, its just that with time people eventually change for better or worse.

I have contacted my father constantly, although both my parents had separated and found someone new a couple years before I entered my rebellious faze -not like that had ever ended. I learned my father is the owner of a famous tattoo parlour somewhere in L.A. But by this point I had lost all interest in him. If he didn't bother to contact me, why should I bother contacting him?

It was a fucking useless waste of time.

My mother lived near my house in London. Only cause of the fact that she had humans constantly popping out of her. Sometimes I'd lose count of how many siblings I had and how many times I had visited the hospital only to hear her screaming from giving birth.

Just like me, my mother had some tattoos herself. Although not as many as me, the ones all over my limbs, torso, and neck seemed to scare the living shit out of everyone I make eye contact with.

That wasn't a problem to me at all, I practically lived off of fear from others. I loved the feeling of dread almost dripping from someone. Especially when it was caused by me.

Living with my four best friends - three of them being men, while one of them an immature woman - made everything old seem newer. Its not like any of us were mature, we were made to not grow into adults. Our minds were set in the horny teenager faze and we didn't plan to set it to a level of adulthood anytime soon.

They had loads of tattoos as well, I mentioned before that it was something that could make someone shit their pants. But that doesn't mean the ink permanently drawn on our bodies are also alluring.

They were a way to find someone new. And even if that person wanted, they simply had no choice to leave.

You can try, but theres absolutely no way to find someone better than a girl with well over 70 tattoos. Someone who dyes their dreaded hair practically every week, someone who can show you that life is more than just partying and hooking up. Sure I was a hypocrite for saying such a thing but its life, not all about wasting your time for a good fuck.

Surely whoever left would come crawling back after realizing there was nothing better than even a taste of Athena Spearmen.

And I damn sure won't hesitate to push them away, make them feel like fucking shit for leaving.

I won't hesitate for a second.