baby [h.s.]

sixteen

            After only one night, I found myself bored without Harry being around. Saturday rolled around and I woke up early, just by habit, because I had been so used to spending time with him.

My apartment felt quiet as I drank my coffee and ate breakfast without him.

It made me realize how impacted I actually am by him, and how big a part he is of my life. He had been here for just short of two months and in that short amount of time, I had come to depend on him for a lot.

While it felt slightly pathetic, I also hoped that he felt the same way for me, and that I wasn't burdening him.

Harry Styles truly did drive me insane. Often I found myself thinking about him. Our friendship was unique, to say the least. It was consuming and addictive. I found myself craving to be around him when he wasn't here.

That, alone, leaves me in the spot I was in early that morning, thinking about him.

I would've driven myself insane if it weren't from the call from my mother.

"Matilda," she said once I picked up the phone.

"Hello, mum," I said, my eyebrows scrunched. Why was she calling me at nine in the morning on a Saturday?

"You moved to a new flat, have you?" she asked.

I hesitated. "Yes,"

"If you don't mind I'd like to come see it," she said. "I'd like to have a bit of a discussion with you,"

"Couldn't we just meet at a restaurant for lunch?"

"Matilda, I'm your mother, don't be silly," she said. For some reason, she sounded unnaturally civil.

"I don't want you here," I said, blandly.

"Don't be so rude," she snapped. "With that attitude, you'll never go anywhere in life. Give me the address, I will be there at eleven, end of discussion,"

"Mum, I'm an adult," I said. "I don't have to do anything you tell me,"

She exhaled. "I'm trying to get along with you right now; there's something I'd really like to discuss with you,"

My eyes narrowed and I sighed, knowing that I had to stop acting stubborn. Quickly, I spit out the address and hung up.

The next hour was dreadful. I spent it thinking about my mother. She gave no hint as to what she wanted to talk to me about. In a way, I felt threatened.

My relationship with my mother had never been what I wanted it to be. Prior to my father's passing, we were never close. All through my years of school, she was never the mother that all of the other children had. I never had the mother that would help me with homework, or the one that would do sentimental things with me. We never had a typical relationship.

To me, it seemed like I could never succeed in her eyes. No matter what I did, it wouldn't be good enough. No grade would be high enough; no show of affection would please her. And being a kid, a kid that always wanted their mother to love them, it was excruciatingly tough to deal with.

At the time, I wasn't aware of how jealous she was of the relationship my father and I had. I failed to notice how her miscarriage when I was five years old, and the one when I was eight, changed her as a person.