Don't Forget (A Harry Styles Fan Fiction)

Chapter 1

Harry’s POV

 “I know you love Shrek,

‘cause we’ve watched it twelve times

And I know you’re hoping for a fairytale, too.”

The lyrics of Wake Me Up of Ed Sheeran played into my head as I removed my earphones to hear the waves booming as they hit the cold hard boulders and rocks of the seashore.

I lay my sling bag on the sand and sat down beside it.

Waves flashed along the shore and hit my flip-flops’ sole, so I removed them. Since when I was a child, I ever liked the feeling of wet hard sand under my feet in my shoes, it feels so uncomfortable.

“Stop it!” I heard a woman shout. I looked back, and a blonde man was grabbing a woman’s purse, playing around. If he was to steal it I ould have run after him, but I guess they're just playing around.

I laughed a little bit (A/N Picture on sideeee!!! :D), then looked away so they wouldn’t notice.

“Ouch!” She screamed.

I jerked to look back, and saw the woman on the sand. There were blood covering her legs and around the sand surrounding her.

What do I do? I never liked the scent and sight of blood, it sends shivers and goose bumps to me. But I have to help. I mean, I have some skills in first aid, which I got last year from high school.

I stood up and walked towards the woman and the man sitting her on his lap. She was crying, and the man was nearly, too. I sat down beside them, and applied pressure to the wound.

“What happened, mate?” I asked.

“She stumbled down the sand, and a sharp rock hit her leg, obviously.” The man answered with his Irish accent.

I can guess he’s Irish.

I got my shirt off, and tore the sleeve. Whoa, that was pretty easy. I wrapped the cloth around her thigh tightly to stop the continuous bleeding.

“What are you doing?” She asked. Another Irish person here in England. Duh, of course they are Harry, so stupid of you.

“Yeah, are you a doctor or something?”

“I am going to be, learned this from high school.” I answer him, and they nodded while the girl still fights the pain.

I noticed a crowd gathering and forming in around us, and it was getting uncomfortable. I have to leave quick before they gather largely, unless I want my claustrophobia to attack me again.

But I have to do this. But to do this I need water. I looked around, and saw a full cold water bottle handled by a stranger in the crowd. I gestured him to give it to me.

He handed the water bottle to me; I opened it and poured a generous amount on the bleeding wound. It makes it easier for me to look closely at the wound, plus it cleanses it at the same time.

I observed the wound as I poured more water at it. There was nothing at all, just a scar.

“Anyone of you lads have antibiotic cream?” I asked the whole crowd, as loud as I could.

My head is starting to hurt as the crowd grows and I am very nervous for no apparent reason right now, and somehow my breathing becomes deeper and harder. I was sweating too much.

“Sir!” A man shouted from behind me, he was holding out a cream.

“Thanks, mate.” I got the cream from his hand, spread some on my finger and applied it to the wound. The girl winced at the pain, but I blew it away. “She’s going to be alright, take her to rest immediately.” I say.