what now » h.s

01%

 7 months / 30 weeks / 213 days / 5113 hours / 306803 minutes earlier

“Yes mom- I promise- love you too, bye.” I hang up the phone and slip the phone back into my pocket. I look up at the city in front of me and I pull my jacket tighter around my body. The cold wind whips around my body, moving to push my hair into my face. I shake the hair out of my face and continue to walk down the street, breathing in the fresh air of the city that I've missed.

Chicago, I'm back home.

After my parents split when I was in the sixth grade, I've had to move to a new city. Then I started high school, but my mother and her new husband didn’t want to stay in the cold weather anymore so we packed all our bags and moved to Hawaii. Why Hawaii? It was warm, and my step dad loved it. But I didn’t, it was a new home, new school, new people, new everything. And I hated change. So once I turned eighteen and graduated high school, I took the opportunity to move back to Illinois and live with my father. My father and I have always had a good relationship… sometimes. Let’s just say, he was- is a very difficult person. It’s a brave and bold decision to move I with him, but at the same time, I miss him, I miss Chicago, and I've been dying to start college at UIC, University of Illinois at Chicago.

I walk into the Starbucks and order myself a hot chocolate, lord knows I need it. Sitting inside for a little bit, I warm up a bit and scroll through my Instagram feed. Finally when I've had enough of seeing their belly piercings and bleach hair, I lock my phone and head out of coffee shop. I look across the street and I double check both ways before beginning to walk.

“Ma’am!” I hear someone call and I turn around to see guy walk out of the Starbucks, all dressed in the apron and such, and he’s holding my scarf, “You left your scarf,” He tells me, out of breath, as he hands me the article of clothing.

“Oh, thank you so much,” I smile and he nods off. I continue walking into the street like I had originally planned. That’s when the car had come speeding down the road; honking its horn and slamming on the breaks right in front of me. The horn of the car startles me, making me scream and drop my scarf and hot chocolate to the ground, burning my hand. I shake my hand to get the droplets of hot chocolate off my hand.

I look up and see a guy about my age, maybe a year or two older, step out of the car. His eyes are narrowed and his expression shows anger. His chocolate brown hair is whipped up, hiding little baby curls. He’s quite attractive if I'm honest.

“Don’t you know to look both ways before crossing the street?” He says loudly; a British accent floating through my ears as he does.

“I—I um,” I try to think of something to say to him but I'm just caught up in his facial features, the way his lips move as he talks, the way his eyes squint in the midst of his sentence.

“Are you just going to stand there or apologize for almost ruining my car with your hot chocolate?” His voice is harsh and that’s when I realize, he’s an asshole. I haven't even know him for a minute, I don’t even know his name, and he doesn’t even know me but he’s talking to me as if he knows me. And let me tell you, that does not fly in my book.

“You're not being serious,” I scoff, “You want me, to apologize to you, for almost ruining your car with my hot chocolate? The one I spilled, practically, all over myself because of you? You’re unbelievable.” I laugh and pick up my scarf, wrapping the dry parts around the wet ones.

“Oh but I am,” He smirks, “And I'm not leaving here until I get my apology.”

“Then have fun staying out here all night, because I have places to be.” I remark with sarcasm and attitude, and dammit I feel good about myself. I walk past him, stopping to look both ways again.

He laughs coolly, “I didn’t catch your name,”

I turn back to look at him, “I don’t wanna know yours so why do you wanna know mine?” I reply with demeanor.

He smirks, again, “Feisty,” he laughs, “Well, I'm Harry, Harry Styles.” I roll my eyes at him.

I look back and stare into his eyes for a second, then scanning him up and down, “Allison, Allison Martinez.”

With that said, I turn on my heel and cross the street, finding my way back to my father’s apartment. I don’t know what to think of the events that just happened, but one thing for sure is that I do know is that Harry is an asshole, and I don’t like him.