good for daddy {h.s} • #wattys2017

quod nunc vagatur (she now roams)

arlo is played by alex turner okay i have an incurable obsession with him don't judge me

*six months in the future*

i force a smile at josephine declava as i'm packing her vegetables into brown paper bags.

"thank you for coming, have a lovely evening," i strain, internally grimacing at my tired voice.

i can't pretend anymore; i need to let it out. i let my manager know i'm heading out back before half running to the store room door. i make my way through the staff area and burst through the back door. fuck, it was getting stuffy in there.

i can't stop the shaking, or the tears as they fall from my exhausted eyes. i'm having yet another panic attack.

these past few weeks have been hell, what with him being out of the picture, and my hours at work deteriorating before the grocers closes down in nine days. i always thought working here would give me a purpose, a sort of distraction from him. oh, how wrong i was.

all this place does for me is produce unwanted memories of him. i mean, i wanted him to go so he could pursue his dream, but i still miss him so much. god, the nights i've spent dreaming of harry are uncountable.

it was four months ago that he stopped contacting me. all i've heard of him are some photographs and accompanying articles on twitter; 'new author from the uk hitting the bestseller's list'; 'harry styles left a downtown bar in nyc at 3:30 in the morning, what's he up to?'

i sigh, sitting on the concrete in the back carpark as the panic attack subsides. i've gone on too long without talking to anyone about harry, or the way he continues to make me feel, regardless of his position half the world away from me.

if i try hard enough, i can remember the way he touched me, sending shivers of electricity down my spine and all over my body. but a memory isn't enough to stimulate my senses. i want him, i need him here with me. i'm eighteen in two weeks, for god's sake.

at this thought i smile, realizing the ability to move out of my run down father and hyped up mother's clutches is only fourteen days away.

five months ago, when i was still emailing harry and getting a response, my father lost his job due to the boss/owner of the company committing suicide. all the workers under his command were told that a week beforehand, the owner had taken all of the equity and profit out of the company and gambled it all at a casino or three. because he'd bought the land (and then built on it) that the building was sited on, it was considered a property and not just a business, and had quite a large sum of equity. so, he thought he'd go waste it all on a fucking addiction then kill himself. apparently, his wife left him and he went insane. hm, wonder why she would do that?

so basically, my father and his colleagues were left with no redundancy payment or anything, because the fucking company was broke. he got zilch.

oh, sorry, i forget. the assistant ceo gave everyone a bottle of cheap shiraz.

that shit was sliding its way down my father's throat before he'd barely walked out of the building.

he's now a raging alcoholic, spending his time in the study of our new -the word 'new' used very loosely here- two bedroom flat.

mother's pumped up on drugs 24/7, so i do my best to stay away from her. i cook my own dinners, clean up the flat, and having dropped out of school (to somewhat uphold my parents' withering reputation), i go to work as much as i can.

not that the grocers will be a very reliable source of an escape for much longer. as i'm thinking this, my manager, beth opens the door and sits next to me on the ground.