Until We Meet Again // H.S. AU

VIII. Trouble

(song: next in line by walk the moon)

Crap. I'm in so much trouble. Mr. Smith sent me a text before I bumped into Harry that I forgot to check that told me I was meant to be back at home in thirty minutes. He sent that an hour ago. And just now, as I was sitting with Harry and talking to him, he sent another one that said, 'You were supposed to be home half an hour ago. We have guests. Get here now or you'll be in even more trouble when you get home.'

So now I'm running all the way back home and playing possible scenarios through my head of what will happen when I get back to the house. I'm gonna be dead. However they go about it, the Smiths will end up killing me. I don't even have enough time to say goodbye to the people I care about. I mean I technically said goodbye to Harry just now, but it wasn't the kind of goodbye that I wanted to be my last.

Wait.

Did I just classify Harry as one of the people I care about? Why?

I keep running. Not soon enough, I finally make it to the house and take half a second to think. Do I rush in and clean up and help the Smiths with the chance of guests being in there and seeing me, or do I collect myself out here and look presentable in front of guests as the Smiths' only daughter and make a good impression? I'll just wing it and do what feels right when I open the door.

The second I open the door, I can see no one in sight. I run as fast as my short legs can carry me to the hallway closet and grab a windex bottle and rag and run right back to the living room to dust everything. Clean, Ren. Just clean. I dust nearly three quarters of the living room in two minutes; record time. Don't lose focus. I'm in the kitchen a minute later, scrubbing the countertop and fridge and oven and anything that collects dust. So everything. I have to get as much clean as I can before the Smiths realize I'm home. Ten minutes and I'm done with the kitchen. It's times like this where I'm glad we have a small, one story house.

I put the windex and rag back in the closet and get the Swiffer mop and get started on cleaning the floors. I wish we had carpets instead, but I don't know what would be worse; hidden dirt stains that you'll never find no matter how much you vacuum, or a hardwood floor that gets super slippery and dirty in a matter of seconds. Stop thinking. Just clean. Twenty minutes and I've covered the living room and the kitchen. Now I need to mop the rest of the house and dust the bathroom. Ugh, when did I become the maid of this house?

I finish the bathroom and as I'm putting all the cleaning products back in the closet, the front door slams and the voice I've been dreading to hear shouts out my name.

"Florence!" Dear God help me.

"Yes I'm here." I walk to the living room and face him, trying to mask my fear as I know what to expect. He storms over to where I'm standing and harshly grips my hair, yanking it at his full strength above my head.

"What the hell did I tell you?! I said come home two hours ago to clean! We have guests coming over in five minutes!" With each sentence his grip tightens even though it seems impossible for him to be pulling my hair even more. I can see the veins in his head and neck straining against his skin as his anger grows.

"Did you clean like I told you to?!"

"Yes I just finished," I sputter out and force in the sobs that are threatening to escape my throat.

"Good. Go to your room and don't you dare leave. Don't make a sound, I'm telling the guests you're at a friend's house so they don't have to meet you. Get out of my sight." With that, he releases my hair and I stumble backwards, but quickly walk back to my room without looking back.