Hot (Harry Styles Fanfiction)

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            “Father!”

            “Quiet Aria!”

            “You can’t talk to him like that!” I yelled back, standing on my feet now. My mother was quietly watching us. I knew that she was holding back her own rage, but I was not sure if it was aimed at my father or me.

            “Aria,” Harry’s quieter voice piped in.

            “Shut it Harry,” I snapped. I did not mean to lash out at Harry, but my father had made me angry enough to yell at the very person I was defending.

            Harry was surprisingly calm, but assertive, despite all that my father said and accused him of.

            “Honey, calm down,” my mom said. I turned to yell at her but saw that she was talking to my father and not me.

            “Don’t tell me to calm down!”

            A vein on his forehead was bulging, his face a nasty puce shade.

            In a few short minutes the dinner had gone to the deepest circles of hell.

            I should have known that my fears were not silly, but a very real possibility. But even my worst ones could not imagine this turn of events.

            How naïve I was to invite Harry over.

***

            I managed to keep myself busy the rest of the week leading up to the dinner, the disastrous one, on Friday night. That included binge-watching T.V as I struggled to get over my cold that was accompanied by a draining fever.

            The day following my excursion with Harry at his practice field, I felt like a truck had hit me. Coupled with the unforgiving rays of the LA sun, I was miserable. The peppermint tea I drank did wonders to my stomach, but the heat of the drink was still unbearable.

            My skin had a mind of its own, heating and cooling to its own pleasure. The second day, Tuesday, I could not fall asleep. My nose was blocked and my mind would not shut down.

            Harry tried to come over, but I told him not to.

            By Wednesday he had enough and forced himself through my door, nearly knocking me over as I tried to barricade the door with my weakened body.

            “Jesus Aria, how the hell did you get so sick?” he asked. He was sitting on my bed, pushing my hair off my sweaty forehead. I barely had the energy to open my eyes and look at him. Harry, of course, looked stellar, although that had more to do with my jealousy of his healthy state. Or it could have been my delusional mind, thinking him more attractive than usual.

            His hair was pushed back and his white shirt and black shorts looked far more appropriate than my long sleeve thermal and fuzzy pajama pants. I did not answer him and cuddled deeper into my blankets as the cold spell that hit me reduced me to shivers.

            I felt Harry’s hands rub my arm over the comforter and late Wednesday morning, I finally fell asleep for the first time in over twenty-four hours.

            I woke alone in the evening, feeling groggy and worse than before. My mother brought me warm soup and told me that I had to get better by Friday. My cold made me more irritable by her words than usual and I nearly threw the steaming bowl at her retreating back.