DIFFERENT [hs] |Complete|

Six

With one last glance at my hideous and smeared makeup reflection I sighed, loudly. My shoulders gave out, resting on the edge of the sink with my elbows and my hands in my hair. I've been in here for almost 10 minutes, which probably isn't the best impression to others who don't know your situation, and would just assume you've shat your guts into the toilet. But that's no where near the case. Harry is just a pain in the arse.

The doors flung open and there stood Harry, his eyebrows creased and his lips in a thin line. "This is the women's bathroom, Harry." I whispered, not bothered to even argue. It's all we seem to do, argue, talk, laugh, then argue some more. It's a repeated cycle and it tires me out.

"Are you okay?"

"Just dandy, Harry. Absolutely perfect. As giddy as a child on Christmas morning." I retorted.

"Look," he grabbed my wrists and pushed me against the wall, holding my hands to my chest and staring intently at me. "I'm sorry, okay? I am sorry, but you don't need this attitude, you're not an 8 year old."

"That's richcoming from somebody who likes setting pranks and plans schemes at fundraisers. You're the one acting 8, Harry. Get off me!" I spat, my eyes blazing and cheeks hot with anger.

"I am apologising here, accept it or shove it up your arse."

I scoffed loudly and rolled my eyes, "Real mature."

He paused, just looking at- No, looking into my eyes almost like he was studying me. I don't even know which emotion I am at, confused, angry, pissed, annoyed. His eyes hadn't left mine, it was making me uncomfortable. A shiver was sent down my spine, he must've sensed my nervousness and called me out on it, "You're not scared are you?"

"Intimidated, not scared. You're looking at me like you're gonna kill me, please stop." I looked away from his intense stare, I could feel his warm breath on my lips. He smelt like sweet cologne. It wasn't overdone, like most guys having this strong musky smell of cologne like they bathed in it. It suffocates almost every girl, but Harry, he had a faint mixture of smells; cologne, coffee and freshly cleaned linen.

"You're really upset about this aren't you?"

I looked back at him, lolling my head, "Whatever gave you that idea, Styles? Upset? Nooo."

He smirked at my sarcastic tone, "I'm still not changing my mind."

"You're really obstinate, it gets under my skin. But yes, I am upset, really upset Harry. I've dreamt about this job since I was a kid. My dad would tell me- Don't mess up, please." I quickly changed the direction of the conversation, back to begging and pleading. The pathetic way.

He finally let go of my wrists and stepped back, "What would your dad tell you?"

The way his whole expression changed in a matter of seconds confuses me, he was caring at first, then he snapped and became angry, then he gets back to being his usual idiotic self, then back to the caring. I can't keep up with his change of mood. "He'd always tell me stories about my mother, when I was younger especially. He'd tell me what a perfect person she was, she was a journalist and pursued that career and accomplished so much. She's my role model, and she's the one I look up to. This is why this job is important to me." I took a deep breath and watched his reaction.

"Was?" His head tilted slightly, his eyes full of something I couldn't describe, sympathy?

I hesitated, but honestly it's better if he has an idea of how this affects me. "My mother died when she gave birth to me, it wasn't sudden but from what my father had told me she was in so much pain... She tried to fight it, to fight for him, to fight for me. But sometimes, fighting for the people you love isn't enough and she wasn't strong enough even though she tried, and tried and... tried.