Love to Hate You (A Harry Styles Love Story)

Chapter 2 - Stereotypes All Around

- Autumn's Point of View -

I sat in what was going to be my room for the next month. It was furnished with what my dad and Rita thought I would like. To be honest, they’d done a pretty good job, covering it with violets, greens, and rugs. It wasn’t like I was going to tell them that.

Why couldn’t they have come the month before? Why couldn’t I have just stayed in the damn town? Why did they have to be famous? Why did he have to be famous?

It was selfish of me, yes, but it wasn’t like my selfish thoughts were ever going to be heard or said out loud. Please. I wasn’t that pathetic. Or at least, those were my thoughts.

I stared at the closet full of designer clothes. To think that I hadn’t even taken my own clothes out of the suitcases. It was already full. Miss Gold-digger had gone out on a shopping trip the day before my landing and gotten me a whole wardrobe, a walk-in closet, full of clothes. I wrinkled my nose a little, but eventually picked out something from the racks. First off, I was too lazy to go downstairs, get my suitcases up here, and unpack everything. Second, I’m a girl. Designer. Clothes. For. Free. Now see my position?

Quickly, I changed into the sea-green shorts with rips showing floral prints and a blouse, keeping my worn out converse. I wasn’t planning on face-planting onto the cold, marble floor any time soon in the sky high heels Rita had bought for me.

Sure, the house was nice and luxurious and all...

It just wasn’t home.

One of the parrots whose wings weren’t clipped flew into the room, a flash of yellow and green, and landed on my bed. I sat next to it, and patted its small head with my hand gently.

“Are you Loco?” I asked it.

It didn’t look at me, like I hadn’t talked.

“Sonny? Harmony? Lord of the Wings?” I tried guessing a name again.

No response.

Those were my father’s usual bird names, unless he’d gone old school again. It was worth a try.

“Oasis? Bon Jovi? Lennon?”

The bird cocked its head at me the third time, like a dog. His name was Lennon. Figures my dad would name him something like that.

It poked me on my rib cage with its beak.

“Hey,” I said, cringing.

My dad popped his head in through the door, hands covering his eyes, “You’re not changing, are you?”

“Rest assured, I’m not,” I said and he smiled at me, striding into the room.

He was wearing a blue polo shirt with long jeans, the perfect fatherly picture, like those stereotypical golf-playing Americans. He didn’t fool me, though.

“Are you coming?” he said, looking at himself in the mirror.

I was confused, “Coming where?”

“Downstairs,” he said, walking next to my bed and picking up Lennon. “Isn’t he lovely?”

I nodded. If only he had cared about mum as much as he cared about the colorful birds.

He continued, looking at me then, “You can’t stay up here forever, Fall.”

“Oh, yes I can,” I said, matter-of-factly. “Food and internet are all I need.”

“Come on, Fall,” he said and grabbed me like I was a little kid again and carried me downstairs, while I kicked and tried to wiggle out of his grip. Let him get hurt, for all I care. I was too dainty and weak, though, and he put me on the floor in the kitchen without even breaking a sweat. Not even a scratch. I looked at him with an Are you kidding me expression. He gave me a thumbs up and laughed.