Colours - Harry Styles fanfiction

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

'Isabella, where have you been?' Kat hurries towards me grabbing my shoulders. 'I was worried about you.' I shake her off, passing her to the kitchen to get something to drink. 'We just forgot the time a bit.' I shrug, rolling my eyes. Why does she always have to be so worried about me? I'm not a child anymore. 'I want to meet those friends of yours.' Kat states, her voice is following me around the house. 'Why?' I say actually not interested in her reasons, of course she wants to meet them. I bend down in front of the fridge and feel around looking for the soda cans. When I've found them, I feel Kat standing behind me. 'Here let me do that.' The can disappears from my hand and a moment later I hear a click, before it's handed back to me. She opened it for me. 'I can do that myself, thank you.' I say with emphasis on 'myself'. I know it upsets her when I talk like that, but for some reason I enjoy it this time. 'I want to know what kind of friends you have.' She brings up the subject again. It's not a request, it more an order. 

'They are completely ordinary.'  It's not completely true, but she doesn't need to know that. 'You don't know that. Anything could happen to you when you're with them.' 

I throw my hands in the air unbelievably. 'Oh God, they're so dangerous.' My tone is sarcastic. 'Okay that's enough, I don't know what they've told you, but you are a blind girl, Isabella!'  I was walking away from her, to avoid the conversation, but the words that leave her lips cause me to stop and turn around. 

In my head I think of all the things I would want to say right now. Everything I've ever wanted to say when someone put the words blind and girl together and was talking about me. 'I'll be upstairs.' It's the easiest thing to say, but also the most painful. Sometimes I want to scream, just scream in frustration, but I never do. I always walk away from the situation without expression my feelings. Why does being blind mean that  everyone needs to 'take care' of you. I don't need anyone.

My dad has come home. I heard the car on the driveway when I was sitting in my window sill, with my head against the glass and my eyes closed. I was writing my anger down on paper, because I've always felt like that was the best way to express myself. I can write things down and then let go of it, because I'll never be able to read it again. People always talk about how sad it is that I'm blind, how unfortunate for such a beautiful girl, how hard it must be. I always nod understandingly, pretending they're right to avoid any further explanation of the situation, but I never understand why they say it. Do they want me to be depressed? Shouldn't I try to make something of my life? I see it different. I'm lucky actually, I'm alive and I'm healthy. But I remember when the doctors brought me the news, everything that happened. I didn't want to live anymore. How can you be happy if you can't see anything? If you can't see people. But now I know I can see people, I can see who people really are on the inside. 

I'm lucky because I still have the memory of everything that I have to miss now. I'm lucky because I can still dream. I'm lucky because I can still write. It's probably not the best handwriting, but at least I can. There's no need for me to be depressed, besides everyone thinking I can't do anything myself. I wish that was different. 

Someone knocks on my door twice. I close my diary and hide it underneath on of the pillows at my feet. 'Yes?' I already know who it is. 'Hi Isabella.' My dad opens the door and greets me with his always calm and formal voice. His voice is the only one in which I've never managed to make out any emotions. He's always calm and thinks about things very long before he makes a decision. 'Hi dad, how was your trip?' how many times have I heard myself say this again? 'It was nice, thank you.' And how many times was this his answer? 

'Katherine told me about your news friends.' He doesn't ask anything, he just expects me to talk about it. 'Yeah they're nice.' I turn my head back to the window. 'It's raining again.' I whisper. 'Really, I don't see anything?' My dad approaches and sits down beside me, with a sigh. 'But it is.' I can hear the drops against the window, very quietly. 'She doesn't mean it like that, you know that right?' He's moved on the to next part of the conversation. 'She's just worried about you.' He knows how difficult it can be sometimes between me and Kat. She's been here for so long, but sometimes I just wish she wasn't. Or at least not as often. 'I'm fine, dad.' I close my eyes again, listening to the rain. It's becoming louder now. 'I know you are, sweetheart.' my dad places his hand on my knee, a gesture he's made more times than I can count, but it always feels a bit awkward. Like something inside of him is forcing him to do it because he knows, deep down, that I'm longing for someone to understand me and love me like a father. 

'Dinner is almost ready, Isa.' He stands up when he doesn't get a useful reaction out of me, with that same sigh. Maybe he's tired too. Maybe he misses me too. I wonder. The rain is coming down very fast now. 

Hi people:)

Sorry for the late update!