Brave || H.S

| 2 |

Harry Styles

My sister Gemma had found her mate. Loved him, and was currently giving birth to their first child.

His name was John Young and their first born was to be named David Edward Young.

David had still not made an appearance to this world and all I could think was that this was not a safe moment for the child to grow up in.

I waited anxiously, picking my nails, shaking my leg in an upward, downward pattern, I bit my lip.

Noticing that none of these things would quicken the birth taking place in room 203, I stared blankly at my tattoo that was to match me to my soul mate.

Not only would it match me to my girl but it was said that the word would be your strongest characteristic.

Brave.

My word was brave printed in neat cursive, centered perfectly with an arrow underneath.

"Mr. Styles?" A quiet, faded voice said.

"Harry Styles" the voice said again more sharp and clear this time.

I snapped out of my thoughts and gave her my full attention.

"Your sister, Gemma has requested for you" the nurse's words traveled to my ears.

I nodded, "oh ok"

I stood from my seat on a bench and followed her to my sister's room.

"Right in there" her hand pointed inside the room.

Perseverance was inked onto her wrist in standard format.

As I made my way in, Gemma smiled at me. Even though her body was probably killing her trying to get a human baby out she still held my hand and said with a smile, "John's not gonna be able to make it on time from his flight from London and this baby won't stop fighting to get here"

I nodded simply.

"I'm gonna need you to stay here and help me deliver this baby"

"ok" the simple word spilled from my lips.

Here was this very sarcastic sister of mine, letting a baby escape from her body without her mate and she still giggled.

No wonder her word was strong.

After time flying with Gemma pushing and pushing, a little midget head popped out.

That's when my world went down. Here was a baby being born and his uncle was on the ground unconscious from what my eyes had witnessed.

So much for brave.

Anonymous

I looked down at my wrist, brave was tattooed to my skin in neat cursive. How in this crumbling world would I find a replica on a man's wrist made exactly like mine?

And how at all could this word belong to a fearful girl such as myself.

"Are you alright?" my mother walked into my room hand on the door wide open. Simplicity in bold letters upon her small wrist.

"Uh yeah"

My mother nodded and walked out in a simple matter, determined to her belonging word.

"Mom?" I yelled in hopes she was still nearby to have a conversation.

No answer.

Brave.

Brave.

Brave.

How could this word belong to me when I couldn't even be confident enough to talk to my own mother?