Rain | Harry Styles

3.2

'shit, maybe i miss you.'

(miss you - louis tomlinson)

-

H.

"Harry?" Mum called far too brightly as she wandered into my room wearing that horrid pink floral skirt I'd told her I hated a countless amount of times.

"What?" I grumbled, eyes not shifting from the window as I remained curled up on the window sill, desperate to be left alone. Whose idea was it to give the old bat a key?

"Are you still coming for dinner tonight? Oh, bloody hell - what a mess in here!" she exclaimed, grabbing my duvet and making my bed neatly in a typical mother-fashion, "Why are these pillows all over the floor?"

I ignored her question, swinging my legs over the edge of the window sill so I could face her, "Why would I be coming to dinner tonight?"

She finished placing the pillows back at the top of my bed, tutting as she folded her arms, "You promised you'd come tonight to meet Benjamin."

I scoffed, running a hand through my unkempt hair, "Not a fucking chance."

"You promised," she frowned, glancing over to my nightstand and laying eyes on the whiskey bottle, "have you been drinking again?" Oh God - I knew I-"

"There's like, two sips gone from it, Mum, so clearly I haven't," I snapped, jumping down from the window sill, "I didn't make any promises; I certainly didn't promise to meet your stupid boyfriend," I huffed.

"Please, darling," she sighed sadly, walking over to me and placing her hands on my bare shoulders, "You really did promise me. You've avoided this for months now."

"No shit," I pushed her hands from me, my eyes landing on the mirror on the wall as my features curled into a scowl. I looked a right state - my hair was messy and dishevelled - in fact, my entire face was. My eyes had dark circles underneath them, but what would you expect having not slept for days and weeks on end? My lips were dry, and cracked; dry blood on them as I often pulled the bottom one between my forefinger and thumb; an annoying habit that only irritated them more. My skin was pale; not only my face but my body too; the black ink against the near-white skin an unfamiliar sight - I was used to a tan of some kind.

"You haven't slept again, have you?" she asked cautiously, her eyes glassy.

"Shut up, Mum," I said a little too sharply, watching her face fall from behind me in the mirror as I sighed, running my hands through my hair, "M'sorry."

She nodded slowly, "You don't have to come to dinner tonight if you really don't want to."

I groaned internally, gritting my teeth, "No, it's fine. I'll be there at eight."

"Seven," she corrected me, placing her hand on my shoulder from behind me as I remained in front of the mirror, "Thank you, Harry. Benjamin is lovely, I promise."

"Mmhm," I grumbled in response, trying not to think about this Benjamin too much, because I knew if I did I'd end up backing out of dinner again.

"Now go take a shower, yeah? I really do appreciate it, darling," she assured me, heading towards the door and glancing back at me, "I love you."

I bit my lip, opening my mouth to speak before closing it again. I nodded slowly, and with that she turned and left the room, and I then heard the front door close moments later.

I didn't bother putting on a shirt as I wandered into the kitchen, taking full advantage of the fact that Liam was at school. I knew I should be too, but I didn't care to go. School and I didn't fit well together. I'd never liked it; but returning to the very same bloody school I'd left five or so years ago to complete my final year didn't seem particularly appealing to me. I'd gone back; yes. I did as my Mum had asked and attended the school from the week after we arrived, and I'd gone every single day from then to the end of April. But I had my limit, and seeing the snobby guys who wore too much hair gel and the girls covered in fake tan who would get their tits out if you so much as looked at them. I'd been tugged into a janitor's closet about four times in the past six months - each time resulting in a rather impolite decline on my behalf. It made my skin crawl.