Picking Up the Pieces // Harry Styles

Eighteen

eeekkk i'm so excited. i have soo much up my sleeve ahh, enjoy the chapter! :)

If there are any Marina fans out there (she's so perfect i love her), this was loosely inspired by "Seventeen". Just a little.

Eighteen

"Busy day today and you seemed awfully tired. I didn't want to wake you. I asked the boys to keep you company. Louis offered lunch or something like that. You know I can't focus in the morning. His phone call was a blur. See you in the evening, darling. Thank you for all the songwriting help. Love you. -Ed xx"

I smiled, peeling the note off my cheek. He would tape it to my face. It was ten o' clock already so I'd have some time to get ready. It looked cold out so I picked out a warm outfit and headed to the showers. The warm water soothed me and I slowly felt myself unwind.

When I was a real girl, I could easily be found on the playground playing with other girls who had pigtals and their straight hair yanked back into tight ponytails. I begged my mother to curl it and let it be free, because that's how I felt when I was little. I wanted to be free. I was too young for drugs so I tried to find my escape in something else. I drew birds and their feathers. I dreamed of getting a bird tattoo on my left shoulder or a phoenix on my back or a small peacock feather that wrapped around my wrist. Something that symbolized me. The yearning inside me had been there ever since I learned what a bird was.

"Is your hair naturally curly?" They asked, tugging on my hair. Kindergarteners loved to touch things with their little hands. My mother wanted to handcuff me when we went into those furniture stores. I'd touch and grab the vases and trinkets. She'd yell at me and then I'd be surrounded by a pool of broken glass. I ruined everything I touched.

I couldn't build dioramas with ease or toothpick bridges. Math didn't come easy for me. It didn't make sense and the numbers swum around in my brain. My mind was always cluttered with something unreal that I wanted to draw later. The Quadratic Formula didn't stick in my braid. Times tables took me ages. I excelled in history though. There was a beauty in all the mistakes our founding fathers made and how much we had improved from then.

"Uh-huh," I said truthfully and the other girls oohed and my hair. I secretly loved the attention. I soaked up as much as I could.

Melinda Parkers - who probably never curled her hair in her entire life - begged her mother to the very next day.

I hated it when people copied me. Nothing bothered me more. I hated being compared to other girls or compared to Clementine Arabella Robinson.

I in fact was not like my sister Clementine nor was I like Audrey Patton or Valerie Lancaster. I was not Clementine's little sister because one: it is a curse to be related to the devil's reincarnation and two, she is referred to as Scarlett's sister.

There was also nothing worse about walking into a room and knowing they were all talking about me. The girls would roll their eyes as I sat down. The guys would cough as they shuffled their papers.

I was never bullied. At least not directly. No one ever called me names as I walked down the halls - until I snapped one day. No one had called me a slut on Facebook (when it was still cool). I guess I was just fortunate enough to never been bullied.

I was my own bully.

I was just talked about. I'd never know exactly who said what, but constantly I felt it. It was a burning feeling inside me. The fire grew hotter and hotter as I clenched my fists. The rumors filled my ears and I believed them. The pathetic girls who had nothing better to do suddenly became my best friends. I listened to their song and their twisted harmonies. Eventually, I became them.

You see, there was an affair. A scandal in the Robinson family. We were the talk of the town for a long time. We were the dysfunctional family of Sheffield.

My father was away on a "business trip". One thing led to another and next thing I knew I was hearing my mother cursing his secretary's name. She started to file for divorce but my mother was weak. She couldn't live without my father. She believed his lies - "Darling, it won't happen again" - and welcomed him right back into the house. That was the day the queen fell in my family and the king rose to power and control.

I asked Clementine why they were yelling so loud. She shoved me and told me it was my fault.

"They've raised a freak. They're arguing over whether they should keep you or not." She slammed her door in my face and I ran back to my room. I bumped into my parents on the way, but I didn't waste my breath on either of them. I could've yelled at my father for hurting my mother. Maybe if I loved her I wouldn've. I could've yelled at him for leaving us, but I stored it into my brain under the file of Reasons Why I Hate My Life for later investigation.

I ran into my room and pulled out the book I'd taken out of the library. The librarian liked me quite a lot. We liked to talk at lunch, but Miss Kathleen had passed a way a little after third grade. She had showed me one book before she passed. It was in the back room which she only had the key too. In fact, she'd left it to me and sometimes I'd crawl in there and go in with my flashlight to read the old articles and adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

Miss Kathleen's husband had died a little while before her. She tried the book in a last amount of hope. It had to do with mediums and communicating to the dead. I called for Grandfather because he'd understand, but I met a monster instead.

That was the day my trust issues began. That was the day I believed all men were liars and were only after your bodies. I was so young. So, so young to be so full of hatred. I thought I was a god, realizing that this was all just a game. A stimulation.

The scandal went on for ages, but I had already grown tired of it. My wrath was to be unleashed when the time came. The kids at my school weren't worth my time either. I kissed them goodbye when the monster awakened in me.

That was the day I'd lost myself.

"Scarlett!" I heard the boys on the other side of the front door. I rushed over and opened it, seeing all the five boys smiling wide at me.

"Zayn thought you were dead." Niall snickered as I raised my eyebrows at him. He shrugged innocently with his hands shoved in his pockets. His laugh warmed my cold heart. I liked to see others happy. I felt I didn't deserve happiness, but tried to bring it to other people.

"W-What?" Zayn defended. "You didn't answer right away!"

"Because I don't answer my door, I'm dead?" I repeated. "Weird logic, Malik." I said with a laugh and giving him a quick hug. I made a joke about me being a ghost and he poked my cheek to make sure I wasn't bluffing. I giggled before I did the same with the other boys, holding Harry just a little longer.

Why? Because I could.

"Kitten?" He softly asked, hands fidgeting a little as we started to walk towards the car.

"Harry?"

"C-Can I hold your - "

"Of course." I smiled and immediately his bigger hand enveloped mine perfectly.

I didn't stop him, because in fact, I liked it this way.