Handle With Care (EDITING)

ch.1 Red

(This story is being edited. I'm sorry to anyone who read the first version; it was trash. Anyway, this is a work of fiction and may include triggers (ex: anxiety). Please use discretion on whether you should or should not read. Enjoy, give me feedback, please. Positive and negative both help.)
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"Don't fall in love unless someone is willing to catch you."

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Harley
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"Pretty girl," my macaw squawks. He's in a large cage on the wall across from the couch in the living room instead of a television. "Pretty girl."

"Pete, I'm not in the mood," I tell him. I named him after Pete Wentz in my favorite band. How could I not name him after the sexy bassist in Fall Out Boy?

I set my tea down on the counter and sigh. He squawks again in reply to not getting the attention he wants.

"Joan is coming to visit tomorrow," I explain, begrudgingly. He screeches at the name of my mother. I'm not sure how much he understands of what I tell him, but he has definitely learned to associate my mother's name with negativity.

Joan kicked me out of the house when I was nine. I was only a child, but she didn't care. She didn't want me any more. After that, I went to live with my dad. He was a drug addict and was always having parties and going out. Even though he was mentally seventeen, he was a great parent after I convinced him I was his child, that is.

It was hard to explain to him that I was his daughter, as he is Robert Downey Jr, better known as Iron Man. He and my mother had a one night stand about nineteen years ago and never really spoke again. He was probably intoxicated that night so I'm sure he didn't remember. He finally believed me when we did a blood test a year after I'd been living with him. Thank heavens for my persistence, otherwise I'd be living on the streets.

Even after proving I was his daughter, I had to hide. I couldn't tell anyone that I was related to him because it could've ruined his career - I still don't really understand how but whatever floats his boat. Although I was an unpleasant surprise, he loved me and cared for me with all his heart. He was the best dad I could've asked for and still spoils me and takes care of me like he's always been there.

Now, I'm in college with an apartment. My dad bought me Pete as a going away present.

"Skye?"

"In here," I replied to Melody, my best friend of six years and roommate. I mumble, "My name is Harley, not Skye."

"I beg to differ," she retorts. "Skye is the name on your birth certificate." I throw a nasty look in her direction. "Why are you still sitting around? It's your turn to go to the store."

I go to the couch and collapse dramatically with the back of my hand over my forehead. "Do I really have to? I'm sure we'll survive another day."

"Oh please, the pantry is barren wasteland full of dust, cobwebs, and tiny tumbleweeds. We've had take out all week. I would like to have a home cooked meal sometime soon. You know how much Pete and I love your cooking."

I sigh and walk out to my car, making sure to display how much I don't want to go by slamming the front door and my car door. Melody and I have been sharing an apartment for about a year. We split everything from money to chores. As long as I don't have to do laundry, she's allowed to boss me around all she wants.

I walk around the store numbly with my headphones in my ears to avoid any conversation with people who might know me. Nothing bothers me more than than trying to be a social person. Mainly because I'm just really bad at talking to people.

"Sorry," I mumble when I bump into someone. I was distracted by the lovely voice of Brendon Urie singing in my ears about closing a goddamn door or something.

"It's alright," he replies, picking up the groceries that fell from his arm.

I bend over to help, thanking my lucky stars he wasn't carrying a carton of eggs. He slows picking things up and looks at me while I frantically help him with his things and apologize repeatedly.

"It's alright, really," he says slowly with an accent that catches my attention. Surely he's not from the states.

I find myself smiling as he continues talking, loving the locution he uses.

"What are you listening to?"

Having only one of my headphones still in my ear, I pause a moment to listen to the song and answer, "I'm not sure."

I have to pull out my phone to look at it. Sometimes I hate Pandora because it'll randomly play songs unrelated to what I'm listening to. The boy looks over my phone at the song.

"I love you," he says.

My head snaps up from my phone and I look at him. "What?"

He laughs and shakes his head, his long curly hair flopping everywhere. "The name of the song. 'I Love You' by Alex and Sierra. I like that song." He smiles again and looks down at his feet then back up at me. "I actually helped write it."

I relax a little and nod. I realize that I haven't looked at him before now and wish I had. He's gorgeous. From his long chocolate colored hair to his tight, black skinny jeans and boots. And don't even get me started on his tattoos. To say I like tattoos would be a huge understatement.

"Yeah?" As I'm listening to the song, I notice it's actually quite beautiful and it doesn't seem like someone with about a million tattoos dressed in all black could possibly write something so lovely. "And I'm dating Matty Healy."

The boy laughs again. "That's funny because he's actually a good friend of mine."

"Are you also a pathological liar? Because I don't believe you." I cross my arms over my chest and lean back on the cart with all of five groceries in it.

He looks at his feet and shakes his head, the grin on his lips making a dimple visible. "Nice hair. Why red?"

"It's just my favorite color." My statement comes out as more unsure than I would have liked it to. He nods and studies my hair and face in the brief silence that follows. "But I really should get back to shopping."

"Yeah, yeah. Me too. I really like your hair, though. Suits you." And as an afterthought: "Normal is boring."

I smile and blush a little.

"I'll let you get back to your business. Looks like you've got a ways to go," he says, looking into my empty cart. "I'll see you around."

I start to walk away with my cart and put my headphones back in when I hear him call back to me.

"Hey, I never caught your name." He comes back over and stands in front of me. He's at least eight inches taller than me. Being the short person I am, only five feet tall, I'm really into tall guys. He really fits my criteria for a perfect guy.

"It's Harley," I say with a smile.

He takes a minute to shift his things in his arms before he holds out a hand. I notice a small black cross on his hand between his finger and his thumb as I take his hand.

"Harry. Harry Styles."