Damaged » h. styles au

Chapter 86 - Scarlett

NOTE: Check the first chapter of DWA :) I'm really excited about that story

                                                                     86. 

                                                             ●•Scarlett•●

Harry’s family was beyond lovely; all of them with huge grins and warm embraces and nice stories to tell (and by nice I mean embarrassing stories about Harry’s childhood that made me laugh as though there was no tomorrow), and, all in all, with humongous hearts as well.

Since the moment I stepped in I felt wrapped in a home-ish environment, with fresh drinks, homemade food and cheap birthday decorations on the wall. Just simply that fond kind of decoration, enough to get their point across; make Harry feel loved.

It was all so not-perfect, so full of imperfections here and there, small deformations, clear lack of coordination in some parts, but so familiar. Harry had grinned from ear to ear since moment one, talking to his parents and sister as if they held his whole world. And they probably did.

And that was the thing, actually.

The way how Des (“Mr. Styles makes me sound so old. Am I that old yet? Please, just Des”) laughed as loudly as his son did, deeper, though; rougher. How his eyes crinkled with delight every time he thought he’d made a good joke, earning a subtle smile from me, clasping me on the shoulder, looking me in the eyes with such gratefulness. The way he talked to me about Harry as if I was part of the family already, how he made it feel as if I had the right to know that much about their family at this point.

It was about the way how Gemma settled next to me on the couch with an “ompfh” puffing out of her lips and a sequel of complaints that followed next: about her current job, how she had to spend so much time away from everyone; how she struggled with the constant longing in her chest. When she wasn’t missing her family, she was missing her boyfriend, and vice-versa, she had explained. Was about the way she handed me a glass of soda, how she never asked me anything, just talked about herself instead. As if she knew she shouldn’t ask me anything.

It was about how Harry had apologized when he had to answer the phone, because some of his mother’s friends were waiting on the other side of the call to wish him a happy birthday, and yet, it felt as if I was welcome in the house without having him next to me, shielding me.

It was about that and more, so much more, so many more details I couldn’t even dare to think about. Because it was all perfect, family-like annoying, at a few points, but still. The whole thing was physically suffocating me, getting to the point where I needed desperately a break, to stop me from tripping over my own feet and words and limbs in general.

It was too much. Way too much.

As Harry left for yet another phone call, and Anne came back with a tray fuelled with still steaming brownies, I forced myself up, excusing myself for a moment and asking if I could go to the back porch for some air. Anne was the one to frown and nod, muttering a “make yourself comfortable, love”, before placing the tray down on the coffee table and running to answer the door, once the doorbell had just rang.

As soon as I stepped outside, I sighed heavily, lungs weighting more than what I expected; heart beating considerably faster. I was feeling sick, my legs trembling with either cold or some stupid, unconscious fear I couldn’t quite understand.

Maybe I could, but that was not the point.

I walked toward the edge of the porch, leaning against the railing and letting my head fall between my arms, all my weight pressed against that apparently fragile piece of wood. The world seemed to be spinning faster, enough so I could notice it, and so I took a deep breath again and tried to calm down the pace of my heartbeats.