Horrible(Another Harry Styles Fan Fiction)

Chapter 1: Saved

                I snuggled deeper into my thin duvet as I heard the front door slam and my father walk drunkenly into the kitchen downstairs. I tried to stay as still as possible as I heard him shuffling around, dropping things occasionally which were partnered up with a slurred mess of colorful words. I looked around my small, dark room in hopes of seeing a weapon of any sorts in case my father came in. Unfortunately, I found absolutely nothing. It wasn’t surprising though, seeing as I HAD absolutely nothing.

                “KID! DOWN HERE NOW!” I froze when I heard my father’s loud, slurred yell come from the bottom of the stairs. I creeped out of bed and cracked open the door to see my Father at the bottom of the stairs with some repulsive blond bimbo on his arm.

                “Coming.” I said as I shut my bedroom door and came down the stairs to face my father and his new whore. This was the usual. Ever since my Mum… left us, my Father would bring home a new girl every night that he met at the bar. Most of them were actually kind of pretty and seemed nice, well, when they were drunk at least. This girl on the other hand, gave me a really bad vibe. “Yes?” I asked my Father, trying to sound cheerful.

                “This is Bambi.” My Father introduced his whore to me. Bambi? Seriously? She couldn’t have had a name that made her sound LESS like a prostitute? The bleach blond, carrot skinned prostitute girl glared at me. Her eyes were coated in layers of black eyeliner and her eyelashes were clumped up in coats of black mascara. Her ruby red lips clashed horribly with her orange spray tan as they curled into a wicked sneer. I stuck out my hand politely and Bambi took it lightly, or so it seemed. Her long red nails dug painfully into my hand as she shook it violently.

                “Nice to meet you, Bambi.” I choked out as tears welled in my eyes. She just made a grunting noise before pulling her hand away and wiping it off on her black cocktail dress like I had rabies or some other disease that belongs to a squirrel.  Bambi turned around and started caressing my Father’s cheek, running her dangerously long red fingernails along his jawline.

                “Kennnnnnnnnnnnny.” She dragged out my Father’s name. “I’m hungryyyyyyyyyy” She whined like a 5 year old. I sighed when my Father’s eyes locked with mine, giving me the death glare. I walked into our small little kitchen and grabbed a plate of cheese and crackers. I prayed that this would be good enough for my father. I slowly walked to the Living room and set the plate on the table. I didn’t get the chance to sit down before a rough, calloused hand hit my cheek, sending me to the floor.

                “You Bitch! Bambi is Lactose Intolerant!” My father roared. With his drunkenness and accent, Lactose Intolerant sounded more like ‘Laoiuubekewvijb Ioweoibnerwvione!’ I clutched my cheek, willing for the tears not to come. My Father always said that tears were a sign of weakness. I can’t cry in front of him unless I wanted to get hit harder. I learned that the hard way.

                “S-So-S-Sorry.” I stuttered, still clutching my cheek with my hand. I scooted backwards along the floor and cowered in the corner. I’m 18, I know I shouldn’t be cowering, but I think this is a reasonable exception. My Father turned to Bambi who was sitting on the couch with a completely blank expression on her face.

                “Go Upstairs to my room, First door on your right. I’ll join you soon” My Father instructed Bambi, gesturing to our small staircase. She complied easily, going up the stairs quickly. My Father turned back to face me with a deathly expression on his face. I pulled my knees us to my chest and prayed to God that I would make it through this. Before his foot came down and crashed into my knee I jumped up and did something I knew I would regret later. 30 seconds of courage I thought to myself.  I brought my fist back and punched him in the face. He cringed back after my hand made contact with his jaw and I ran out the front door and onto the lawn as he retaliated. Even though it was around midnight and most of my neighbourhood would be sleeping, I was hoping that if I made big enough of a commotion, someone might hear me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my Father stumble thought the door frame and make it onto the cool grass. My eyes zeroed in on what he had clutched in his hand. The moon reflected off the long blade of the knife. Tears started rolling down my cheeks and I hastily wiped them away, hoping that my Father wouldn’t see them. I knew what was going to come; I hoped it would be fast though. My knees buckled and I landed on the grass face first. I rolled over quickly and came face to face with my Father; he had a psychotic grin on his face as he brought the knife slowly to my neck.

                “Seriously Zayn?” I heard someone ask from a distance. I looked down the street and saw a group of 5 boys coming down the street, laughing and pushing each other around. They were so far away though; they’ll never help me anyways. The blade made light contact with the skin of my neck and the cold sensation sent tingles down my spine. I decided it’s now or never to try to get help from those boys.

                “HELP!” I cried, my voice breaking the end of the word. Tears streamed down my cheeks as the knife was pushed deeper against my neck. I felt the tip of the long silver blade break skin and I cried out in pain. A hand was slammed down over my mouth.

                “SHUT UP!” My Father hissed venomously. He seemed to give up on the knife and started beating me. His foot crashed down on my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I gasped for breath as he continued kicking my ribs until he heard a crack meaning one or more of my ribs were broken. I couldn’t move, well, I didn’t want to try. My Father stopped kicking me so he could walk over to where he had tossed the knife onto the dewy grass. He picked up the knife and stroked the blade lovingly as he walked back over to me. The knife was soon speeding down to my chest, I closed my eyes waiting for the pain to come. It never came. I heard a loud thump that was muffled by grass. What the Hell? I opened my eyes cautiously to see my father wrestling some guy on my lawn. Using the light from the street light above us, he was wearing a plaid shirt and had light brown hair and was currently punching my Father repeatedly in the face. I never met the boy, but I was incredibly scared for him. As he wrestled my father, he screamed profanities in his face.

“WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU TOUCH A WOMAN LIKE THAT YOU DISGUSTING BASTARD!?” The boys screamed violently in my father’s face, not bothering to wait for a response before kneeing him in the balls and standing up. I continued watching the brave boy, my eyes only being drawn away when I felt someone carefully life my bridal-style off the cold, hard grass. The boy spat in my father’s face and walked away. “Let’s go. Haz, bring her back to the tour bus.” The boy demanded harshly, rubbing his knuckles as he sauntered back the way he came.

I turned my head up and came face to face with a boy. He had messy, dark curls framing his perfect face and deep green eyes. The boy started walking, following the leader of the group, the one who had beat up my Father. I didn’t want to look back at my old house, in case my Father saw what was going on. I decided I could trust these boys, they had the courage to save me from my abusive Father and that was good enough for me. I nuzzled my face into the boy’s purple Jack Wills sweater and breathed in his comforting vanilla scent and soon found myself drifting off to sleep, listening to the steady beating of the boy’s heart.

A/N: Okay. So there is the first chapter of My 3rd Harry Styles Fan Fiction: Horrible. I know, there are billions of stories like this, but believe me, along with some of the cliché moments that will be in this story, I do have TONS of cool ideas for plot twists that will shock the poo outta you! Thanks For Reading! Comment, Vote and Fan!