It's wet outside. I can feel the dampness of the air, even though it's not on me. Rain is pouring. The window is blocking me from reaching out and letting the wetness of the droplets cover the skin on my hand. I wish I could stand in the middle of the rain. I wish I could get soaked, let the water slip through my clothes, lean my head back as it runs through my hair, closing my eyes as it covers and slides over my skin.
"Harry!" my mum calls, waking me from my trance. I sigh lowly, inaudibly.
I yell back, "I'm on my way!" I grab my book sack from the wooden chair sitting next to the ktichen counter, the keys out their metal dish, and I walk out the room. I don't bother to grab any breakfast on my way out. Eating is trivial.
I feel my hands shaking uncontrollably on my way to driving myself to school. I don't want to go, I don't want to go. The rain beats down harder the farther I am from home, the closer I am to school. I try to tell myself that this is a sign, an inevitable sign that's pouring down on my car.
The water has almost made my windsheild completely opaque. My unstable hands try to keep steady, but fail. My mind trails to the thought of gliding off the road, of ramming into another car, of my life being ended in the next few minutes. I wouldn't mind it happening. I wouldn't mind dying.
My school parking lot comes before I can think of it any longer. I park in a space far away from the school doors in hope of getting to avoid some of the other students. I grab my small, dark blue umbrella from underneath my feet. I look into the mirror and adjust my glasses. Pulling the umbrella out, I get out my car and shut my door. The rain is pouring in from the side, causing my body to get soaked even with my umbrella as protection.
I try to cover myself as much as possible as I walk towards the double doors. I keep my eyes on the wet grey asphalt at my feet to block the water from my glasses and eyes. Suddenly, a huge splash of water hits my backside. My umbrella flies away with the harsh wind blowing, and my glasses are knocked to the ground. Within the beating rain and my blinding eyesight, I am no longer able to see anything.
I hear laughter from behind me. I turn around, and though I'm only able to make out fuzzy shapes, I could tell that maroon pickup truck from anywhere. And those laughs I could target from a mile away.
"Watch your ass, Styles!" an all-too familiar male voice shouts out. More laughs follow.
I feel a hand on my cheek. It belongs to a girl. "You poor baby," she says. I then hear a crunch from beside me, and I already know that she stepped on my glasse,
I am shoved to the side, and more laughter bellows into my ears. Tears brim my eyes. I bite down into my bottom lip harshly, gathering my balance and running into the school.
After rubbing the tears from my eyes, I am able to see well enough to guide my way to the bathroom. I'm shivering from head to toe, my hair clinging to the sides of my face and neck. My clothes are sticking to my skin like glue. I quickly fish out my phone from my pocket, dialing my mum's number as fast as my fingers will allow me. She picks up after five rings.
Her voice comes out soft and sweet. "Yes, baby?"
"Th-they broke my glasses! I can't see! A-and I'm wet and cold!" I whine, my body a drenched ice cube.
"Harry, are you serious?" Mum asks. "Why do you keep letting them walk all over you?"
This disappointment coated in her voice makes me want to faint. "I can't, Mum, I can't, they won't stop..."
She sighs on the other end. "Go to the office, honey. I'm bringing you some more clothing and your extra pair of glasses. But you're staying at school."
"B-but Mum-"
"No, no buts, Harry. You're not missing any more days of school over this."
Mum hangs up before I can respond again. My bottom lip is quivering from coldness and fear, and my knuckles turn white from clenching my phone too hard. Though an obstacle, I make my way towards the student receptionist office.
"Again, Mr. Styles?" Mrs. Agatha, the student receptionist, says with a sad sigh. "I really think you need to stand up for yourself, baby."
I mumble to her, "It's harder than you think."
Mrs. Agatha hands me a towel, I sit down, and I start to dry off my skin. It doesn't help. My body is still freezing inside out.
My mind wanders to the people who did that to me. Without a single doubt, I know who they were.
Mike Tyron, the hulk of the school. The boy is gigantic. His blonde, wavy hair and blue eyes attract nearly every girl he walks near, regardless of their age. Some of the teachers even have their eye on him. He's just that attractive. And his group of football players were also in his truck, laughing at me with him.
Taylor Bridges, the prettiest and most desired girl in the city, was the one who crushed my glasses. When I first transferred here, in the middle of sophomore year, she led me on to think she had a crush on me. To think I had a chance. I was more foolish then than I am now, so of course I let her play onto me. I asked her out, and to much of my humiliation, she embarrassed me in front of the entire student body by proclaiming that our entire friendship had been a joke. She was the only friend I had at the time, and I haven't found another one.
I'm a senior now, eighteen and completely friendless. Mum tries to get me to join sports and clubs, thinking that I'll meet someone willing to talk to me in front of other people. I've tried, too. In the end, I am more ashamed of myself than I was when I started.
Mum comes ten minutes later. I change into my new, dry clothes, and I put on my extra glasses.
I hug her tightly as she says, "Baby, I'm really worried about you."
You should be. I shake my head. "No, no, don't be. I'm fine, Mum. Really, I am."
"I love you to death, okay?" She kisses my cheek.
I nod, barely. "I love you, too, Mum."
She leaves me, and I go to class. I walk into my first hour with everyone staring at me, including my teacher.
Everyone knows what happened. Everyone knows who did it. But no one opens their mouth, because I, Harry Styles, am never important enough to worry about.
Hey, guys! I'm starting fresh and new here. I was @risingangels / @styles.indie on instagram, but I've decided to keep writing on here. I'm really sorry I haven't written in almost a year- a lot has been going on in my family. Things are starting to clear up, so I'm going to start writing again. I think you'll really like Never, honestly, this plotline is a good one, promised. And, yes, the entire thing is in Harry's point of view.
