Harry Styles Saved Me

H.S.S.M. (1)

I knew something bad was going to happen that day. You know that gut feeling that you get as soon as you wake up, telling you that today is the day that something horrible will occur? Yeah, that's what I was feeling. But, an instinct isn't a good enough reason not to go to work. And when your mother is your boss, going to work isn't an option; it's a must. 

'Your mum is your boss? That's so pathetic.' 

Yeah. I know, right? It's lousy. But I'm not good for much else. And I'm not motivated enough to get out there in the world and after all I went through with my dad, meeting new people is something I try to avoid at all costs. Getting hurt again just isn't an option.

So if staying safe means I have to work for my mother, than that's exactly what I'll do. 

My job isn't bad though. It's not something boring like cooking and it's not mentally draining like paper work She's a designer and puts together clothing for musicians at gigs and concerts. I get to meet a lot of people and some of them are my favorite artists. So I wouldn't say I hate my job. It's just that sometimes I hope to do a little more with my life. Like persue my hopeful singing career. But, knowing my luck, that would never take off. So for now, I'm stuck. 

While my mother designs the outfits, I, the nineteen year old high school drop out, get the delightful task of delivering the clothing to the dressing rooms and offering help with straightening up the outfit afterwards. Depending on the band, sometimes my job is the hardest. More hardcore bands like to drink before shows which means when I ask them if they need help with anything, I receive a lot more than just a polite yes. But I shouldn't complain. 

"We're due at the O2 in half an hour, Lillian!" My mother's voice boomed as she barged into my room.

I pulled my pillow over the top of my head, a hopeless attempt at drowning out her voice. But, as she snatched the heavenly comfort away from me, that attempt was soon proven wasted. We'd been up all night last night at another show and tonight we had another exactly the same. We needed to be in the dressing rooms by at least 3pm and it was probably around 2. Which is why my mother was panicking. 

"Get up now!" She yelled, shaking me by the shoulder. 

I buried my face into my mattress before my muffled voice came out. "I'll be up in a minute, let me wake up."

"You have thirty seconds to get changed. I'll be out in the car waiting." 

With that, I heard her loud, angry footsteps disappear down the hallway. We'd never really gotten along. Sure, we coped with each other and could have decent conversations but I think deep down she blames me for everything that happened with my 'father'. And her hostility because of that, is shown through her impatience and often unkindness towards me. I couldn't wait to move out and get away from her. But for now, I needed the money that my job with her provided. 

Waking up was hard. Especially when you have nothing to look forward to. 

"LILLIAN!" 

A groan escaped my lips and I hoisted myself up. My long dyed blonde hair was in a tangled mess, extending three quarters of the way down my back and my black roots were only just begining to show; I'd dye it again when it really became a problem. I could only imagine the bags that had formed under my eyes from four concerts, four nights in a row. Still, with an exaggerated yawn and a stretch of my arms, I dragged myself up out of bed and over to my dresser. 

"Oh god," I muttered at my reflection in the mirror. 

I'd been right about my eyes. Quickly, I padded foundation over my face, making sure to at least try and cover the circles before applying eyeliner and mascara. I still looked tired, but at least my zombie eyes were a little more presentable.