Peligro (A Harry Styles Fanfiction) INTENSE EDITING IN PROGRESS

Chapter 7

The next morning when I awoke, my head was pounding. I attempted to open my eyes but the light streaming through the window prevented me from doing so. The light burned harshly and I was forced to close them again, rolling over until I was awake enough to open them once more.

After about ten minutes, I finally conjured up the strength to give it another go and forced them open. The burn was still present but not as terrible. I reached to the sides of my body, my arms slowly hoisting me up to my feet. My whole body ached as I started to walk to the door, but I pushed past it and continued on my way downstairs. I was undeniably hungry, maybe the hungriest I had been in quite a while so going to get some breakfast was the best option. I had turned around before leaving to take in my surroundings; Amy was still knocked out, her makeup spread all over her face and her hair a wild mess. Her mouth hung open slightly, and she grumbled. I shook my head, chuckling softly at the site as I closed the door cautiously behind me.

As I stepped off the last step, my nose being greeted to the smell of chocolate pancakes and fresh orange juice. I strolled in the kitchen, expecting to be greeted by parents. No one was there. I headed towards the room and took a step inside.

As I neared the counter, I noticed a large sticky note placed beneath the pitcher of orange juice. I lifted the glass container and took a peak. I saw familiar handing writing- my mothers in fact- and decided to give reading it a go.

Dear Ary, (my mother had nick-named me that when I was 3)

Your father and I have decided to take a trip to the grocery store to pick up some things. There is breakfast for you and your friend.

Enjoy,

-Mom

I had told her ages back when I had first gotten my phone to just text me instead of writing out notes. She refused, claiming,

"Notes are much more genuine. To see that someone took time out of their day to write you a note is much more heartwarming than a simple text."

I rolled my eyes at the thought. My mother had always hated technology. She said it was a waste of time and electricity. I had blamed her generation and her childhood town; the use of technology was often frowned upon in small-town Middle America, especially in the late seventies.

I made my way over to the table after grabbing two plates from the cabinet, and set Amy's on the table. I started to pile mine up with pancakes. The smell of chocolate excited me; it was my favorite type of sweet.

I pulled out a chair, realizing I had forgotten a fork. I leaned over to my right, trying to reach the utensils drawer. My grip on the table weakened and I tipped over, tumbling down the floor. I landed with a thud, groaning, my bottom hurting from the painful impact it had taken.

I heard a shriek from the kitchen doorway and looked over to see a very tired Amy sprinting to my aid. She leaned down, grabbing onto my arm and lifted me back on to the chair. I shook my head, trying to wrap my mind around the situation.

"Are you okay?" She squealed, her eyes full of concern.

"Yeah, I was just too lazy to get up to get a fork, and karma got me back for it." I laughed.

Her worried expression eased a bit, but she still looked concerned.

"But you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Speaking of being okay; are you? You look like you just walked out from an explosion or something." I joked.

She frowned, taking her hand up to her unruly hair and quickly wrapping it into a sloppy bun with a spare hair tie on her wrist. Her eyes scanned over to the mound of steaming pancakes, and she gently asked, "Can I have some?"