Realize Your Potential (H.S)

Chapter Forty-One

I'm woken up by a strange tapping noise. It's not an excessive taping, but it comes in random segments as just a single tap before one follows a few seconds later.

I almost think I'm dreaming the noise until it becomes a little louder and slightly faster.

Sitting up in bed, I look around my room as I try to figure out what the noise could be, but I find nothing. Everything is in its place and there are no terrifying figures lingering in any corners. But still, the noise continues and I can tell that it's near.

Then there comes a loud tap, and my head snaps over to my window as I watch a rock hit the glass as another tap follows.

What is going on?

I get out of my bed and move to the window, pushing back my curtains so I can look outside. Another rock hits my window and I lean back as if I believe that it may somehow hit me in the face.

Then the rocks stop coming and I take this as my chance to open my window and lean my head out to find the source.

"Styles?" I ask, seeing him standing below with a handful of stones.

My head is still foggy from just waking up, but I still manage to conclude that he's real. That Harry Styles is currently standing on my lawn, dropping his ammo to the ground as we stare at one another.

And there's that ocean of electricity.

"What are you doing here?" I ask him.

"Oh, you know, I was just trying to check the durability of your windows," he tells me sarcastically. His usual amusement not as strong.

"Very funny," I say dryly.

"I came here to talk to you," he finally admits. "Can I come up?"

"You want to come in?" I ask, my heart somehow beating faster.

He nods. "As lovely as it is in the cold, I would much rather have this conversation in temperature that's higher than thirty degrees."

Smartass.

I hesitate for a moment as I lean back and look towards my bedroom door. It seems like we haven't woken my dad up yet, and I know that even if Styles did come up that we still wouldn't wake him. Once my dad is out, he's out. But do I really think it's a good idea to bring Styles up into my bedroom?

"Olivia?" Styles asks from below, and I then lean my head out once more.

"I'll be down in a moment."

I close the window, letting out a rush of air as I turn away from it. Before I can talk myself out of this idea, I exit my bedroom, tiptoe down the hall, and then ease myself down the stairs. I then pull the front door open as quietly as I can to find Styles standing on my front porch, his hands shoved in his pockets as he stares down the street. It seems like he's actually looking for someone, and I begin to fear he's running from the cops.

"You're not using me as a hideout or something, are you?" I ask him through the small opening I've made in the door.

He turns to me, taking in my words before he shakes his head.

"No. I just needed to talk to you. I promise."

I study him for a moment, trying to seem indifferent even though I know that I'm dying to welcome Styles into my home. Maybe he'll finally tell me what's going on after days of silence. At least I know that he's okay.

I step back and allow him to walk inside. He passes through the doorframe and then I'm staring at him. His back is to me as he studies the room around him, and I feel my worlds colliding.