Same Mistakes (A Harry Styles Fanfic)

Prologue:

Brianna's POV:

The strong smell of onion filled my nostrils as I sliced into the white vegetable. I chopped straight and even, which I was easily able to do after many years of practice. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the pot of soup begin to boil. I quickly left my station at the cutting board and turned down the heat of the stovetop. Taking handfuls of cubbed onion, I dropped them into the pot, careful not to splash myself with the scolding broth. With a wooden spatula, I slowly began to stir, mixing in the veggies with the spices.

Mentally, I went through the checklist of chores that needed to be done today.

1) vacuum the house- check

2) wash the dishes- check

3) make supper- check

4) clear the shoes from the porch- che....oh, wait.

My stomach dropped as I realized I hadn't finished the last job. Hurriedly whipping my hands off on my well-worn jeans, I gave the soup one last swirl before taking off towards the porch.

"BRIANNA!" came a deep, bellowing male voice from the front entrance. The voice that belonged to my father. After the eventfull day today, the last thing I wanted was this. I closed my eyes and took in a deep, calming breath, trying to allow myself to appear innocent.

"Yes, Father?" I called from the kitchen, turning back to the stove to continue stirring the soup.

"You better have a good excuse for leaving these shoes out in the open." He joined me in the kitchen, leaning on the door frame and crossing his arms. When I turned around to face him, the angry expression I have seen so many times before stared me down.

"I'm sorry, I...I.." I let out a frusterated sigh. I should've thought of an excuse ahead of time. There was nothing I could say that would lead him to believe I didn't need to be punished.

"What? You forgot?" he yelled, his fingers forming an up and down motion as a he said "forgot." That's all it took. The next thing I knew, I was being pummeled with insults, most of them having nothing to do with the topic at hand. Just as I had so many times before, I zoned out completely. Everything he said went in one ear, and out the other. I have mastered the art of using appropriate facial expressions while not paying attention, which came in quite handy during class.

My father continued to cuss and verbally throw wretched names at me, but it didn't matter. None of it actually registered in my brain. After a few minutes of torture, I heard the soup beginning to boil again. Instinctively, I turned around to fix the problem, swishing the spatula around the bubbling broth, not even thinking about the consequences.

"How dare you turn your back on me!" he yelled, stomping over to where I was standing by the oven. My heart skipped a beat in fear as I felt a rough hand tightly grab my shoulder, twirling me around. I quickly caught myself and stared back at him, determined not to let him get the best of me.

"You don't deserve to..." his voice trailed off. He must have seen the fierce determination and anger shining in my eyes. His face twisted and he let out a breath of frustration, blowing my hair across my face. Suddenly, he pivoted and turned around, heading back in the direction he came from. I stared at the empty doorframe as I heard the front door slam, rattling the entire flat. Listening intently, I heard his car start and back out of the driveway, a little too fast for his own good.

Only when the flat fell silent once agian, when I knew I was completely alone, only then did I allow myself to break down in tears.