Broken (Harry Styles)

Chapter 6

Chapter six

It's been four days since I talked to Harry at the cafe. I haven't called or texted him. Though I did actually save his number.. It doesn't mean anything! At least that what I've been telling myself.

These four days has been good considering everything. My dad has barely placed a hand on me, well to be fair he has barely been home, but the few times I've seen him he's been in an really good mood. I know it won't last and I know that I should never take my guard down around him but it's still been refreshing and it's been good for my bruised up body, it's had some time to recover and the pain has reduced tremendously, it's not gone but it's a start.

I've had two days at the cafe and then I had two days off straight. I never really know what to do with myself when I don't have to work.. I would love to go to university but I know I could never afford it and there's no way in hell I could get my dad to pay it.

I brought it up to him once. Big mistake that turned out to be. I ended up with one of the worst beatings I've ever experienced. I literally whimper from the thought of that horrible day.

Dad kept telling me I wasn't smart enough anyway and that he didn't want to hear anything about me wanting to leave because he was the only one who would ever tolerate me.

When it comes to all those terrible things that he tells me it's like a have two minds.. There's a part of my brain telling me to just shut him out and not believe anything he's throwing at me, but then there is the other part, telling me he's right about everything. That I am all those things he calls me. That I should be thankful he puts a roof over my head and not to feel bad for myself because I deserve every bit of pain I've ever had to endure.

It's around 2pm and I don't really know what to do with the rest of my day so i decide to bring out everything I need to do a serious cleaning of the house.

It might seem odd to some people but I've always found cleaning relaxing. I'm glad that I feel that way about it because my dad doesn't exactly do a lot of housework around here. Ironic considering that he fixes things and cleans for a living at other peoples houses, but refuses to lift a finger when it comes to our house.

I start out in the kitchen, making my way to the sitting room and the living room. It takes me about three hours to be completely done with the ground floor then I head to the first floor and use about two hours up there, cleaning the hall, my room, my bathroom, the office and I do a quick check in my dad's room, I never really know whether or not to clean his room. Sometimes he gets mad if I leave his room out and other times he can get pissed at me for touching his stuff.

I conclude that his room doesn't need much anyway so I just wipe off a few places where dust has been allowed to collect and vacuum in there before closing the door behind me.

It's past seven know and I'm exhausted. My dad has been a no show all day so I have no idea if he'll even be here for dinner or if he's sleeping here.

I know I should probably start dinner, considering the time and the fact that have barely eaten today, but I'm just so damn tired that I pack away all the cleaning supplies and go to my room to take a quick a nap.

I fall asleep almost instantly.

"Why the hell isn't dinner on the fucking table?!" I almost jump out of bed as my dad's voice wakes me up. I'm rally disappointed he came and woke me up, I was having one of the nicest dreams I've had in a long time. About my mother. The good dreams are always about the beautiful mother I once knew.

It takes a few seconds to realize my dad asked me a question.

"I.. I feel asleep" my voice is shaking and I hate that I come of as weak.