Lethal Lust (Harry Styles x Reader)

death becomes her.

"Mom, it's a term of expression- like a colloquial term?" She was looking at me like I had five eyes on my head. "Like teen slang. The streets are calling out to me= cause I belong to the streets."

"What does that mean?" Yeah I didn't really think this through, time for a Kidz Bop definition.

"Like I'm a...really cool uh person?"

"Well why didn't you just say that?" Yeah, my Mom doesn't really "get" jokes, she's so serious it's kind of scary but y'know some people just aren't born with a wicked sense of humour like yours truly- haha that was a joke.

"Cause I wanted to make a joke?"

"Well I'm not laughing so it wasn't really funny." It was funny you just don't have as immaculate a sense of humour as me so shush.

"Just leave, leave it..."

"But if you're a "really cool person" she began to "go on"
"Why are you sitting here all depressed and crying over a boy?" Oh my god, I am not CRYING OVER HARRY STYLES!

"FOR THE LAST TIME! I am SICK that is why I'm lying in my room all day and I wasn't crying it's just hayfever!" Maybe I was lowkey crying over him but like we won't talk about that.

"It's November...where is the pollen in Winter?." My mother questioned.

"It's still the fall Mom! September, October, November AUTUMN. January, February, March is Winter? Did you not learn the seasons?"

My mother started laughing hysterically, what did I say was so funny to her? I give up like I'm about to write my will at this point cause I feel like my body is about to make the windows shutting down noise and hibernate and she's just sitting here laughing at me? Really? THIS IS CALLED PARENTING?

"Where's December then?" Why was she asking me about December what is she talking about.

"What?" I replied, obviously confuddled.

"You said," laugh, "You said January, February, March is winter? March is in Winter now? Hardly nobody told me that! So what's December then? Summer?"

My face went red in embarrassment, I know December is in bloody Winter, I'm cold, I'm exhausted and I just want to lay here and go to sleep, okay!  I'm not going to sit here and be made fun of in my deluded state!

"Just...just read my temperature okay, I'm dying my mind is wonky leave me alone." I turned on my side and pulled the duvet over my head to shut her out.

"Oh (Y/N) I love you but my GOD are you a Drama Que-" my mum shot up when she saw the reading.

"Your temperature is 100.7!" She near shouted, freaking me a little out.

"Oh my god (Y/N) you are sick!" At this point I started to look out into the distance like I was looking into the camera on "The Office." It's not like I have been saying this for the past 2 days!

That's when my mom decided to take me to the After Hours Clinic, I love how whenever you go there they give you like a little sick bag. I don't know about you fine people but when I have the reaction to be sick I don't think I could condense it into a bag,  like bitch if I'm gonna be sick we're chatting projectile here. I'm talking full "The Exoricist" vibes here, I either go big or go home.

Anyway, the doctor examined me and that's where it gets funny. Well not funny cause I lowkey thought I was going to get murdered by my mother. But when the doctor told me to roll down the neck of my jumper to examine my chest and back, guess what was revealed. A huge bruise thing on my neck, y'all know what that means.

"(Y/N) IS THAT WHAT I THINK IT IS ON YOUR NECK?" Right in front of the poor wee doctor who was just trying to do her job not walk into an episode of Dr Phil.
"Mom...shush stop...it's not a y'know." I wanted to die, this wasn't happening.
"A love-bite?" She silently screamed.
"Ew Mom nobody calls it that anymore, what is this 1974? And no it's not that, uh it's my...Eczema."
"It's not Eczema," the doctor spoke back.

I'm sorry, but I thought that Doctors took something called "The Hippocratic Oath" in which they swear on their lives, that they will try their best to ensure their patient doesn't die. If my mother knew that what was on my neck could potentially be a hickey, I would be murdered in cold blood so I would like to make a formal complaint...

"But it isn't what you think it is either." The doctor replied. Okay I'm listening go on.
"This bruising on your neck, doesn't look...natural."
"It's bruising," my mother spoke, "it's unnatural for it to be on the neck."
"No, no... it's a wound." The doctor pulled down a light to take a closer look at it. The wound was the cause of the infection and a later blood result would reveal that I had a mild case of Anaemia. A life had been saved.

I was patched up, given Flucloxacillin for the wound, Galfer syrup to get my iron stores up and was sent home. My mother took a sigh of relief as she drove home, glad that they found out what was wrong with me and that most importantly I didn't have a hickey on my neck. Me, on the other hand- that's when shit started to get real. A litany of questions began to swirl in my head, how did the wound get on my neck? Where did I get the wound on my neck? When did I get it? Who did this to me?

Realising I was wearing the same jacket I wore on the taxi home from the hotel, I took the note Harry had left me out of my pocket.

"I'm Sorry x" scrawled in messy, rushed writing.

Is this what he was sorry for?