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Had I known that Charles was actually going to play his role as a father today, I never would have told him I was going to a small village called Holmes Chapel. My original plan was to take the tram, but when Dad and Celia said they wanted to drive me, I seriously considered calling Harry and backing out on him.
"Why do you want to go to Holmes Chapel again?" my Dad asks. I roll my eyes from where I sit in the back seat, sending Celia a sarcastic smirk whenever she turns around and looks at me. I've already told my dad several times why I need to go to Holmes Chapel, but it's so typical of him not to listen.
"I'm having lunch with one of my friends and his family," I drawl before popping my earbuds back in and opening my book. I try to focus on the words written across the page to distract myself from the nervous feeling that's giving me a headache and making me nauseous, but when that doesn't work, I decide to close the book and watch the world pass me by outside the car window.
So many thoughts are running rampant in my mind, and I'm playing out my responses to every possible remark or question that Harry's family could make towards me. I've always been like this- getting so anxious before meeting or talking to someone important that I plan out what to say, change it over and over, and then run through it in my head like lines in a play.
There's this constant fear that I'll make a fool of myself for saying the wrong thing or not even knowing what to say at all. I sometimes wonder if because I feel the constant need to rehearse everything I say, not fully allowing my true personality to show through, this is the reason I can't truly connect with anyone. Either that or people are way smarter than I give them credit for, and they can see that I actually have no soul.
Who wants to be friends with someone who didn't even cry while watching The Notebook? I seriously didn't feel a thing, and honestly hate that movie. It's so predictable. If you didn't know that it would end with Allie remembering Noah then you're an idiot.
I turn down the volume of my music slightly when I think I hear my name slip off Celia's tongue. Apparently not even the loud sound of the Ramones can drown out her obnoxious rattling.
"Belle obviously has a date, Charlie," She says, twirling her hands through her overly fluffed blonde hair.
"I do not," I declare, shoving my things into my back pack and undoing the seatbelt when Charles pulls the car into the driveway of a decently sized home.
"It's okay if you do, sweetheart. You need to start talking to me more," Dad buts in, attempting to save Celia from my wrath.
In my haste to get out, I stop for a moment and stare into his icy blue eyes that have always terrified me. "Maybe when you actually start to listen to me instead of pretending like you care, I'll start talking."
I throw open the door to his overly expensive car and get out as quickly as I can, basking in the warmth of the mid-July sun, breathing in as the chill bumps leave my body that the cold air from the car left on my skin. "And it isn't a date!" I reiterate before slamming the door and speed walking to Harry's front door.
Like always, when I turn over my shoulder after beating on Harry's front door a little too violently, I see Charles driving away. We argue constantly, and he has never once tried to mend things, only ever going on as if nothing happened in the first place. Either that or he takes his home wrecking girlfriend Celia's side on everything.
The front door opens suddenly making me jump. Harry is standing there in a black polo with a chain around his neck, the pendant tucked deep within the fabric of the shirt. When my eyes fall a little farther down, I see the tragedy that are his shoes.
"What the hell are you wearing?" I ask when our eyes meet again.
"Um," he chuckles a little and starts looking around as if he's confused, "Clothes?"
"Those shoes, Harry. It looks like you skinned Barney for them!" I say with concern in my voice. The more I look at the awful shoes, the worse they get. Purple clouds adorn his feet, covered in dirt and looking as if the high tops were made out of pillows. What's worse is they look like they barely fit his feet.
Looking down and shuffling his right foot, Harry looks back up and hesitates, "I quite like them."
"That's brave, Styles. Now are you gonna let me in?" I ask with a wink.
Moving out of the way, he motions me in and stutters, "Right. Please come in."
I enter into his comfy home and am instantly met with the sweet smell of gardenias on a summer day. Several family portraits line the walls, every face smiling brightly in each of them. I guess this is what a happy family looks like.
"Is this your mom?" I ask upon seeing a photo of a beautiful woman with tan skin, dark hair, and eyes the same shade of brilliant green as the boy standing next to me. In the photo, the woman is beaming at the camera while holding what looks like a young Harry.
"Yeah, that's her," Harry expresses with pure joy in his eyes. Just by the way he spoke, I can tell that he must be really close with her.
"What's her name?" I ask, staring deeper at the photos on the wall. I see another with a very pretty girl who I can only assume is his sister.
"Anne."
"You have her dimples," my chest shakes with a small laugh as I reach over and place a finger to his soft cheek. I almost think I shouldn't have done that and feel the familiar pit form in my stomach, but as soon as I pull away his smile grows, creating those adorable craters that never fail to captivate me.
The way his structured face can go from looking like a Greek statue to looking so soft is beyond me, but it's all because of the dimples that I love so much. Prince Eric has always been my favorite Disney prince for a reason.
I drop eye contact with him as silence plagues us. Looking for a distraction, I spot a picture of Harry and Anne, both smiling brightly at the camera. "How old are you here?" I ask, pointing to the photo.
Breathing in and out deeply, Harry puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head slowly. "I don't know. Maybe eight or nine?" He questions himself.
"What was your song?"
He scrunches his nose and makes the most confused expression that brings a smile to my own face. His mouth opens into a wide grin suddenly when it clicks and he asks, "Oh, I can't say I've ever really thought about it."
"Okay, well what about now?" I shrug. "You're seventeen, and that's practically music's favorite age."
"If given the chance, I'll make sure to never write a song with a lyric about being seventeen just because you said that, but um... I don't know. Mum would probably say Edge of Seventeen, but I'm more of a Dancing Queen guy myself."
"In that case you need to meet my mom. She's an Abba nut. You should have seen her when Mamma Mia! came out."
He chuckles as he rubs a hand under his nose. His eyes light up as his smile grows, making me wish I could get closer to study them more.
"Speaking of mums, mine is outside waiting to meet you," Harry says, taking a step forward and extending a hand to me. Yet for some reason, he seems to think better of the action and pulls it away, simply motioning for me to follow.
I brush it off and tag along, breathing in the scents of fresh baked goods that come from the kitchen. I don't know why Harry acts this way. First he's totally normal, and then with the snap of a finger, everything changes and he clams up. But all that is forgotten when I step outside onto a beautiful back patio full of lush foliage and beautiful flowers of all different colors.
Two striking women stand from where they sat at a quaint white table, both wearing beautiful sundresses and brilliant smiles adorned with dimples. Instantly I recognize them as Anne and Harry's older sister.
I offer them a small smile and blush when I feel Harry's hand grace the small of my back, ushering me forward. Anne moves toward us with Harry's sister following close behind. I try my best to keep eye contact despite the intense reddening of my face from the anxiety.
However, when Anne goes straight in for a hug, my face softens in surprise before I sink into the comforting feeling. I already get the same loving vibe from her that I get from my own mother.
"You must be Belle," she breathes into my hair. "I'm Anne, Harry's mum," the goddess of a woman pulls away but keeps her perfectly manicured hands on my shoulders. Anne smells exactly like her house, the scent of gardenias and other fresh flowers still stuck in my nose from our hug.
"It's nice to meet you," I giggle.
Harry's sister sticks her hand around Anne and takes mine, shaking it firmly. "I'm Gemma. Harry's told us a lot about you," her eyes flit from me to Harry, but when they return to me, there's humor within the brown irises.
"Hi," I breath out nervously.
I steal a glance back to Harry to see he has his arms crossed and his jaw clenched. I'm unsure what Gemma said to irritate him so much, but I'm sure it's just sibling banter.
"Please sit," Anne gestures to an open chair, and we all move forward taking our seats, but not before Harry rushes and pulls the chair our for every single one of us.
"Show off," Gemma groans with the most sarcastic smirk I've ever seen, even putting Louis Tomlinson to shame.
The sun shines down on us from the bright blue sky above, but the weather still remains perfect. There is a gentle gust of wind that blows through my hair every now and then, adding to the perfect day. While I take small bites of the chocolate chip croissant that's laid out in front of me, I watch as a butterfly with the most vibrant wings flutters in front of my nose and rounds the table before landing on my head.
I let out a giggle when it lands its delicate body into the brunette tresses on my head, admiring the monarch as it flies away and disappears into one of the tall trees surrounding the picturesque garden. When I turn back around I see Anne and Gemma sharing a knowing look as they take sips from their glasses. Harry is watching me with his mouth slightly agape before his gaze follows to where the butterfly disappeared.
"Belle, darling, why don't you tell us about yourself? What brings you to London for the summer?" Anne beams, stealing my attention with her calming persona, grace, and beauty.
The script I have prepared in my head seems more appealing than ever, but for once my gut is telling me otherwise. So far Anne and Gemma have been nothing but inviting, and are already the kindest people I've ever met. I wonder if Harry knows how blessed he is to have this.
"I'm here from Georgia to visit my dad for the summer. He's from here, so when my parents got a divorce a few years ago he moved back," I say with a nod. "It's always the highlight of my summers... coming here- mostly for the culture... not so much for him," I trail off, picking at the flaky layers of my croissant. I'm beginning to think I should have stuck to my script.
"He doesn't-" Anne starts with wide eyes.
"Oh god no," I quickly interject, knowing exactly what she was thinking...thinking that he's violent. "We just don't have that close of a relationship because of something I did, but enough about me. I want to know about you! You have a beautiful family, Anne," I smile genuinely as the rest of my body begins to heat up with anxiety. Nothing sounds better than changing the subject from me to something else. Besides, I'm genuinely interested in Harry's family.
All three of them watch me with a worried expression as I sip the lemonade from my glass, only making me more anxious. I hate when people pity me. That's the last thing I wanted out of coming here today, so I need someone to change the subject quick.
Thankfully Gemma takes the hint and begins telling old family stories about her and Harry as kids that have me genuinely laughing my ass off.
"He got so mad at me once that he refused to talk to me, but having that damn heart of gold that I've always envied, he wrote me a note and slid it under my door, and I still remember exactly what it said," Gemma began laughing hysterically while Harry sank deep into his chair, face shaking in his hands.
"'I'm angry at you, and I'm not talking to you today and tomorrow," She recalls as Anne starts to laugh along with Harry and me. "'P.S. All day," Gemma holds her hand up as if there's more. "'P.S.S. I still love you.'"
Harry starts laughing the first genuine laugh I'ver ever heard from him, yet it's still muffled due to his face being hidden in his hands. I watch as Anne dabs tears caused my laughter from her eyes, and Gemma just shakes her head, fondly remembering her childhood with her little brother.
"As if the first p.s. wasn't enough, you had to add another with an extra 's,'" I chuckle, nudging Harry's shoulder to get him to lighten up.
He takes his head out of his hands, trying his best to look absolutely miserable, but his dimples make it harder for him to hide that he's actually enjoying this.
Anne jumps up suddenly and says, "Everyone come inside! I just remembered that I have Harry's X-Factor audition taped, and I'm sure he'd love for Belle to see it!"
Harry groans next to me, hiding his face in his hands again. Have his hands always been this big?
"Mum! Please don't!"
"Please do!" Gemma chants, nothing but mischief in her eyes.
"I would love to see it," I smirk as I jump up and widen my eyes playfully at Harry. He simply shakes his head of curls and sinks deeper into his chair if at all possible.
As I follow Anne inside, I hear Gemma nagging Harry and rattling on, "C'mon Harold."
When we enter the living room, Gemma and Harry not far behind, Anne motions for me to sit on the couch while she runs off to dig through some drawers for the tape.
"I think I need to come over more often and maybe bring Louis, Niall, Liam, and Zayn with me. I bet they'd get a real kick out of this," I whisper to Harry as he plops down next to me.
"You really hate me don't you?" He gives me intense side eye. Gemma starts giggling from where she sits to my right.
"C'mon, Styles. Do you really think that little of me? I would swim all the oceans just to see you smile, and that's a lot coming from me," I hiss, practically bleeding with sarcasm.
Anne comes back shortly after that and drops another one of Harry's childhood letters that she found in my lap. As she goes to get the tape ready, Harry reads it over my shoulder, the minty scent of the gum that he always seems to be chewing hits my nose due to his closeness.
I don't see how this day could get any better until Harry's audition comes on. He looks so much younger and naive despite this only happening a year ago.
When the video is over and Gemma and Anne are leaving the room, I only then realize that instead of finding humor in the video, I sat in awe the whole time. I can't imagine how nervous Harry must have been to go out on that stage, but his dream was more important than his fear. Maybe I could learn something from him.
"I can't believe that Louis guy gave you a no," I point out when the room empties, leaving just Harry and me.
"I can't believe Simon and Nicole said yes," the boy breathes, looking down, his entire persona darkening. Harry has been off all day, no longer is usual goofy self, and it's starting to worry me.
"Why would you say something like that?" I furrow my brows and place a hand to his shoulder, hunching down a little to try and look him in the eye despite his dropping head. "Harry, your voice is amazing, and you know me. I'm literally incapable of telling a lie."
He looks up at me suddenly, green eyes glazed over with tears. I instantly grow weary, because handling the emotions I don't have is one thing, but dealing with someone else's is even harder.
Compassion is a difficult thing for me to grasp. It shouldn't be, but it is. I don't why it's so hard for me to understand and feel for others, but I'm starting to think it's because I've never felt any of what they're going through. I only hope I can be here for Harry right now.
"I'm really stressed, Belle. The other day I was feeling down about a performance the lads and I did, so to make sure I was right about it being bad, I went online and looked at the comments, and I just read like," he pauses and looks down, sighing deeply to keep himself from crying. I grip his shoulder tighter and reach for his free hand that isn't wiping away his tears, squeezing it tightly.
Is this what compassion is, because all I want to do is hold onto him and never let him go. My heart feels like it's constricting in on itself, beating so rapidly in my chest as if it wants to break free. A lump forms in my throat that I haven't felt in a long time, signaling that I might actually cry for a boy that I've only known for a little over a month.
"So I read," Harry continues once he's regained full composure, "Sort of like, just a massive list of these comments, and you read for example, y-you read your twitter feed. If there's three people saying you're amazing you think they're only saying that because they're a fan, but if there's one saying that they hate you, it's like why do you hate me? What have I done?"
"Harry-" I breath, running circles with my thumb across the soft skin of his hand.
"I can take criticism," he interrupts, suddenly raising his voice a little in what seems like anger, however more towards himself than anyone else. "But if it's just like a 'I don't like you,' then I want to know why people don't like me."
That's when the tears start rolling. His beautiful green eyes are rimmed with red as they pour shimmering tears down his face. Once a bright and shining emerald green, they are now darkened by rain clouds, pouring teardrops like rain.
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I don't know what to say, because I can't even begin to know how he's feeling. My brain is working on overdrive to try and find something... anything to bring him some form of peace, but there's nothing.
Smiling in spite of himself, Harry breathes out, "I've always wanted to be one of those people who didn't really care that much about what other people thought about them, but I just don't think I am."
"That makes two of us," I mutter, my stomach dropping when I realize how alike we are.
I don't know what comes over me, but I pull Harry into a hug and just hold him while he cries, one single tear falling down my face, the first tear I've cried since my parents' divorce. "We're gonna get through this together, Harry. I promise," I breath into his curls as I squeeze his body tighter. "You are worth so much more than you know, and are talented beyond compare. Please promise me that you will never listen to those people ever again."
Pulling away, I keep my hands on his shoulders and stare into his eyes while he sniffles. His green irises search mine, almost like he's looking for a hint that I'm lying. "Promise me," I emphasize, only taking my hand from his broad shoulder to hold my pinky out to him.
"I promise," he says, finally taking my pinky and squeezing it tight. His action elicits a smile from me, nothing but a sense of calm washing through my body. In this moment, Harry and I truly broke down the walls that we have both worked years to build up, but I wouldn't want to do it with anyone else. Yet one single question still plagues me: Why him and not my mom who's tried to get me to open up for years? Why out of the 7 billion people in the world, did the universe decide that it would be him?
I don't know why, but from the moment I met him, from the moment I met Harry, everything changed.