Skipping Rocks and Falling in Love - Harry Styles fanfic

PART EIGHT.

** ATTENTION: Chapter in the POV (point of view) of Harry Styles. The letters in bold chronicles what happens after Harry talks to his mother, the rest are the next day after. Please read my author's note as well :D THANK YOU.

***

My heart combatively drummed within my chest, its malignant rate completely depriving me from my ability to properly communicate; however I unwillingly nudged the phone closer to my ear with flimsy determination. The anticipation grew increasingly agonizing with each expectant ring as the phone rocked unsteadily under the negative influence of my fidgety hands. It felt as if my mind had been sucked into a vortex of undesirable memories, my heavy breathing pattern growing inconsistent with each recollection as I anxiously weaved my fingers through the collection of sloppy brown curls that sailed above my jaded set of eyes. I would be deceiving myself if I said I wasn’t tired, but accomplishing this task was much more substantial than my wearisome state.

“Hello, this is the Psychological resilience and medical assistance building. You have reached Doctor. Abigail’s office, how may I help you?” 

My ears instantaneously perked up at the sound of a clearly aggravated woman with a thick and overly dramatized Hispanic accent that annoyingly poured into my ears. Although I couldn’t see the source of nuisance that sat on the other end of the line, I could impeccably associate her disgruntled visage which I had creatively sculpted in my mind with her monotonous voice knitted with disinterest, and peculiarly, her estimated level of carelessness had warranted the exudation of confidence upon my once concerned demeanor.

“Yes, erm hello.”

Deepening my voice to achieve the most convincing and conversational tone I could feign, my mind rummaged through lists of acceptable replies as I attempted to tame the mildly spastic explosions surging through my body.

“I’m calling on behalf of uhm, Rose Altkins.” I replied uncertainly, while nervously fiddling with the rumpled piece of poetry in my hands. My mind was immediately sucked out of the conversation as I allowed my eyes which were clouded with skeptic disbelief to scan over the number neatly printed on the paper multitudinously to assure its validity upon the situation.

Why would Lavender have a medical assistance buildings number? I mean, what did I even originally think the number was going to lead me to? Certainly not Lavender, but it was worth a try even if the probability of a fulfilling conclusion was unlikely.

“I assume she is a patient. Are you calling to confirm an appointment sir?” Her voice sliced through the once incredibly mute silence like a pack of freshly sharpened knives, and even with its victorious ability to have wavered me out of my own thoughts contaminated with dubiety, her negligent attitude that radiated off of her tone of voice easily resonated through the telephone frequency with fluidity. I didn’t know the lady, yet her vocal competence was enough to make me flinch in clear annoyance.

“Yes… that is uhm correct.” I confirmed with incertitude while mentally slapping myself in the face for my idiotic response, yet inwardly expressing my gratitude for the mere fact that the secretary was maintaining authority over this conversation. The obnoxious clacking of a keyboard and the exaggerated prolonged sigh that slipped out of the woman’s lips pursuant to my request could faintly be heard as I restlessly paced back and forth, impatient for a satisfying answer. This was my only hope. My last chance at searching for answers before I was long gone. The clock couldn’t have ticked slower, and the minutes could have crawlingly dragged on for more than an eternity as I coveted for a reply. Everything seemed to be inactive, except for the sound of my feet which were moving frantically fast from the injunction of my very own nervosity.