Dice [h.s.]

31

TW: Death/mentions of suicide

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"Why is it that when the story ends we begin to feel all of it." -the sun and her flowers

I remember the day my dad died like it was yesterday. I found him totally by accident. He was lying lifeless on the pavement with a clean bullet in his forehead. No gun or person in sight.

I was walking home from the bar since Natalie made me go with her to blow off steam. I left her alone with some guy and walked out on my own, trying to find a place to vomit because of my oncoming hangover. I was practically drunk.

So I turned into an alleyway to puke and that's when I saw him. My father, laying on the ground, cold and purple. He was dead and I was the one that found him. Mistakenly found him.

The fear that ran through me in that moment is indescribable. I had never reached for my pocket knife so fast, ready to kill the person who had killed my father. But it was no use, they were gone.

I called the police, got questioned, threw up a few times, and went back to college. My mother didn't find out till a week after since she was on a business trip. I told no one. Not even Natalie.

I pretended like everything was fine. I over played it to the point that I eventually convinced myself of the lies I was telling myself. It was terrible and unhealthy, but I did it.

It felt like Deja vu, a bit. Watching Harry this morning cook breakfast. I mean actually turn a fucking stove on and start to cook. The big bad evil genius is cooking breakfast after crying his heart out last night.

I couldn't help but remember myself in this same situation. Pretending everything isn't crumbling down around you. He was dressed in his usual suit, drinking a cup of whiskey while tossing eggs in a pan.

He seemed too normal

I had just gotten up from my position on the couch, wearing only my tight black tank top and pink shorts. He had woken up before me as usual, worked out and changed.

I walked over to the kitchen and leaned down on the counter in front of the stove. He didn't know I was there yet since his head was down and he was focused on the pan.

This doesn't look right

"What are you doing?" I raised my eyebrow while looking at him like he was a psychopath.

"Cooking breakfast, what does it look like I'm doing?" Harry glanced at me with a confused look.

"You, Harry Styles, jack of all trades, ruler of the underworld, are cooking breakfast?" I let my mouth hang open out of astonishment.

"Is it that hard to believe that I can cook?" Harry started to whistle to himself while flipping the eggs.

Okay something is definitely wrong

"Listen, I don't like to pry. But this just does not sit well with me." I pointed my finger to the two perfectly cooked eggs.

"My mum taught me how to cook. I'm not fucking useless you know that right?" Harry scoffed.

"Something's wrong." I walked around the counter and stood beside him while he placed the finished egg on the plate with the others.

"Nothing is wrong darling." Harry winked towards me before turning the stove off and walking towards his kitchen table.

"I'm sorry I just find that very hard to believe." I met him at the table and sat down across from him.

"Well believe it sweetheart." Harry's voice went deep and stern. He wanted me to drop the topic.