The Waiting Game || Harry Styles

Chapter 4

3 Weeks Later

It's the week of my birthday and I have yet to decide what I'm doing. It's been weird between me and H ever since the party. But, not on his side. Just me. He texted me a bunch that night, asking me where I was and that he was leaving soon and I needed to reply so he could take me home. I text him the next morning saying sorry and that I left early.

Delilah has been on my case since that night telling me to speak to him, and that he wasn't worth being this upset over. She was right but I have just under a month until it will be over. A month until I start living in London. It's not even that I never want to speak to Harry again, because that is not the case at all. But, not seeing him everyday and only when I'm home for Christmas or summer will defiantly numb the pain.

My mum and dad are home at the moment so I'm on edge. They're working most the time, but over dinner, or on the weekends I want nothing more than to be out the house. Ever since they have been home there has been no mention of me moving in September, I haven't brought anything up but I sort of thought it was the 'parent thing' to do. Not the kid. 

Until dinner I am going to be working on my portfolio project. The Art course there requires you to produce a big piece and an analysis before school actually starts. This way we can track our progress throughout the year. 

The target is 'home'. I think they made this the project due to most of us moving away from home and starting up a new one somewhere else. I decided straight away that I wanted to do a 3D type painting of a beer pong table. Me and my four best friends have played beer pong since the ages of fifteen. And to me, those people are home. Not my house.

I pull out my painting sheet and smooth it onto the floor, covering my bedroom carpet. The old paint splatters from previous projects almost masked the original white fabric. I grab my easel from the side of my wardrobe and start painting over the already sketched out lines. 

Using all my paint mixing knowledge to get the perfect shades of red for each cup depending on the shadowing. Minutes turned into hours whilst I was working on my piece.

When I was painting I felt at peace, I've never had that feeling before. And I only get it when I paint, nothing else seems to give me that feeling. And nothing can seem to break me out of it. That is until my mum is at my bedroom door shouting.

"Katie! Ive called your name three times for dinner." Her voice snaps me out of peace, and crashing back to my reality.

"Sorry, I'll be right down, let me just get into something clean" I rush out.

"Hurry up, it's going to be cold." And with the she turns sharply and walks away.

I scramble to find some of Niall's old joggers and an oversized school t-shirt from some residential trip I took. I slip on a new pair of socks and run downstairs.

I reach the dining room and slide into my chair, not saying a word.

"Be careful Katie, run any harder and you'll go through the stairs" She speaks so monotone. The comments just slip effortlessly off her young. 

I glance at dad in hopes he might say something, but like always he's sat on his phone 'working' "Sorry" I blurt out.

She turns around carrying two plates in her hands. "A helping hand would have been nice" She scolds looking directly at me.

"Y-your right, let me help you" I put my hands on the table and step out of the chair.

"What are you wearing" Her face is in such disgust, like I'm wearing a prison jumpsuit. Not joggers and a T-shirt.