the journal - h.s.

39

“So since you owe me 69 cents I think it would be appropriate for me to know your last name, Amber…?”

“Moore - Amber Moore.” I flashed him a grin, as we started walking down the street with the side of the dark park ahead of us. I still couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed how every female in the place had been sighing after him. For a person noticing so many small details in the world - he sure still was surprisingly blind to the world around him.

“Moore - like that actress?” He looked at me puzzled, but still so damn curious. That was another thing about Harry Styles. He seemed to take interest in the most unusual and boring things - but had a way of making them seem like the most interesting objects he had ever had the pleasure of stumbling upon. That was how I felt. I didn’t understand why - but he made me feel like an actress in a romantic movie, that he couldn’t stop watching. He made me feel special. The way he had held the door for me, held my to-go cup as I'd pulled the bag strap over my head. How I had felt his gaze rest on me.

“Yeah, Julianne Moore actually. My mum thought Smith was too original - and she just loved this one movie,” I said it with this ‘oh-god-why-on-earth-would-you-ever-mum’ tone in my voice that apparently made him break into uncontrollable chuckling. I took a sip of my coffee only grining, as I still didn’t really find it that amusing - but I loved seeing him laugh. So even if my mother’s terrible parenting choice of my last name was the reason for his amusement, it was still the most adorable sight.

“Wow she must be a huge fan then! I actually haven’t seen that many movies - but I remember seeing ‘The Hours’ with her - Julianna Moore.” He kicked an empty trash to-go cup further up the street, that someone had not cared to pick up, before he looked up at me with a grin, “she’s an amazing actress so actually it’s kind of cool!”

We reached the cup again and he kicked it further up the street, in the direction of the trashcan a head.

“Yeah sure! So like with ‘haven’t seen that many movies’ what do you mean? Like I don’t watch that many movies but I still know the classics - you must have seen some Disney movies right?” I watched how he lifted his own cup and the carton came in contact with his heated lips.

Hot chocolate. Could he get any cuter?

“I mean everyone has seen Lion King, Aladdin, Beauty and the Beast -” He grinned at me, as he shook his head quickly and kicked to the to-go cup from the pavement again. We had reach the trashcan, so he bend over and picked up someone else's trash to-go cup. Throwing it out as he answered my question.

“Nope never seen them.”

I chuckled at his action - even trying to keep the city nice and clean, living up to his angel profession.

“Seriously? You’ve been missing out! What about Grease? Titanic?” He kept shaking his head between taking sips of the hot chocolate, as we walked down the street.

“Spiderman? James Bond! Everyone's seen at least one James Bond movie!”

He shook his head hard, as if that was the last thing on earth he could imagine doing.

“Why on earth have you seen The Hours and not James Bond?” I had forgotten all about my coffee by now, as I watched him smile that apologetic smile waiting for whatever explanation he had.

“I read Mrs. Dalloway - and my father agreed that I didn’t have to read ‘The Hours’ if I just saw the movie.” He shrugged.

“What other movies have you seen then?” This seemed so odd, but then again if he had spent his time learning bloody latin and God knew what else, there probably wasn’t much time for watching the latest Hollywood productions.

“Lord of the Flies, Amélie… I can’t really remember the titles. Some documentaries too. Loads in fact.” We managed to cross the trafficked street and reached the park.

“So - you saw these movies as part of what .. your education?” It couldn’t possibly be himself who had chosen to watch these movies. Could it?

“Yeah I guess you can say so…” Once again he just shrugged.

“So Amélie taught you…?”

“Practiced my accent with that one I think - that was one of the good movies actually! I really liked that one!” He said it so, so casually, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. And I reckoned it was a pretty normal movie to show in school in a French class. But which school taught you latin? Which school taught you to speak like a laywer? To write music? Read that many classic works? I for sure hadn’t been taught that.

“So - you. You what ... you speak … you speak French too?" I stopped up, as he nodded. He started chuckling as I just stared at him with no answer. Of course he spoke French as well. Of course. 

"Where on earth did you go! At a boarding school or something?” It was safe to say I was a little confused - and more than surprised, though I should have guessed. What had he spent his childhood doing if not seen bloody Disney movies!

As he spoke his tone flattened out. Became hard, cold, “I was homeschooled from the age of 4. My father thought private schools were too soft, he still does - so he hired a private teacher to come at our place.” His raspy slow voice could be heard perfectly into the cold night air, even though the sound of cars driving by was loud. You could tell his words contained just that iciness, just that hint of hatred that made me shiver - not because of the cold temperature though. This annoyed him more than anything. The way he had mentioned the word ‘father’ almost made me gasp. Slowly the puzzle pieces started falling into place, and as they did I watched with horrow how the picture came out.

Once again he had his gaze on the cold pavement, as we walked side by side. Just unaware enough - just enough lost in what ever memories were washing through his mind, so he couldn’t see how I reached out. Reached out and wanted to touch him comfortingly. Touch his arm, hug him. Tell him I was sorry - but just as quickly my hand fell to my side, a lump in my throat blocking my words. My heart felt heavy for that little curly haired boy with the green eyes and the unusual amount of knowledge I could see for my eyes. Who'd lost his mum and his childhood.

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a/n: *sob* 

Okay a few things - please check out my new Zayn story called 'She's No Angel'! :) It's being re-posted in a new even better edition and it's one of my fav stories I've ever written! It'll be updated daily :)

Secondly - in my readinglist you can find a German translation of this story! :) It's my good friend Rose, who's offered to help with the translation - so loads of love to her x 

Thank you guys for everything x x i'm super nervous about revealing the stuff in this chapter - so I cross my fingers and hope you like it!