stupid OXFORD definitions @ stylinson au

0.49

it will always be as if there is a language that sounds like english, and you think you speak it but the rest don't hear you and you don't understand

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louis slowly makes his way down to the dining room after his stepfather calls him down stating he has a visitor. he groans heavily on the inside when he sees who is it. he has never seen the woman in real life, nor ever heard her voice, only heard stories about her.

"louis." harry's mother smiles at louis as he makes his way into the dining room.

he nods slightly at her, feeling like a guest in his own dining room. "afternoon mrs styles."

he walks around her and sits across the table from her . she is donned in a huge flamboyant fur coat covering her elegant shoulders, that matches her jet-black hair flowing behind her shoulders endlessly. she is sporting an expensive, classy indigo dress, matching her eye shadow and louis hates to admit it, but her matte lipstick is to die for. if he could be a girl for a day, he knows the lipstick he definitely will be wearing.

he sniffs regretting immediately the stench of alcohol hitting his nose and no matter how much estee lauder harry's mother has sprayed on herself before getting here, the alcohol is stronger. however, for someone who has drowned who knows how many litres of the toxic drink, she sure looks sober.

"can i offer you anything?" he politely asks. his hands are stuck between his thighs below the table and the hairs on his neck are on alert.

"no," she shakes her head slowly, removing the glove on her left hand, "i don't want to stay here longer than i need to." she pauses to briefly glance at the glass cabinet behind louis and rolls her eyes, just like harry does. "the smell of burnt tyre is as revolting as the lunch i had at the four seasons."

"sorry."

"please don't interrupt me," she says, her voice hard and aggressive while her eyes are almost droopy in nature. she sets her gloves to her left and looks up at louis. "i know you have a... liking for my son, dear harry... niall told me about you. and he's harry's best friend so i trust everything he's told me."

"niall and harry aren't best friends anymore. it's liam."

she ignores the comment, exhaling loudly through her nose. "i don't know what you're trying with my son, tomlinson," her eyes narrow at him, "but i was there last year when julius happened. it's the day, and year, when everything fell apart in my son's life. he was suddenly with this julius boy, who corrupted him, drove him to drain his bank account, buying him cars, expensive trips to dubai, new york, macau, st batch's, you name it, but i was there when it ended.

"harry wasn't himself. he was someone else, not my son at all, and i thought he'd lost his mind," she flicks her hair behind her shoulder, "and that i'd have to register him at the london correctional facility where his older sister is currently living. he got so bad he was throwing his life away just because of this boy julius who meant nothing to him. it's been taylor, it's always been taylor."

louis shifts uneasily in his seat, feeling as if the last sentence is just for him. "excuse me?"

"you're excused, and you always will be."

"did i miss something?"

"yes," she says. she squares her shoulders placing her elbows on top of the table. louis' eyes briefly glance down at her very prominent cleavage and he is mortified when he looks back up and sees mrs styles glowering at him. "the way you feel, it never goes away, tomlinson. it gets worse and i can see it from the three minutes i've been sitting here with you."