Adore You [H.S]

4 // Words To Live By

a/n : welcome to the next chapter ! i hope you enjoy! <3
* * *
"Thank you so much for dinner!" I say to my mom before closing the door of her rental car. As she drives away, I stare up at the hotel in front of me.

All of these rooms have housed thousands of different people. Some babies may have even been conceived in the rooms. The hotel workers put in all this effort for the guests to have a nice stay there, and all people do is complain. The most they get out of it is "This hotel is very nice." Never a long empathetic thank you or a kind gesture to let them know how thankful they are for all of their efforts, even when they may deserve it. But it's the hotel workers' job to do their best for the guests and make them all feel welcome. That's where hotels and I are different. It's not my job, I just do it.

* * *

He sees me in the crowd; front row. We make eye contact, he smirks. I dance along to 'Sunflower Vol. 6' and he laughs. He loves a girl who is carelessly fun. He sings 'Kiwi' and after he spits out his water, the show is over. There's a tap on my shoulder, a security guard. I'm wanted backstage.

I follow him down a long, dark hallway that stretches just past a door that seems to be the only source of light. I wasn't scared. I don't scare easily. The security guard knocks twice and Harry opens the door. He thanks the security guard before grabbing me by the wrist and dragging me into his dressing room. He doesn't say a word. Instead, he pins me up against the wall and looks me up and down, those green marbles he calls eyes full of lust. With absolutely no hesitation, his lips attach to my neck. My mouth couldn't hold back the breath moans that were released. I hear a faint ringing sound in the distance, but he doesn't seem to mind it as he slides the thin strap of my dress off my shoulder. His fingers graze my upper arms ever so delicately and the feeling drives every sense in my body mad. The ringing quickly grows louder and louder as he gets down on his knees. My fingers grip his hair harshly and he groans loudly. He slowly pushed the hem of my silky red dress up my thighs until my black panties are exposed. He finally looks up at me with a smirk playing on his perfect lips, and I'm back in the hotel bed.

My phone alarm sounds on the nightstand next to my head. With a tired groan, I check the time to see that it's 8:01 AM. Mom wanted the touring to start bright and early of course. She wanted to torture us all I guess. I hit the snooze button, deciding I'd rather get 9 more minutes of sleep than not have to hurry my routine.

I pull the comforter tighter against my chest as I nuzzle my head into the pillow, trying to go back to dreamworld. It was just getting good. I try to imagine what the dream would have gone on to be like, but it was no use. I let out a huff of disappointment as my droopy eyelids grow heavier.

And, of course, what feels like 30 seconds later, my alarm is going off again. Do I really need to do something with my hair? Mom would be mad if I didn't look her version of "presentable." I roll my eyes under my closed eyelids and find my phone before blindly pressing the button to turn off the annoying ass alarm.

I sit up and contemplate going back to sleep. What was I even going to do with my hair anyway? Mom didn't like it when I left my hair in its natural wave, but Dad did. He said it was me, and he liked me. Mom, on the other hand, always said: "a classy lady is a lady who cares." I was told to live by those words and nothing else. My mom idolized Audrey Hepburn growing up, so I could never blame her for wanting to be "classy." Neither of them liked it when I would wear a tight crop top, and they didn't like it when I would wear a vintage 70's oversized t-shirt. There was no balance with them. It was only ever "fine" when I would wear a summer dress I found somewhere online.

Growing up, I wasn't allowed to wear the peace sign pajamas I had gotten from my dad's mom for Christmas. I was permitted to wear nightgowns and button-up matching sets. I could never experiment with makeup. Natural was always said to be beautiful, so I lived by that. I could never blame my mother for how she raised my sisters and me though. It was the way she grew up and her beliefs were the ones my grandmother embedded into her. She wasn't with the times. She may have grown up in the 70's, but she didn't grow up in the '70s.

The bathroom tile was cold against my bare toes. I couldn't stand wearing socks to sleep, I just kicked them off anyways. My hair was a mess, but I guess that's what I get for going to sleep with it wet. I pull my hairbrush out of my toiletry bag as I begin taming the loose curls I was blessed with.

My hair was a natural shade of light golden, but the nearly white highlights I had put in it ages ago had faded to make it look even blonder. I wanted brown hair, but if I were to die it I would look like Jess's twin sister. Not that Jess wasn't gorgeous, I just wanted to be my own person.

I pull my makeup bag out next. Makeup has never been my thing, and maybe that's my mom's fault. Or maybe it was the fact that when I was a teenager, my acne was so bad I was terrified of making it worse so I never even tried to cover it up. The scars mostly faded, but there are still the tiniest hints of dark spots left of my skin. Not too noticeable from first glance, but I notice them every time I look in the mirror.

A few dabs of concealer and a couple of swipes of mascara later, my what you'd call "makeup" was finished. I didn't know what to wear, but it didn't matter too much since my outfit would be covered by a large and puffy coat. In the end, I settled on a very neutral-toned outfit.

I have no idea what the adventures of London day 1 are to bring, but I'm ready. I think.

* * *
a/n : her outfit is at the top :))