Fucked up (1D)

The 17 year old Mary Jane Moore, lives a normal life - until on her 17th birthday, where her loving parents tragically dies in a car accident. The young man behind the opposing car survives - but he is no ordinary boy. What will happen when Mary Jane is forced to meet the "killer" of her parents? And what will happen to her after her parents death?

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18. The Real World

"I think I want to introduce you to the boys." He smiled a bit at me, as he looked at his phone again.

"Harry, I don't think I want to leave the house..." I said, turning around, resting my face on his chest, him caressing my hair.

"Please? Besides, they've been wondering why I haven't been home the last days, and the only way I can explain it to them, is if they can meet you!" he said, turning me around, to rest the back of my neck on his shoulder, our legs intertwining on the couch.

"But Harry, I don't feel like it..." I said again, taking both his hands, and pulling them around me.

"I have to get some new clothes, and I need my laptop, and my deodorant... that kind of thing. Just come with me." He said, pulling one hand to him, to play with my hair. I looked straight forward, focusing on one of the paintings on the wall.

"Can't you fetch them yourself?" I asked, really not wanting to go outside and act like a proper human being. Why couldn't it just rain today, as it did last night? His hands instantly went under my arms, turning me around to face him.

"Please." He said, his eyes undeniable. He pulled me closer, holding me, as our lips met in a gentle kiss, making my heart pound faster than ever.

"I don't want you to make a habit of that..." I whispered, as I kissed him again.

"Of what?" He breathed, as he flipped me over, laying me underneath him as our kiss developed.

"The fact you can change my mind just by kissing me... by touching me..." I whispered, as he moved down to my neck, kissing it, definitely leaving a mark or two. He put his hand underneath my arched back, as he pulled away, resting his weight on his hands.

"What are you going to do about it?" he said, smiling a bit, his eyes glowing with lust.

"I don't know... what am I going to do about it?" I said, pulling him down on top of me, our lips continuing the kiss, as if we never broke contact.

 

"You' ready?" his wet body was shining from the running water in the shower. I nodded, as a shooting pain went through my body. He was still.

"Move.." I said. He started moving, slowly at first, as the pain faded away, leaving only pleasure in my body.

 

I looked at the little thing girl in the mirror, breasts gone, arms wrecked, hair dull, but eyes finally shining. Harry walked up behind me, only wearing a towel around him. He stood behind me, looking in the mirror as well.

"You're beautiful." He said, as he kissed my shoulder. I smiled at him, as I adjusted my bra a bit, trying to figure out how I could stop the boob-covering part from pointing out, because of the lack of "filling." I shook my head, as I opened up the clasp, walking over to my closet, opening it up, finding an old top from when I was nine or ten years old. I put it on, and looked at myself in the mirror again. I walked over to the bed, and picked up a blanket lying on the floor, walked back over to Harry, and threw the blanket over top of the mirror. He was watching me, his eyes following what I did, looking at my facial expression like never before. Judging on his face, I must've looked like I was in a lot of pain.

"Can I just have a minute alone, please?" I asked, my hand scruffing up my hair, the other on my hip.

"Of course..." he seemed startled. For the first time in days of living together, I'd asked him to leave the room for a moment. I walked on out the door, not looking back, carefully closing the door on his way out. I sat down on my bed, my breathing slow, as I put my head in my hands. What was I going to wear? Makeup? Hair up, hair down? And how was I going to act? Quiet, outspoken, cool, badass, sweet, myself, when I actually did not even know who I was anymore? I closed my eyes, keeping the tears inside. How was I supposed to go out looking like this, feeling like this? Meeting new people, who'd only feel sorry for me? I started shaking.

"Get your fucking shit together, Janie." I whispered, as I opened my eyes and stood up. I went over to my closet, finding a casual pair of ripped dark denim jeans, a black printed T-shirt, black hoodie, and a pair of mint Vans. I found a hair-brush, and combed it roughly through my blond hair, probably ripping out the hair as I went. I then walked out, went to the bathroom and opened up a bunch of drawers, looking for my makeup. I hadn't used that stuff for weeks, and I was in no mood to even wear it - but since I wanted my dark circles to seem less prominent, and my pale skin to seem more tan, I figured it'd be a good way to go.

I took out my foundation and applied a thin layer on my face to get all of the nasty white down-looking babyhairs on my face. Then I applied some bronzer, just to hide my washed out complexion. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I starting seeing the girl I once was, getting ready to go out. As I started applying eyeliner, and mascara, my whole face changed, and I suddenly seemed less troubled - less worrying. I turned my head upside down, scrunging it trying to make it seem more messy - then I quickly flipped my head back, and adjusted the hair, making it lay flat on my shoulders. I looked at myself, noticing the difference. A total different girl were standing in front of me, looking at the mirror in total awe. Even with the lack of fullness to her cheeks, her prominent collar-bones and her small fragile shoulders, she was breath-takingly beautiful. She was one of those girls, who I'd look at walking down the streets of London. A casual beauty. I touched my face, realizing that girl was me, when the door slowly got pushed open.

"Harry." I said, looking at him quickly, turning to the mirror once again.

"Like I said. Beautiful." He put his arms around my waist, holding me close. He'd put his dirty T-shirt back on, and his trousers were the same ones as when he'd met up at my doorstep, soaking wet.

"Let's go." He said, kissing my cheek, smiling at me, then taking my hand, leading me to the hall. He put on his jacket, and hung his scarf over his arm. Then he took my hand again, leading me out the door, into the real world.

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