Broken (Harry Styles FanFic)

***Preview***
Part of me wanted to walk up to her and wrap her in my arms because as much as I hated her for making me feel this way; I also hated watching her cry. But the other part of me, the part that was build up with rage and pain, just wanted to walk away from all of this and never turn back.
I wasn't sure what part I wanted to listen to, so I just took a deep breathe trying to control my anger and took a few steps towards her. I tried my best not to hold her in my arms and whispered, “sometimes broken things can't be fixed, Monica.

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5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 

Nicolette's POV

I couldn't believe everything that Monica told me about Harry. It was amazing the stuff that the media and the fandom doesn't know about. I mean I have heard things about Harry being a womanizer, but I never believed and of it. Now, after listening to Monica talk about how she cheated on Danny with Harry; I am not sure I still think he isn't a womanizer.

I just don't understand what kind of person would sleep with another person knowing that they were in a relationship with someone else. Who am I to judge? I mean it happened to me once, but that was a different situation I knew it was wrong and stopped seeing this guy. Harry on the other hand just kept coming back to her knowing that she loved Danny. Was there more to this story?

I couldn't get the image of Harry's sadden expression out of my head. He didnt have his usual bright greed eyes and cheeky smile that I usually see on tv. His eyes were dark and dull. They were full of sadness. His pale face showed no sign of life and there were dark circles under his eyes. He looked like he hadn't eaten a meal in days. The more I looked at him the more he looked....broken.

He wasn't the usual Harry Styles that all the girls die for. He was just so dull and sad. As I remembered his dull features I realized that maybe he wasn't a womanizer. Maybe he was in love with her. Harry was in love with Monica. The pain in his eyes was evident and there was no doubt about it that he was hurting. Monica love Danny, but Harry loves Monica. This all made sense now.

I didn't understand why Monica was telling me about her affair with Harry to justify his dickhead attitude, but now it all made sense. He was heartbroken.

I looked over at my One Direction poster looking at Harry. It was strange looking at him on that poster. He looked so alive and happy. That was not the Harry I met. I still didn't know why I had this poster up. I've been meaning to take it down since the day that the boys and I became close friends with the exception of Harry of course. I remember when Ella and I had the car accident and Ella was at the hospital; I talked to Liam and he made fun of me for admitting that I had a poster of them up on my room. I mean could he blame me? I was a fan and I would have never thought that one of my best friend's would end up dating a band member.

I walked over to the poster and began to take it down. I folded it up and placed it under my mattress.

“Nicky!” I heard my name being yelled.

I ignored it knowing it was my mother. I laid down on my bed and began to think about Monica and Harry. I still couldn't believe it. It was hard to believe that Monica would even cheat on Danny. I know she loves him so much. They have even talked about getting married before.

“Nicolette!” My mother yelled again this time banging on my door.

I rolled my eyes annoyed at her then stood up from my bed. I slowly walked to the door knowing exactly what I would find.

When I opened the door I found my mother drenched in sweat. She was swaying back and forth trying to keep her balance and her eyes were squinted almost as if she was trying to keep them open. She was wearing her night gown and her hair was a mess. She was drunk. Again.

“What do you want,” I asked my tone harsh. I knew exactly what she wanted and I was growing annoyed with her asking me this all the time.

“Don't talk to me that way. I am your mother,” she slurred.

I rolled my eyes at her and yelled, “Yeah well start acting like it.”

She laughed mocking me then said, “you're such a bitch. Just like your father. Now shut up and give me some money. I ran out of vodka.”

“No,” I yelled and slammed the door on her face. I groaned then stomped back to my bed. She was so annoying.

Ever since my dad left us about a year ago she began drinking. I wasn't sure what happened between them. One day we were all happy family eating dinner together and having a great laugh. The next day everything came tumbling down. They were yelling back and forth about how my dad didn't feel the same anymore about her. I didn't understand how someone could just stop loving someone. I know that they got married young since my mother ended up pregnant with me at seventeen, but I always thought that they would always end up together forever. I had this vision of them sitting together on the front porch as they talked about how long they have been together. It hurt to see my father walk away from us, but he was right this wouldn't help anyone if he stayed. They would just be arguing all the time and I knew that he wouldn't be happy here.

At first I thought that maybe my mother's drinking was only temporary since she was heartbroken. I thought maybe one day she would get over it and move on, but things just went from bad to worst. She was fired from her job and bills began to pile up as well as rent. As soon as I saw that things were not going no where I began to look for a job and I did. I struggled at first to keep up with school and to keep up with work and paying bills, but I managed. If it wasn't for the full scholarship I had I would have never been able to keep going to school.

It's tough for me to maintain a roof over both our heads, so there is no way I will be providing for her addiction. She is lucky enough to be a drunk with a roof over her head. There was a point in my life when I just wanted to run away from all of this and move in with my dad, but as much of an asshole that my mom is I still loved her and I would never have the heart to leave her. She would be devastated if I ever left her.

I know that deep down behind all her bitchiness and all that alcohol that my mother is still there. The mother that used to love dancing around the kitchen while she bake her famous chocolate cake. The one who used to come into my room and help me pick out an outfit for a date. She used to sing with me my favorite Taylor Swift songs and tell me how much she loved me. I miss her snotty remarks about my choice in clothing and my taste in boys. I know that that person is in there under that messy hair and constant smell of alcohol screaming to get out. I just can't wrap my head around giving up on her knowing that she is in there somewhere.

“Nicky,” she began to bang on the door again. This time her voice was pleading.

“Mom! I am not going to give you money for drinks,” I yelled.

“Nicky I don't feel so well. Open the door,” she pleaded.

I rolled my eyes knowing that she was faking it. She has pulled that stunt so many times and many times I did believe she was really sick. Most of the time it was just her throwing up all over the toilet or the floor. I have bathed her and cleaned her puke so many times that I was beginning to think that I was taking care of my own child. It was even getting hard for me to leave her alone at home knowing that when I came back I would find her either searching for more alcohol or throwing up making a mess all over the floor. I was getting tired of it, but I still couldn't bring myself to walk away from her.

I walked to the door and opened it.

“The only--” I was cut short at the sight of my mother laying on the ground. She looked pale and had vomit on her night gown. There was vomit all over the floor and she laid there looking lifeless.

“Mom,” I yelled hurrying to sit besides her.

She didn't move. She just laid on the grown with her eyes closed. I began to move her trying to get her to wake up.

“Mom,” I shook her again trying to get her to open her eyes, but she wouldn't budge. I moved my hadn over to her neck to find a pulse. I was relieved when I felt her pulse.

“Mom please wake up,” I begged.

I fumbled though the pockets of my jeans looking for my phone. The tears in my eyes were making it hard to dial 911. I finally got to make the call and I took a deep breathe to try and speak.

“911 What's your emergency?” the lady on the other side asked.

“My mom she is passed out on the ground. I...i don't what happened. She won't wake up, but she still has a bit of pulse. I...she...she is alive. I know she is,” I cried my words a bit rushed.

“Alright calm down. Can you tell me your mother's name,” she asked.

“Ma..Margret,” I said.

“How old is she,” she asked.

“Thirty seven,” I spoke.

“Alright. The ambulance are on their way. Just stay calm and don't move her,” she spoke.

“Alright. Tha..thanks,” I stuttered.

I began to try my best to clean her up and tried my best not to move her. I felt her pulse once more to make sure she was still alive, but I can tell she was slipping away. My mother laid there in my arms looking lifeless and I couldn't help but let out some more tears.

“Mom please,” I said through the tears, “wake up.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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