Even if you think the world is absolutely screwed up, everything is more psychotic when you desire someone you can't have. That's what happened to me. (Harry Styles/grunge fanfiction)


2. Thanksdamngiving

I really don't understand the point of Thanksgiving. I get the whole pilgrim and Native American thing but we are in Bristol, England, why do we have to waste a Thursday night stuffing our faces with slime covered food and then passing out because everyone is so fat. Just adding a couple Americans to the "family" doesn't mean we have to take part in their egotistical traditions. I'm not saying I hate Americans, I just hate these particular ones.


I also don't understand why mostly everyone in my family is so damn rude. It's not even 9 am and I have been constantly bombarded with snotty comments to get my arse out of bed for the last hour. There is no reason for me to wake up to partake in you pathetic day. Thank god there is a lock on my bedroom door.

I oh-so-gracefully trip out of bed, still half asleep. I stumble over to my bathroom, almost dying twice. As I walk into the bathroom I poetically trip on the bath mat causing me to slam my elbow in to the porcelain sink which also ensued excruciating pain to surge through my entire body. I can't think of a better way to start my morning.

Honestly, I wish I could just sleep until noon and then go out to The Pit or to Jakes house. You most likely don't understand what that means but you'll soon find out.

I lean over and turn the shower to the hottest it could get. Sure, it stings but it feels amazing.

As the steamed filled up my small mirror, I ran my fingers through my messy hair.

I trace my cheekbones with my rough finger tips. I run over my jawbone, examining it. Honestly, I don't like my face but I'm just glad that I don't look like my mother.

I strip off my clothes extremely slowly as I walk towards the shower. Usually I get ready quite quickly but with all of my "super excitement" for today, I just want to have a nice slow morning.

This dinner would suck even with only my mother and my step-douchebag but of course fucking Shelley has to come and bring her goddamn new fiancé. Shelley is step-douchebag Brian's devil of a daughter. She is everything I could possibly hate in this world squeezed into a short, surgically enhanced, pink haired bitch. If Barbie puked up a short and plump pig, you would get Shelley. And she just loves to point out everything that she has that I don't. She's a fucking twat. Shelley also doesn't understand clothing sizes and is a strong believer in extra small fits all. Extra small may fit me, but I feel bad for those over stuffed clothes. And that voice, don't even get me started. She sounds like a poor innocent little dolphin getting strangled to death right when it's soul is about to slip into eternal hell. I hope that visual will let you understand. I'm even more excited to meet her new fiancé. Apparently he's in some big pop band or something. I don't really remember all of the lovely details that my mother supplied because I was too hungover to care. He's probably some stuck up asshole with movie star looks who is way too full of himself to notice anything besides Shelley's rubber boobs. But that is probably exactly what that bitch wants.

I let the water run down my back, making me wake up. I wash my hair with my coconut shampoo and scrub into my scalp. I rinse out all of the soap, wash my body, and walk out to dry.

Once again, I look into my mirror and inspect the reflection of my red body. I finally realize how cold it is outside of the shower and rap a pale purple towel around my lengthy body. The struggle is all too real.

I walk back out to my room and walk to my very messy closet. I pick out a black bustier, high-waisted dark grey shorts, ripped fishnet tights, a leather vest, and black combat boots. I slip a bullet shell bracelet on along with my black shark tooth necklace.

I play with my silver lip ring while I scroll through the thousands of fascist posts on twitter. I really don't know why I have a twitter because I totally defy social media, but it's an amazing way to talk shit about people completely "indirectly".

Then another obnoxious knock is placed upon my door and Marissa says "Get up out of bed! Today is going to be a bright and shiny day!" Ew no. Marissa is unfortunately my mother by the way, and yes, I call my mother by her first name. 1) because I hate her and 2) she hasn't earned the right to the title of mum.

I do my makeup very dark and very heavy as always and toy with my semi- dry hair which I decide to leave naturally wavy. I adjust my several ear piercings and fiddlewith the ring in my eyebrow.

I finally walk out of my room and slowly walk down the stairs, knowing that Marissa and step-douchebag Brian will be sitting in the kitchen eating a 'lovely' breakfast. I wish that they would just choke on their vegetarian omelettes.

I'm surprised that it's not colder, given that is November in England. It's 15 degrees, Celsius that is, and usually it's absolutely freezing out. But yet it is bad for me because I will have to have Shelley's overly exposed cleavage in my vision all night. At least she's not getting here until later with her potentially idiotic fiancé.

"Goodmorning, my lovely daughter!" Marissa says with a disappointed look on her face. Ever since she met step-douchebag Brian, she's been trying to make up for everything she's done. But I will never forgive her. Ever.

Step-douchebag Brian "examines" my outfit as he disgustingly sips on his tea. He's such a fucking asshole.

"Shut up, Marissa." I say. She hates it when I call her Marissa, which is always, and I absolutely love it.

"Well we have a beautiful and nutritious breakfast here so come and eat." She says in a very demanding tone.

"I'm not eating. I'll be back later." I say as I grab my black leather bag and nonchalantly walk towards the prominent front door.

"Now Rouge, Dr. Peterson said you have to e-"

"I'm not fucking hungry!" I yell. "Goodbye Marissa and douchebag Brian."

I open the door as Marissa says, "Come back here and-" and I slam the door as hard as I possibly can, causing the house to shake. The house is a monstrosity and I could never consider it my home. My home is with my father.

My dad lives in a small apartment in London. I love it their for three reasons, 1) my dad is there 2) Marissa isn't there 3) step-douchebag Brian and his snake of a child aren't their. I wish I could live there with my dad but they said that it would be "healthier" to live with Marissa and the step-douchebag. Total bullshit. I only get to see my dad once a year on the day after my birthday. Marissa "claimed" my birthday. I can thank the bloody judge for that one. Well, except when I run away, I always go to my Dad's apartment and he gladly lets me stay with him. My Dad's name is Bennett but I always call him Dad. He's a musician/photographer and all around amazing person to be around. Way better than it is to be locked up in that house.

My definition of That House; a building that is extremely dedicated to suck all of the the happiness out of an individual that is controlled by an egotistical, semi-insane, dictatorial and overruling bitch that gives all of her will power to ruining my life. A step-douchebag of epic proportions is almost always present and really enjoys to be a complete pedophile 100% of the time. The exterior and interior of the building may be so nostalgically grand that it can become nauseating very regularly.

I hope that can put how I feel about The Prison Of All Insanity that I am forced to live in. Lovely twat Marissa and pedophiliac Brian are just super fun to live with.

I start to walk down the street and I throw my headphones into my ears. I check the time while I start my music. Some metal song I've forgotten the name of floods through my ears, blocking out all other sound. Perfection.

Normally, I would just drive to the Pit but my car is in the shop to do a semi-embarrassing incident with a postal truck. Hello, move your arse to the side of the road. I really love my car and I miss it. Yes I named my car and his name is Harvey. Harvey is a really nice black 1967 Chevy impala that I actually managed to buy with my own money from performing in the Pit. From my endless career there, I was most definitely not poor. If I want something I almost always have the money for it.

The drive there is usually about 10 minutes but would now be a 40 minute walk. Fun.

Finally a good song came on, R U Mine? By the Arctic Monkeys. Kind of soft for my taste but it was a good walking song, I guess. My metal flavor is pretty bipolar.

If it weren't for the sudden arousal in weather I would surely be freezing my ass off. Well I would be anyways because my style is severely minimal, even in winter. Partly it's to rebel against Marissa but mostly it's just how I am.

I start walking to the beat of some random song that bled out of my earphones. Today is a Thursday which means that people will start to build up near 8:00. Well there are always people there but that's when the crowd comes. I'll probably have to weave my way out of dinner to get back at around eight-thirty.

The Pit is basically a hybrid between a bar, a rave, and a cafe. It's a big open space and looks gigantic when it's not flooded with people. The stage is all the way at the back and towards the front it turns into a cafe like bar. It's usually packed with people and it's pretty much the "place to be" even if you aren't that sort of person. Preppy people think it makes them cool because it is like they're doing something bad. The Pit is also steamy and foggy because smoking is aloud. Tobacco that is.

My 'boss' Marty owns the place and supervises with beer in hand. He mostly just helps out when someone is bothering us. By 'us' I mean myself, the other band people and the bartenders. I used to be a bartender but when Marty found out I could sing and edit music he immediately promoted me, as he calls it. Yes I was only 18 but I can make a hell of a drink. I love performing every night and gives me a really good reason to get out of the house, even if Marissa disapproves of it. I really don't give a shit.  

Finally I'm at The Pit and my legs are aching. I admire the entrance for a moment. I look up at the "live music" and "open" neon signs. Classic pun.

I pretty much just hung out at the pit four a few hours and made pointless jokes with the drunken men that reside in the same bar stools every day and night. They are pretty much always here but they are the kind of drunks that are really mellow and sleepy so I don't mind. As long as they don't turn into my mother. Then I would have a huge problem with them. 

I look down at my mobile and find 17 missed calls, all from Marissa, whose number I thought I blocked. I guess that's my signal for 'come home and greet your skanky step-bitch and her asshole fiance.' I'd rather not but oh well. 

I say goodbye to the old drunken souls and walk out of the door into the fresh air which gifted me with relief from the smog inside. It has become slightly colder since I was outside and the sun is starting to set. I consider calling someone for a ride but who am I kidding.

I start to walk down the cracked and jagged sidewalk, admiring the falling sun. Sunsets are something I actually like. I don't exactly know why but it makes me feel like everything will be okay and I'll be okay and I'll still be sane when it comes back. That's what my older brother, Warren, used to say to me. To give me something to look forward to, even if it was a very short time span, it gave me some hope because the sun would inevitably rise and set over and over and over. He said it gives hope to your soul because you know it will happen and you know that it will only ever bring good. It can bring the beauty of the stars and the glow of the moon or the life and liveliness of sunlight. An he also said that you can always count on the sun. The sun doesn't lie because it will always come back. Even if the sun has to go away for a while, it will always promise to come back and it never breaks promises. That's one thing that people have always lacked in my life. Warren promised me that the sun will always rise and always set, wherever I am and that promise has never been broken. 

It's kind of depressing that a giant fireball is the only "person" in this world that I can trust. Oh well. 

For the millionth time, Marissa rings and I answer.

As soon as I pick up I yell, "Stop fucking calling me, I'm coming!"

I hang up before she can say anything. I don't have the patience to hear her squeaky and fake voice right now.

I cuddle into my leather vest and shiver. I'm used to being cold though, given my style choices. The new found darkness has led to a decrease in temperature. Thanks Mother Nature, you bitch.

It's 30 minutes later, even more freezing, and I just tripped on an empty vodka bottle, which almost ended an a massive face-plant. Oh how very coordinated I am. 

I finally get to the house and every inch of my body is covered in goosebumps. I'm not complaining, because it is my fault and I'm used to it, but I am tired of people thinking that I am "so badass" because it doesn't look like I get cold in my minimal clothing. Trust me, I'm cold. 

I open the grand front door and place my leather bag back beside the door, in it's normal spot. Marissa may be stupid, but she isn't stupid enough to go through my bag. 

I walk into the kitchen where I find Marissa bending over the stove, cooking some heinous food. She quickly spins around once she realizes my presence. 

"FInally you're home! Shelley just called and said that she is twenty minutes out so can you please go get ready. I'm not asking for anything except that you wear a dress please." she pleads.

"I am not wearing a dress. This isn't any sort of special fucking occasion for me." I say rudely, mocking her. 

"Do you really want to have Shelley picking at you for those clothes?" she says as-a-matter-of-factly, raising her eyebrow. She's a bitch, but she does have a point.

"Fine." I say, sternly.

I stomp up the stairs, obnoxiously, and walk to my room and shut the door. I honestly don't mid dresses and I wear them often but I really hate doing what Marissa wants. I swung open my closet doors and gazed at the several black dresses that I have. All of them, except for two, are much too ripped for Marissa. One of the two is also way too tight for Marissa. I take out a quite fancy dress that I only wore once to a formal soiree that Marissa forced me to go to. It's form fitting on my torso but flares out and has an intricate design on the bodice. And obviously, it's black. I also know that Marissa won't stop whining if I don't wear heels, so I pick out strappy black ones that make me at least 5 inches taller. I have no need for a sudden incline of height, but whatever. I leave my ripped tights and my shark tooth necklace on from earlier and retouch my makeup. I really don't care about what I look like and I would love for Marissa to complain about my clothing but tonight has the potential for so much horror that I would like to minimize it, even if that means dressing semi-decent. Which I must add, I never do.

I ponder just sitting up in my room and sneak out later but I am sort of interested in this disgusting idea of Shelley's "husband to be". I also would like to piss all of them off with my regular offensive comments. 

I exit my room being kind of happy with my outfit. My dress would seem longer if I had shorter legs but because my legs are so long, the dress seems more revealing.

I trample down the stairs, making load steps with my high heels. I elegantly miss the last step and trip over my feet, causing Brian and Marissa to stare at me. Nice one, Ro. Nice one.

"Shut the fuck up, I know I look hideous." I say, even though they didn't speak.

"You look... really nice." Marissa mumbles as if she's impressed. Loser. 

"Yeah sure I do." I say, rolling my eyes.

"It's a nice change." Brian says while smirking. What an asshole.

"Whatever. When are they getting here?" I say in a displeasing tone.

"If you mean your sister, they will be here any minute." Marissa says. That's crossing the line.

"Don't you fucking dare call her that," I yell in Marissa's face. "She's part of the reason why my life is so fucked up. But I guess I can thank you for all of that, you lousy twat." I spit. 

My mother most definitely would have slapped me across the face, hard, but the sound of a car pulling up made her hesitant. That would be them.

"Rouge, Shelley and her fiance are here so please try to calm yourself and be polite." she grits through her teeth.

"Bitch." I say as I stomp into the kitchen.

I lean against the counter and fill a glass of water as I hear the door open. I can already here the clank of Shelley's high heels on the hard wood flooring. Shoot me.

"It's so nice to see you Shelley!" Marissa yelps.

"I could say the same, Marissa! You look so good! Have you lost weight?!" Shelley screeches. Not that voice. NO.

"Oh, you're always such a sweetheart! So where is your lovely fiance?" Marissa says, dragging her words.

"Oh he's just getting the bags! Daddy!" she yells, most likely hugging her douchebag father. 

"Hi pumpkin! How are you?!" He says, excitingly. 

Pumpkin. Seriously. I slowly sip on my water, just listening.

"Oh I'm super fantastic Daddy! Here he is! Daddy, Marissa, this is my very famous fiance Harry!" she yells a bit too loud for my eardrums. 

"Uhm hello sir," a low and rich voice says while most likely shaking hands. "M'am."

"Isn't he just super gorgeous!?" Shelley squeaks.

"Entirely! It's very nice to meet you Harry- what did you say it was?" Brian asked.

"Styles." he mumbled. "Harry Styles."

He definitely sounded like he would be some snobby prep boy with perfect everything.

"Well, I've just set up dinner in the dining area. Shall we?" Marissa says and I hear multiple pairs of feet walk into the large dining area, one room over from the kitchen. I hear three chairs being pulled out and scooted back in.

"Rouge! Come sit down!" Marissa yells. 

Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

I slowly walk the short distance to the dining room and pay attention to the sound of my shoes. I can hear cheesy small talk erupting out of the archway opening. As I appear in the doorway, my mother looks at me, disapprovingly. I quickly glance around to find this famous fiance but I am taken back by him instantly.

Our eyes catch each other's at the exact same moment. He definitely is not someone meant for Shelley. It's almost like he would be meant for... well.. me...

He has tons of tattoos and has an eyebrow ring that is a single loop, unlike mine which has arrow points and the end. I can also see a visible spot where there should be a lip piercing. His hair is golden brown and curly and is pushed back messily. Not what I had expected at all. Hell, he actually looks kind of like a normal person. His slim fitting black button down shirt was open really low, revealing more tattoos. I could see his black skinny jeans through the glass table top and his purposely beat up leather dress shoes. Harry Styles does not look anything like the person I would expect Shelley to be with. I can see his prominent muscles on every aspect of his body. He has only one loop earring in his left ear. His jaw bone is quite distinguished and he has relatively full lips that show that tiny little hole. His cheek bones are perfectly symmetric and then I got to his eyes. 

I could tell that he had also just done the same amount of looking onto me when I met his eyes. They were the most surprising thing yet. They were green. Not just dullish green that is mediocre but really green. Almost emerald. And the light that they contain just didn't read that he was the kind of person that I thought he would be but I know that he has to be anyway. He has to be.

"I'm Harry." he says in quite a different tone that I had heard before. I start to open my mouth but am immediately interrupted.

"This is my lovely daughter, Rouge!" Marissa yells. She gives me a death stare as if she had just saved me from saying something offensive.

"That's a really interesting name." he says still looking at me. I can tell he meant the good kind of interesting.

"Well her idiotic father chose it, I would have much rather named her something more feminine." She said. Normally, I would have cursed her out for that but I couldn't possibly find the will to, knowing that everyone else in that room would fence against me. Harry could tell the pain and anger that the phrase had and inflicted on me. 

"I think it's nice actually, it's unique." He says with curiosity now in his eyes.

Marissa laughs. "Well that would be a first."

"Could you please sit so we could have our meal please?" the dolphin says. Ooh she used extra pleases! Gold star for Shelley! I wish I could tear all of that bleach blonde and pink hair right out of her chubby little head.

I sit down at the seat across from Harry because I really don't want to have to sit in the seat across from Shelley.

"Can you please pass me the green beans?" Shelley squeaks.











----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------A/N HELLO! Okay so there are a few things I want to say before I move on with the story

1) I will stop posting pictures when the story becomes more popular, I will just ask people to go to my polyvore which is @katieplourde

2) They more feedback I get, the more I will write

3) I may or may not make an instagram account for this story to make pictures and people more accessible 

4) Any critiques and suggestions are very helpful so comment away!


Stay Golden and I hope you will enjoy the rest of the story!!!! -kr





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