Make You Smile
Un
“Viola Cecilia!”
I slightly peeled myself off of my bed, being that I had just been practically glued to the damn thing. I could get lost in the sheets and tangled up in the folds… I would stay there forever if it was possible.
As my vision finally cleared, the blurry atmosphere disappearing and everything coming into contact, I saw my mother peering over me looking quite angered.
“Viola, you better be listening right now because we clearly need to have a chat. I’m sick of you skipping classes. All you’ve managed to have done is fall behind in your coursework and stay locked up here all day. You barely make it down the steps some days,” Mum sighed, picking at the lint that clung to her carefully pressed attire. Her ugly, shit-brown coloured blazer with black buttons and a white pencil skirt. It didn’t even properly match up well, for my taste and standards at least.
“Are you finished yet?” I murmured, rubbing my eyes and yawning, my body still thick with sleep. Craving it. Needing it.
Mum’s nostrils flared and her face reddened, close in comparison to a tomato. She shot her hand out and gripped my beautiful comforter, and flung it backwards behind her.
“Shit, Mum! Can you not?!” I hissed, pulling a much smaller, lighter wool blanket and draping it over me, laying down and preparing to situate myself to get back to my favourite hobby.
Mum tutted while murmuring, “Oh no you don’t,” as she lifted up the drapery and curtains placed atop my windows, letting the bright light not just peer through but shine obnoxiously throughout my entire room.
I groaned and sat up, glaring her directly in her eyes, “I’m up. Are you happy? Now I’m going to be awake all day, miserable. Much more preferred to have me and my negativity lurking around your house than me just sulking in my sleep, right? Cheers,” I said, getting up and storming off, locking myself in the bathroom.
I switched the faucet on and just listened to the water run, drizzling down the sink to the end, disappearing beneath the drain. I wish I was water… flowing in any which direction I so very-well pleased, clear and invisible, disappearing whenever I wanted to.
I went by the window to shut the curtains, the light much too bright for my liking. As I peered out the window for a second, I paused with the curtain in my hand as I saw a boy standing next door. I’d never seen him before and still didn’t have much of a decent look. I shut the curtain, not even bothering to care and turned the shower on, losing myself in the heat.
*************
Mum had gotten the day off, lucky me, so she changed into comfortable clothes and tried tidying up around the house and then set outside to do some of her gardening.
In her own words, she had a “real knack for gardening,” meanwhile she was absolutely shit at it. Guarantee that in a week, maybe about two tops, the crops would be withering away. Just barely sprouting into life just to shoot and droop back down, be weeded out, and replaced. Because it was just that easy.
I stuck my tongue out, trying to balance myself as I applied my top liner; black liquid smoothly drawing across my lid. I finished off with one side having a bit more than the other, as usual. It was either always that or the wing on one of them would be so much prettier than the other. They never came out perfect no matter how hard I tried and concentrated. I had already applied my foundation and blush, so I just went on to put on some white eye-shadow in the corner of my eye and along the bottom. I topped it off with some eyeliner on my waterline and decided I was too lazy to try and apply my lipstick perfectly.
My brunette waves toppled down my sides, my hair starting out darker but ending as blond since I had gave in to that ombré trend. I had on a pair of my jeans, strictly prohibiting myself from wearing leggings and loathing my thighs even more, and I had carelessly thrown on my chunky-oversized, navy, waffle-knit sweater. I missed my leggings.
I had absolutely nowhere to go and nothing to do, but that would never ever stop me from doing my makeup. I felt so completely off if it wasn’t done, so it was always completed, even if I would be staying home the whole day.
I let myself drop to the couch, after my clothes and “face” were put on, and get lost in my new issue of Vogue. I loved all of the beautiful fashion that came with the winter. The cosy track trousers, the oversized sweatshirts, the abundance and variety of fabrics, the layering and colours of all of the clothes were absolutely fantastic. Matching and pairing different articles of clothing up and had always been a personal favourite of mine, so staring into my closet hours upon hours, never had me complaining. Unless, I was in a rush of course; but even then, I would make sure to leave wearing something I wouldn’t be embarrassed to be photographed in. That’s how I looked at it anyway.
I started to make note on certain things I had to go pick up for myself round the shops, because some of these items were too cute to pass up and God knows Mum wasn’t about to go get it for me. She was a flake; constantly promising she would go do it and yet here I was still, having to go do it on my own.
I barely got past four pages when Mum, the nutter she is, started hollering from her shit-job of a garden. “What?!” I yelled back, hoping she would hear me from the living room. I didn’t feel like getting up and going to her when it was probably a stupid matter. All she did was scream for me again.
I groaned with agitation and threw my magazine to the floor, stomping across the house and going outside to meet Mum’s yells. As I opened the door, I hadn’t even bothered to look around me or at anything else besides Mum.
“What could be more important than me shopping from catalogues, trying to decide which top will make my boobs look bigger or which pair of pants will make my ass look rounder and more plump?” I shouted at her, scowling down upon her and noticing she had been turned away from her garden, utensils out of her hand.
My head turned slightly towards the direction she was facing, and there had been a pretty, tanned woman. Not too much taller than me, at 5’2, pathetic I know, with dazzling eyes that were shimmering against the sun that was somehow out today. Her hair was dark so her eyes contrasted beautifully against it, along with her skin colour.
I hadn’t prepared myself as I turned to the figure next to her, almost dropping to my feet and bowing down appropriately upon sight at the sex god. Tall and skinny with broad arms, appeared to work out. Curly and tousled, fallen-perfectly-into-place dark brown hair, alluring deep-green eyes, topped with a captivating smirk.
I instantly wanted to die.
“Well, I guess, you now have met Viola…” Mum trailed off, completely shocked and mortified as to the seen that had just unraveled.
I stood there dumbfounded and took refuge in bowing my head down and waiting for someone to say something next.
Usually, I could give a fuck less about these types of outbursts. Give me five minutes and I’ll most likely be fine and feel shameless once again. But, on behalf of any normal sixteen year old, when you have a statuesque boy standing in front of you and you shriek about enhancing your womanly features… yeah, they just don’t coincide too well.
“Hello, dear, I’m Anne,” the pretty, older woman smiled at me warm-heartedly. I returned the smile and shook her hand that she had stuck out for me to do so. She continued on, “And this is—”
“I’m Harry Styles,” the boy spoke, his voice deep and slow. Impressive.
He didn’t stick out his hand for me to shake, probably understanding teenagers didn’t really introduce themselves to each other with a handshake, but he did greet me with a half-smile, his teeth barely showing but his lips curling up.
“Viola,” I said, not really smiling but sort of just looking at him. I tried to analyse him as best I could.
I had this thing when I met people, specifically those who intrigued me. I felt inclined to know them, but being the fact I didn’t particularly care for getting close to people, I would try to understand them as best I could without going through that process. I would read their words, actions, body movements, everything and anything that could give me some indication as to who this person was and what they were about. It was safer that way; for me at least.
I kept staring and trying to figure out what it was I felt, but nothing. This was weird… usually by now I could have someone figured out just a bit by their outfit, but his was quite plain.
Darkened, fitted skinny jeans, with a white slight scoop neck. I wanted to shout at him, “HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO READ YOU WITH A CRUMMY OUTFIT LIKE THAT?”
Although his attire was average, he still looked good in so many ways and I wanted to jump on him right then and there. Wait, what? Who said that?
Harry had still been smirking in my direction and even taken the liberty of flipping his hair, in means of fixing it I was guessing. I looked away before it seemed like I was gawking. I don’t care how good looking he is, there was no way I was going to make myself look like some desperate bimbo, especially because I was far from it.
Everyone thought I was a frigid bitch, and I couldn’t really find a reason to care. I was much better lurking amongst the ghostly halls of school, when I actually attended, alone. I didn’t need some type of posse clicking their outdated Dr Martens, trying to mix up the in-style boots with heels, and twirling their fake hair round their cheap polished finger. And that was the only thing you would find in a school like mine, so there was no way I was succumbing to that kind of low. I was above it.
People perceived me as some kind of narcissist, and in some ways I even am one, but all in the same that’s exactly what I’m not. I just didn’t seem to fit in and I didn’t pin that as my fault.
As I let myself get lost in my thought, most likely trying to distract myself from ogling at Harry’s plump, pink lips, I heard Mum perk up with a, “Well, isn’t that just lovely to hear, Viola?”
“What?” I asked, snapping my head in her direction, watching her rub the dirt from her gardening onto her pants. Thank God, they were so last season, anyway.
“Harry is moving in with Anne’s sister, his aunt, right next door and he’s going to start coming to school here!” She cheerfully smiled at me. Oh joy.
She must have wanted to drop to the ground and pray to the big man in the sky and kiss each of Anne’s toes, pleading for her to talk to her son to stick it out with me.
Mum was always nagging me for not hanging out with people and making friends, but I just didn’t listen. Although, with Harry moving in this would now be a whole new production. She’ll ask me if he wants to come study or eat dinner with us, or if he’s in any of my classes, and I’ll just want to barf some more.
I hated questions.
Actually, let me rephrase that: I hated being asked questions. I loved asking others questions and listening to their answers, but I hated sharing answers for questions directed to me.
“Super,” I tried to at least sound excited, it was the least I could do to try and make up for my introduction.
Mum grimaced at me, and I only grimaced back. What in fucks sake did she want me to do? She knew very well, as did I, that there would be nothing with Harry. He would be forced into talking with me and realise how plain and simple I was, or just dub me as the town weirdo like everyone else, and go on his merry little way.
I snuck a glance at him and he was still staring right at me, his expression unreadable but almost as if he was pondering about me, trying to do the exact thing that I was.
To put my head at ease, I settled on the thought he would be chasing after the beautiful blonds, those beauty-queen looking girls who were just as beautiful as him and were as bubbly as they came.
“I ought to get back to my… catalogue,” I finished, silently scolding myself for not making up something to do and returning to my previous entrance on this conversation. I really hated myself sometimes.
“Nice meeting you, dear,” Anne stuck her hand out once more, and I shook it, trying to decide whether I was being rude for not curtsying at this point. My mother got Anne stuck in some other conversation soon enough.
This time, even Harry stuck his hand out to me and I gripped it. It was massive, long fingers and veins slightly protruding out of them. My mind couldn’t help but wander off into the state of dreaming about what he could do with them.
I hadn’t even noticed Harry leaning into my body until his raspy voice lowly said, “Good luck finding those enhancements you desired, although, you don’t seem to quite need them.” He finished off with a toothy smirk and I was left baffled.
I didn’t know whether to jump on him right then and there and plant a big kiss on his cheek, his humour seeming similar to mine and his assertiveness somewhat attracting me to him. Or whether I should just smack him right across his face, not too hard, but enough to shake him up a bit and toy with him.
I went for the latter, just for the pure amusement.
He looked up at me, smirking, as both women gasped and turned to my direction. Why the fuck was he smirking?
“Viola!” Mum shrieked, as Harry stood there chuckling with his hand lightly caressing his face where I had struck him.
“Oh please, Mother, it wasn’t even that hard,” I scoffed in her direction before turning to him and smirking right back, “See you around.”
I slightly peeled myself off of my bed, being that I had just been practically glued to the damn thing. I could get lost in the sheets and tangled up in the folds… I would stay there forever if it was possible.
As my vision finally cleared, the blurry atmosphere disappearing and everything coming into contact, I saw my mother peering over me looking quite angered.
“Viola, you better be listening right now because we clearly need to have a chat. I’m sick of you skipping classes. All you’ve managed to have done is fall behind in your coursework and stay locked up here all day. You barely make it down the steps some days,” Mum sighed, picking at the lint that clung to her carefully pressed attire. Her ugly, shit-brown coloured blazer with black buttons and a white pencil skirt. It didn’t even properly match up well, for my taste and standards at least.
“Are you finished yet?” I murmured, rubbing my eyes and yawning, my body still thick with sleep. Craving it. Needing it.
Mum’s nostrils flared and her face reddened, close in comparison to a tomato. She shot her hand out and gripped my beautiful comforter, and flung it backwards behind her.
“Shit, Mum! Can you not?!” I hissed, pulling a much smaller, lighter wool blanket and draping it over me, laying down and preparing to situate myself to get back to my favourite hobby.
Mum tutted while murmuring, “Oh no you don’t,” as she lifted up the drapery and curtains placed atop my windows, letting the bright light not just peer through but shine obnoxiously throughout my entire room.
I groaned and sat up, glaring her directly in her eyes, “I’m up. Are you happy? Now I’m going to be awake all day, miserable. Much more preferred to have me and my negativity lurking around your house than me just sulking in my sleep, right? Cheers,” I said, getting up and storming off, locking myself in the bathroom.
I switched the faucet on and just listened to the water run, drizzling down the sink to the end, disappearing beneath the drain. I wish I was water… flowing in any which direction I so very-well pleased, clear and invisible, disappearing whenever I wanted to.
I went by the window to shut the curtains, the light much too bright for my liking. As I peered out the window for a second, I paused with the curtain in my hand as I saw a boy standing next door. I’d never seen him before and still didn’t have much of a decent look. I shut the curtain, not even bothering to care and turned the shower on, losing myself in the heat.
*************
Mum had gotten the day off, lucky me, so she changed into comfortable clothes and tried tidying up around the house and then set outside to do some of her gardening.
In her own words, she had a “real knack for gardening,” meanwhile she was absolutely shit at it. Guarantee that in a week, maybe about two tops, the crops would be withering away. Just barely sprouting into life just to shoot and droop back down, be weeded out, and replaced. Because it was just that easy.
I stuck my tongue out, trying to balance myself as I applied my top liner; black liquid smoothly drawing across my lid. I finished off with one side having a bit more than the other, as usual. It was either always that or the wing on one of them would be so much prettier than the other. They never came out perfect no matter how hard I tried and concentrated. I had already applied my foundation and blush, so I just went on to put on some white eye-shadow in the corner of my eye and along the bottom. I topped it off with some eyeliner on my waterline and decided I was too lazy to try and apply my lipstick perfectly.
My brunette waves toppled down my sides, my hair starting out darker but ending as blond since I had gave in to that ombré trend. I had on a pair of my jeans, strictly prohibiting myself from wearing leggings and loathing my thighs even more, and I had carelessly thrown on my chunky-oversized, navy, waffle-knit sweater. I missed my leggings.
I had absolutely nowhere to go and nothing to do, but that would never ever stop me from doing my makeup. I felt so completely off if it wasn’t done, so it was always completed, even if I would be staying home the whole day.
I let myself drop to the couch, after my clothes and “face” were put on, and get lost in my new issue of Vogue. I loved all of the beautiful fashion that came with the winter. The cosy track trousers, the oversized sweatshirts, the abundance and variety of fabrics, the layering and colours of all of the clothes were absolutely fantastic. Matching and pairing different articles of clothing up and had always been a personal favourite of mine, so staring into my closet hours upon hours, never had me complaining. Unless, I was in a rush of course; but even then, I would make sure to leave wearing something I wouldn’t be embarrassed to be photographed in. That’s how I looked at it anyway.
I started to make note on certain things I had to go pick up for myself round the shops, because some of these items were too cute to pass up and God knows Mum wasn’t about to go get it for me. She was a flake; constantly promising she would go do it and yet here I was still, having to go do it on my own.
I barely got past four pages when Mum, the nutter she is, started hollering from her shit-job of a garden. “What?!” I yelled back, hoping she would hear me from the living room. I didn’t feel like getting up and going to her when it was probably a stupid matter. All she did was scream for me again.
I groaned with agitation and threw my magazine to the floor, stomping across the house and going outside to meet Mum’s yells. As I opened the door, I hadn’t even bothered to look around me or at anything else besides Mum.
“What could be more important than me shopping from catalogues, trying to decide which top will make my boobs look bigger or which pair of pants will make my ass look rounder and more plump?” I shouted at her, scowling down upon her and noticing she had been turned away from her garden, utensils out of her hand.
My head turned slightly towards the direction she was facing, and there had been a pretty, tanned woman. Not too much taller than me, at 5’2, pathetic I know, with dazzling eyes that were shimmering against the sun that was somehow out today. Her hair was dark so her eyes contrasted beautifully against it, along with her skin colour.
I hadn’t prepared myself as I turned to the figure next to her, almost dropping to my feet and bowing down appropriately upon sight at the sex god. Tall and skinny with broad arms, appeared to work out. Curly and tousled, fallen-perfectly-into-place dark brown hair, alluring deep-green eyes, topped with a captivating smirk.
I instantly wanted to die.
“Well, I guess, you now have met Viola…” Mum trailed off, completely shocked and mortified as to the seen that had just unraveled.
I stood there dumbfounded and took refuge in bowing my head down and waiting for someone to say something next.
Usually, I could give a fuck less about these types of outbursts. Give me five minutes and I’ll most likely be fine and feel shameless once again. But, on behalf of any normal sixteen year old, when you have a statuesque boy standing in front of you and you shriek about enhancing your womanly features… yeah, they just don’t coincide too well.
“Hello, dear, I’m Anne,” the pretty, older woman smiled at me warm-heartedly. I returned the smile and shook her hand that she had stuck out for me to do so. She continued on, “And this is—”
“I’m Harry Styles,” the boy spoke, his voice deep and slow. Impressive.
He didn’t stick out his hand for me to shake, probably understanding teenagers didn’t really introduce themselves to each other with a handshake, but he did greet me with a half-smile, his teeth barely showing but his lips curling up.
“Viola,” I said, not really smiling but sort of just looking at him. I tried to analyse him as best I could.
I had this thing when I met people, specifically those who intrigued me. I felt inclined to know them, but being the fact I didn’t particularly care for getting close to people, I would try to understand them as best I could without going through that process. I would read their words, actions, body movements, everything and anything that could give me some indication as to who this person was and what they were about. It was safer that way; for me at least.
I kept staring and trying to figure out what it was I felt, but nothing. This was weird… usually by now I could have someone figured out just a bit by their outfit, but his was quite plain.
Darkened, fitted skinny jeans, with a white slight scoop neck. I wanted to shout at him, “HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO READ YOU WITH A CRUMMY OUTFIT LIKE THAT?”
Although his attire was average, he still looked good in so many ways and I wanted to jump on him right then and there. Wait, what? Who said that?
Harry had still been smirking in my direction and even taken the liberty of flipping his hair, in means of fixing it I was guessing. I looked away before it seemed like I was gawking. I don’t care how good looking he is, there was no way I was going to make myself look like some desperate bimbo, especially because I was far from it.
Everyone thought I was a frigid bitch, and I couldn’t really find a reason to care. I was much better lurking amongst the ghostly halls of school, when I actually attended, alone. I didn’t need some type of posse clicking their outdated Dr Martens, trying to mix up the in-style boots with heels, and twirling their fake hair round their cheap polished finger. And that was the only thing you would find in a school like mine, so there was no way I was succumbing to that kind of low. I was above it.
People perceived me as some kind of narcissist, and in some ways I even am one, but all in the same that’s exactly what I’m not. I just didn’t seem to fit in and I didn’t pin that as my fault.
As I let myself get lost in my thought, most likely trying to distract myself from ogling at Harry’s plump, pink lips, I heard Mum perk up with a, “Well, isn’t that just lovely to hear, Viola?”
“What?” I asked, snapping my head in her direction, watching her rub the dirt from her gardening onto her pants. Thank God, they were so last season, anyway.
“Harry is moving in with Anne’s sister, his aunt, right next door and he’s going to start coming to school here!” She cheerfully smiled at me. Oh joy.
She must have wanted to drop to the ground and pray to the big man in the sky and kiss each of Anne’s toes, pleading for her to talk to her son to stick it out with me.
Mum was always nagging me for not hanging out with people and making friends, but I just didn’t listen. Although, with Harry moving in this would now be a whole new production. She’ll ask me if he wants to come study or eat dinner with us, or if he’s in any of my classes, and I’ll just want to barf some more.
I hated questions.
Actually, let me rephrase that: I hated being asked questions. I loved asking others questions and listening to their answers, but I hated sharing answers for questions directed to me.
“Super,” I tried to at least sound excited, it was the least I could do to try and make up for my introduction.
Mum grimaced at me, and I only grimaced back. What in fucks sake did she want me to do? She knew very well, as did I, that there would be nothing with Harry. He would be forced into talking with me and realise how plain and simple I was, or just dub me as the town weirdo like everyone else, and go on his merry little way.
I snuck a glance at him and he was still staring right at me, his expression unreadable but almost as if he was pondering about me, trying to do the exact thing that I was.
To put my head at ease, I settled on the thought he would be chasing after the beautiful blonds, those beauty-queen looking girls who were just as beautiful as him and were as bubbly as they came.
“I ought to get back to my… catalogue,” I finished, silently scolding myself for not making up something to do and returning to my previous entrance on this conversation. I really hated myself sometimes.
“Nice meeting you, dear,” Anne stuck her hand out once more, and I shook it, trying to decide whether I was being rude for not curtsying at this point. My mother got Anne stuck in some other conversation soon enough.
This time, even Harry stuck his hand out to me and I gripped it. It was massive, long fingers and veins slightly protruding out of them. My mind couldn’t help but wander off into the state of dreaming about what he could do with them.
I hadn’t even noticed Harry leaning into my body until his raspy voice lowly said, “Good luck finding those enhancements you desired, although, you don’t seem to quite need them.” He finished off with a toothy smirk and I was left baffled.
I didn’t know whether to jump on him right then and there and plant a big kiss on his cheek, his humour seeming similar to mine and his assertiveness somewhat attracting me to him. Or whether I should just smack him right across his face, not too hard, but enough to shake him up a bit and toy with him.
I went for the latter, just for the pure amusement.
He looked up at me, smirking, as both women gasped and turned to my direction. Why the fuck was he smirking?
“Viola!” Mum shrieked, as Harry stood there chuckling with his hand lightly caressing his face where I had struck him.
“Oh please, Mother, it wasn’t even that hard,” I scoffed in her direction before turning to him and smirking right back, “See you around.”
Notes
Posting what's been written so far, thanks for reading! x-L
11/22/13