After Winter - Harry Styles [Wattys 2013]

Chapter Seven

~Emily~ 

The scent of hot cocoa fills my nostrils as I flutter my eyes open, scanning around the place I was currently in. I propped my elbows quickly, shocked to have ended up in my unused room. But then after a few seconds everything that had happened the night before came flooding in my mind. I lay down once more, turning towards the picture frame that lay lifelessly beside me as I breathed heavily.

It was half past eleven as I read the digits glowing on my bedside clock, the chirping of birds can be easily heard even with the window pane separating me from the cold outdoors. I propped myself up, finding my slippers as I approached the bay-window. There was a steaming mug of hot cocoa by the window, my eyebrows quirking up in confusion as to who placed it there while I was asleep. My fingers clasped the handle, turning it around to see a sticky note hanging by it. 

'Thought you might need to warm up. Merry Christmas! x' It read, a smile hanging on my lips as I peeled it off the mug, placing it on the window as I took a sip of the steamy goodness. It was Christmas day. It felt like it, at least. There were times when Christmases didn't feel like Christmases at all. And New Year's didn't feel like New Year's. But this year, it was different. It actually felt like Christmas after a long period of time.

~*~ 

Hours felt like minutes and somehow it was already half past twelve, my clock blaring two significant beeps that signals the time given. I hadn't noticed I've been staring out the window for an hour flat, my now empty mug of cocoa still in my hand.

I knew it was about time to leave the actual room, but I couldn't get myself to. Maybe it was pure laziness, or maybe it was the feeling I would have to suffer to actually walk normally. Yes, the cuts underneath my foot haven't fully healed yet. But what do you expect? It's not even fully 24 hours yet ever since I got it. For short, it still hurt like hell.

I made up my decision to stay in the room whole day but then again I couldn't possibly live a whole day without eating anything except a full mug of cocoa that was given by an anonymous person. I mean, it couldn't have been Dad. He's the worst hot cocoa maker ever. And when I mean by worst, I don't exaggerate.

So I decided to get up from my comfy position on the daybed, making my way to the bed as I grabbed my half-charged phone, changing into a fresh batch of tank top and pajama pants as I scurried down the stairs, the sight of my Dad making omelets welcoming my senses.

A smile crept up my face as I walked behind him, tapping him on the shoulder, causing him to look behind as I hid quickly. I couldn't help but giggle as he clicked his tongue, switching the stove-top off as he turned to me, a half-grin on his face. "You're still childish as always." He says, messing up my hair.

I swatted his hand away, fixing my hair into a high ponytail as we made our way to the dining area. The scent of the omelets caused me to drool - the mouthwatering sensation mocking me as best it could. I sat quickly, grabbing my portion of the omelet before Dad could even sit down. He laughed at this as I basically gulped down my whole meal, realizing only now how hungry I was.

"Emily, slow down! This is not an eating contest. It's Christmas morning for goodness sake." He laughed as he took a forkful of his omelet, amused at my said table manners. I grinned sheepishly at him as I took a piece of tissue paper to wipe any excess omelet visible on my face. 

"Sorry, Dad. It's just I'm so hungry!" I grunted, gulping down a glass of water as I slumped back on the chair. He shook his head at this, a sly grin playing on his lips.

"Considering the amount of food Anne had prepared last night, you should've been stuffed." He muttered, taking another forkful before taking sip of his orange juice. I just shook my head at him, "I didn't eat any of Anne's food last night, sadly." I say, a frown creeping on my face.