Perilous (Harry Styles)

chapter 4

“A well-spent day brings happy sleep.”

- Leonardo da Vinci

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Waking up on your own after a concerted sleep was the best thing on earth in my opinion.

It made a difference if you slept for 8 hours on your own or if your alarm clock woke you up after 8 hours.

It meant you were ready for the day if your mind escaped the blissful state of dreaming and rest on its own.

I didn’t think I had slept for 8 hours, probably more like 11 hours. That was what jetlag caused. Missing sleep and withdrawal symptoms.

Yawning and stretching my legs and arms, I hid my face in the pillow to avoid the sun shining on my closed eyelids.

The warm covers disguised me. For the outer world I was invisible. I was safe, nothing could harm me.

Or so I thought before the blankets were brutally ripped away from me.

The ambient temperature was pleasantly cool, yet the sudden touch of the air on my skin jolted me.

With one swift motion, I flipped around on my back and tore my eyes open, only to look up at two mesmerizing emerald green ones staring back at me.

My devilish boyfriend grinned down at me and I knew that this tumorous wake-up call wasn’t the only thing he had in mind for me this morning.

A voice in my head yelled at me to get up and make a run for the door, but before my mind could process the meaning behind this warning, I saw Harry fetching something from behind his back.

My eyes followed his arm, taking in the way his biceps exerted when he put his arm in front of his chest, holding a glass of water right above my head.

I saw the glass but my mind couldn’t comprehend what would happen next.

Before I knew it, a rain shower sprinkled over my face.

I sucked in a harsh breath when the ice-cold water hit my eyes and nose, and ran into my, from the shock open, mouth.

Coughing, I swallowed the water and sat upright, pushing Harry away from me.

“Are you fucking insane?” I yelled. My voice broke in-between, my throat sore from coughing.

Harry stood up to his full size with a smug grin. He was proud of himself, I could tell as much.

“Good morning, love,” he said, blowing me a kiss.

I flipped him off and let myself fall back on the bed.

Surrounded by wetness, I planned my revenge.

Harry left the bedroom, softly closing the door behind him. That bastard.

Harry: 2. Zoey: 1. After all, I had constantly flashed him for a week, that surely had to count for something.

After a minute or two, I pulled myself together and left the no-longer coziness of the bed.

My bare feet tapped against the cold tiles. The smell of scrambled eggs and bacon filled my nostrils but I was too pissed off to face Harry now.

Instead, I took a hot and long shower. Multiple knocks remolded the calmness but I ignored them all.

“Zoey,” Harry whined after knocking for five minutes. By that time, I was already dressed and halfway done with brushing my hair.

“Harry,” I mocked him. I dried my hair with the towel in my hands. Well, I stopped it from soaking the ground actually.