Consumed

Chapter 5

~Devin's POV~

I had no time to think about why and how the hell Harry even knew my address, but once I step into his classroom he is going to hear an earful - whether he likes it or not.

Once again I make the three dreadful steps to my door, I pull my keys from my bag and unlock it. My mother is no longer in the spot where I left her. I hear the shuffling pots and pans coming from the kitchen along with the smell of bacon. My bag drops from my shoulder landing just beside my feet and my mouth nearly hits the floor with it, mostly in shock and confusion.

My mother appears from the kitchen. "Devin, darling you're home," she smiles, her hair a wild mess and her pupils as big as the moon. I take a step back when she begins to approach me, the sizzling pan of bacon in her hand. "I made bacon, do you want some?" She steps closer and I am cornered against the wall closest to the stairs.

"No, its nearly three in the morning," I answer, shaking my head while glancing from her to the stairs, debating if I should just run to my room or take what I know is about to come.

She's drunk, sometimes she cooks when she's drunk, she never eats it though its always ends up thrown across the room or left to burn against my skin.

"You know not to say no to your mother Devin, now I'm going to ask you again won't you have some bacon?" she steps closer and I can feel the heat of the pan against my skin before I have the chance to answer. The pan is pressed against my forearm and the pain sends me straight to my knees. My other hand flies up to cover the burn. I grip my arm as I cry out why to her, all she does is stand there, not a hint of remorse shown on her features. "That's what smart mouths like you get!" I quickly lift myself from the floor, pushing past her to run up the stairs. I head straight to the bathroom, turning the faucet all the way over to the coldest temperature.

The cold water against my arm numbs the pain for only a few seconds until the stinging pain comes fighting it's way back.

My mother never used to be like this until my father passed away, she was always so happy, always smiling, laughing. There was always a light to her, but she lost it. She started leaving me home alone to go out, drink and do God knows what else. She usually ends coming home drunk out of her mind.

It's honestly the worst feeling in the world to be abandoned. You're scared, alone, and feel forgotten. I always felt like this after my dad died. His death wasn't sudden. It wasn't any type of cancer, it happened doing what he loved: serving his country.

My father is American - was American, my mother is Hispanic, but was born and raised in Birmingham, England. She was in America doing a year of courses, studying to become an English major, but that plan went down the drain - for good reason - when she met my father. She instantly fell in love with the six foot tall hunk who strolled into the bar one night. She was fascinated by this man. One cheesy pick up line from him, a few drinks. One thing led to another and BAM! I was created. We were the perfect all "American" family.

I shake my head from the walk down memory lane and draw my attention back to the burn. I reach into the drawer connected to the counter, pulling out the first aid kit. I wrap my arm up quickly and shut the light off in the bathroom going to bed.

...

My pre-set alarm goes off at six am and I feel as if I've only slept five f*****g minutes. I'm not ready for this day. My head is pounding from lack of sleep and the wrap around my forearm has came loose from tossing and turning all night. I climb out of bed and don't even bother to look at myself in the vanity mirror as I pass it because I know the bags are already under my eyes and my hair is probably a mess.

I cross the hall quietly. Going into the bathroom I can hear my moms snores coming from up the stairs. I'm sure she drank and passed out. She probably won't even remember the events of last night and honestly it's for the best.

I run the cold water in the shower, stripping from the work clothes I didn't have the energy to take off last night. Peeling the bandage from my arm I toss it into the trash and step under the freezing water. I shiver, hugging my trembling body from the arctic temperatures of the water. It's an unwelcoming cold, but it feels so good against my irritated skin. I take my time washing my hair and body, slowly turning the knob every few minutes until I am use to the water against my burn.

By the time I get out of the shower, wrap my arm and change into my clothes - a simple band t-shirt and skinny jeans - it's time for me to make my way to school. Unfortunately for me I don't have a car because the car I have was - is my dads 1962 Shelby Mustang GT. It hasn't worked since he passed away and I don't know a thing about cars, otherwise I would fix it myself. I know for damn sure we don't have the money to fix it.

"Dev, baby girl, go tell your mama to go make us some sandwiches and lemonade...dammit." My fathers groans from underneath his nice red car. He slides out from under the car, sitting up and rubbing his head, mumbling bad words under his breath. I walk over, patting his shoulder, bending down to kiss his now reddened forehead. "Thank you baby girl, that feels much better." he turns to me and smiles. "I can't get over how much you look more and more like your mother everyday. You're going to crush hearts you know?" I nod.

"But not till I'm thirty and married," I answer. He laughs his deep laugh, sending us both into a fit of laughter. My mother soon joins us with a tray full of bologna sandwiches and lemonade. She knows us so well.

She laughs, setting the tray down on the workbench in the garage, bending down to kiss my father sweetly. She pulls back, looking at his forehead and does as I did seconds ago and kisses it. "Usted, Matthew tiene que tener más cuidado." Her accent is thick as she tells him he needs to be more careful.

That was always one of my favorite things to see, my parents smiling, laughing, picking on each other. Never once do I ever remember a fight where they didn't make up. Somehow, one or the other would end up giving in and apologizing. I always admired the love that they had and I always remembered telling my mother before she went bat s**t crazy how I wanted to find a love like theirs.

I sigh, taking my headphones from my bag, plugging them into my phone and turning on my music. The Fray 'You Found Me' plays through my ears and I leave the house, locking the door on my way out.

~Harry's POV~

I groan, running my fingers through my hair while I listen to Ms. Graves, aka queen b***h -the person I've been dealing with for over two years. She's complaining about how our school can't afford this and that. Maybe if she stopped stealing from the school to get her face worked on we might have the money to spare.

"Mr. Styles, do you have something to add?" Why is it that all of the sudden I feel like a student in class.

"No," I simply answer. I really just want to scream and yell, telling her off. It doesn't work that way unfortunately.

"Alright, back to what I was saying." she turns back to the projector, flipping her coarse gray hair over her shoulder. "I think we as a facility should step up and start encouraging the students to work harder." I mentally laugh. This is a load of s**t. She actually thinks they are going to listen to us? I think not.

They rest of the facility meeting is spent with me dozing off. Finally it slowly comes to an end and I'm the first to leave. I head straight to my class, coffee in hand. But as soon as I round the corner the coffee is spilled down the front of my white shirt. The word "s**t" comes flying from my mouth.

"Oh s**t, Harry - s**t I mean Mr. Styles I'm so sorry." My eyes move down to the now see through material sticking to my skin. It's still visible even through the white t-shirt under my button up. You can still make out the black ink of my tattoos. "I'll get you a new one I swear. God, I'm so sorry." I look up and her face is reddened, her brown hair falling over her face, concealing her eyes from me. She doesn't want to reveal the panic that I'm sure is there.

"Ms. Cavanagh, its fine, I hated this shirt anyway. Please keep your money." she pushes her hair back from her face, looking up to meet my eyes. I try my best not to stare for too long. My eyes quickly move down her arms and she must notice because she hides it behind her back. "I don't recall you hurting yourself at the restaurant last night, are you okay?" concern is clear in my voice.

"I burnt myself curling my hair this morning. No biggie," she smiles. Her hair is straight.

"Um...okay."

"Yeah, I have to ask you something though." She looks down at her feet then back up at me, biting her lip. "How the hell did you know where I lived? I didn't even tell you last night." She keeps her voice low, glancing around to make sure we're still the only ones in the hallway.

"Well, you did fill out an application to my mom's restaurant and it is required to know where you live. Am I correct?" I raise an eyebrow at her. I guess that is a little weird, but I'm good at remembering things. When I called her I happened to see her address below the number and it just stuck I suppose.

Still sounds creepy Harry, shut up.

"Oh yeah...I just thought maybe I had a stalker who happens to be my teacher. It's kinda thrilling really." she laughs, shaking her head back and forth. I send her a worried glance. "I'm kidding, but again thanks for last night. I'm sure by working a few shifts at the restaurant I'll have enough to get a car or at least fix my -" she stops, eyes dropping back to her feet. "I'll see you in class," she says, quietly walking past me, hugging her bag close to her chest as she always does.

What was that about? I really hope shes okay?

I may not know her very well, but I do know when someone is lying. I also know that there is no way in hell a small curling iron could cause such a large surface area of damage.