Fly [A One Direction Fanfiction]

I'm not the best with words. So I'll start with the simple things and see how it goes from there.

I have Schizophrenia, and I don't talk much. Music is what has saved me time and time again, though nobody knows that but me. I like wearing pretty dresses and pretending my life is perfect. I don't know why people don't like me. My mom is my hero. My house is a living hell, and the story of my decline all started three years ago; with a woman called Annabelle.

Annabelle was the owner of my favorite store; Le Shoppe Au Paris. It was the best of the best. They had everything from carpets to wall decals to booksleves, antiques, classic books, old records, Converses; whatever they got in that day. It's jumbled, mix-matched, confused, and so unpredictable. Like me.

It was also next door to London's best cafè, Sticks & Scones. Mom and I went there every day. She always ordered a Grande Soy Lattè, I ordered a Grande Chai Tea, and we both split a White Chocolate Chip Cookie. Those were the happiest days of my life. We would go there after spending hours in the shoppe. Trying on dresses, unrolling posters, holding up picture frames and making silly faces.

We would sit down and talk for hours. How my day at school was, if I made any friends (which was always a no, but she liked to keep things optimistic so she asked anyway), or just whatever was on my mind. And she would listen She would sit there quietly and cling onto every word I was saying, as if I was the only one in the room. That's what I loved about her... she was the one person in my life that actually cared about what I was saying.

Then, of course, there was my father. There's not much to say about him. He's a drunkard. I know he doesn't like me because I'm "broken and useless" as I heard him say sometimes. It used to bother me that my dad hated me, but Mother was always there to calm him down.

My mom had that gift I just simply could not inherit. But, of course, these things don't last forever, and the cycle would always start all over again whenever he picked up another Vodka.

During most of my childhood, I felt like people were keeping things from me. Mom would assure me that everything was fine, while Dad was shaking his head in the other room. At the time, I walked away.

But now I'm really wishing that I had stayed, because the words she never told me might be enough to help me out of this hell.

(A/N: Sorry this first chapter is so short!! It's just a starter chapter, I guess. I swear this story is going to be action-packed and a whole lot longer than what this first chapter is showing you :)