13 Reasons Why [Louis Tomlinson]

Prologue

I looked down at the letter, making sure that I've written everything I wanted to say. Yes, everything was perfect. Painfully perfect. I bent the sheet and put it inside the envelope, turning it around and writing "Elena" on it. I put the envelope into a box, along with twelve other envelopes. I closed the box and sighed, placing a piece of paper on it that said, "Please give this to them".  

I knew exactly who was going to find; Eleanor, our maid. She's the only one who can come into my room. She's the only one beside me who has the key. I like her and feel really sorry that she has to be the one to find me, but no one else would.

I sighed again as I sit on my bed. I turn on my iPod and put the earphones into my ears. With a deep breath, I press 'play'. I prepared the song earlier so I wouldn't have to look for it right now. I take the bottle of vodka and pills. They're already laying loosely on my bed so I just collect them.

For a moment I just stare at the medicine that I'm holding. Maybe I shouldn't do it. Everyone says it gets better. What if it really does?

No, it doesn't. Emily showed me that it doesn't. Zayn showed me that it doesn't. My dad showed me that it doesn't. It'll never get better.

I put all the pills into my mouth. It's a little hard to swallow them, but somehow I manage to do that. A few sips of vodka also helps. I sigh again and finish the drink until there's no more left. I throw the bottle across the room and it smashes against the wall.

But no one will come here to check if I'm okay. No one will hear it; no one will care.

I lay down slowly, closing my eyes and just melt into the music. It's not as bad as I thought it'd be. It's a really nice feeling; it's peaceful.

I feel a little sick, but that's normal after swallowing so many pills. My body tries to save itself. But I don't want that. I don't want to be saved; I can't be saved anymore.

I smile as I slowly drift away, but then I frown. No, it shouldn't be like that. I was supposed to be happy. I was supposed to be free. So why am I crying?

The last thing I felt before I died wasn't a soft duvet under my palms. It also wasn't a gentle kiss on my cheek; neither a flower's flakes touching my skin.

It was a tear. It ran out from the corner of my eye and made it's way down my temple 'till it touched my hair, making it wet.  

I was happy to die, but the last thing I felt in my life, was a tear.