MY ANOREXIC FRIEND// N.S.

Letter IV

My dearest Niall,

Answer me. Please. I'm begging you.

I can feel myself slowly going insane without the touch of your hands, without the sound of your voice if I only hadn't wanted to know the taste of your lips

Then all of this wouldn't have happened

I shouldn't have told you I loved you that day. I just dropped my feelings for you to handle, and they fell like bombs, destroying everything in their path.

I shouldn't have done it. I simply should not have done it. But I did.

I don't know why I did, but at the time, it felt like a great idea. If I only had known what it would do to me, to us, to what we used to be.

We used to be close, Niall. We used to be goddamn soulmates. I used to tell you everything, and you used to roll your eyes when I acted dramatic about a bad grade, or about my mother yelling at me.

You used to laugh with me. We used to be happy together. We used to play Mario Kart together, and you used to win and rub it in my face. Then I acted grumpily, just so you'd apologize with a hug.

All the things we used to do.

We used to care about each other, Niall. I still do. I still care about you. Lord knows I'd jump in front of a goddamn train for you.

Do you still care?

Do you even remember me?

You used to hold me when I cried, Niall. I've been crying all the time lately. Where are you? When are you going to come and dry my tears?

Are you even going to come?

I don't think so.

But I can't help hoping so.

It's pathetic, I know. But if pathetic is what it takes to get you, I'll be pathetic for the rest of my damn life.

Then again, what kind of life do I really have?

I've lost more than thirty-five pounds since the day you saw me for the last time. Al I am is bones and dry skin, blue lips and an empty heart.

Now that I look back, everything went kind of slowly. It's not like I stopped eating and a day later my entire life was a mess.

It was a mess long before that. But my body eating away itself, that went slowly. It's like your body wants you to feel it. The hunger. The pain. The beating of a broken heart in a lonely chest.

It wants you to know what you are doing to yourself. And it begs you to care. But you don't, Niall. You just don't.

That is the way starvation works.

When I had lost five pounds, I couldn't even see a difference. I was still fat, and ugly, and disgusting. So I kept going.

When I lost ten, my mom started to notice. And she told me I looked great. She was probably happy that her son was getting a little less disgusting.

When I lost fifteen pounds, I noticed that the horrible bubbly fat on my stomach started to fade. And honestly, I couldn't have been happier.

When I lost twenty, I felt fatter than ever. My mother tried to give me food, but I refused, saying that I was fat enough. That was the first day I ever saw my mother cry.

When I lost twenty-five, she forced food in my stomach, and I forced it back out. I became anemic. My hair started to get stuck in the brush. My nails started to break.

When I lost thirty, I stopped drinking a lot, because I felt like the water I drank was making me even fatter. My mother cried every night, and somewhere deep inside, I silently cried with her. I was destroying myself, but I couldn't find it in me to care.

Now that I've lost thirty-five, it just hurts. It hurts to stare at food, it hurts to smell food. It hurts to stand and it hurts to sit or to lay down. It hurts to drag my body out of my bed. It hurts to think. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to keep my bones together.

Everything just hurts.

And I want it to stop.

But I don't know how to do that, Niall. Tell me how to make it stop. Or, even better, make it stop. Please. I am so done with the pain.

I can't lose any more weight, because then they're going to admit me into a hospital. And they are going to force food down my stomach. And I'll just get fat all over again.

If I hadn't been this disgusting, you would've loved me, right?

I don't get why they think putting food down my throat is going to help. They can't keep me in that damn hospital forever. And once I'm fat enough, they'll release me. They'll have to.

And I'll just start all over again.

I know I shouldn't, but I will. It's not like you really care, though.

Just give me a sign, please. A sign that you care. A sign that you want to know how I am, a sign that you feel something when reading my words.

A sign. That's all I'm asking for.

I'll be waiting for it.

Why am I still writing you, otherwise? Why am I still telling you this?

Why am I still breathing?

Help me, Niall. Because I can no longer help myself. My family can't help me either, and the doctors surely can't.

Help me. Please.

Love,

Your anorexic (ex-)friend

Harry

AN: So, I finally figured out where I'm going with this story! And it's no place good. So, if you want to die from feels, keep reading! If you don't want that, then keep reading anyway, because well you've already started since you're reading this now, and nobody likes quitters.

I edited the first parts a little. There is like 1 letter left, then we're going to do some special things! This story is going to have like 15 chapters I guess.

Let me know what y'all think! x