My Dead Boyfriend

Chapter 1

The cold crisp air numbs my finger tips as I walk to work with Niall. Niall and I have been best friends since we were babies, since both our families are friends. I grew up with him, he's basically like my brother. He is the reason I started talking to Harry.

"So, how are you and Jessica going?" I ask, Niall rolls his eyes.

"She's seriously pissing me off. All I want is a girlfriend who doesn't accuse me of all sorts. If I don't answer the phone, I get accused of cheating, if I forget the smallest thing, I'm the worst boyfriend ever! The girl is lucky I fuckin' love her or I'd have been sprinting for the hills," his thick Irish accent rings in my ears. He rolls his eyes for the second time.

"Niall, you did cheat on her before, so she's probably just worried it will happen again," I sigh.

"I'm not gonna though. If she can't trust me, why did she forgive me and take me back?" He glares at me.

"Must be because you were showing her up, sitting on her doorstep at three am, shouting through the letterbox that you loved her and you were sorry," I laugh and Niall kicks some snow, which sprays over the curb.

"Yeah, whatever. So, how are you this morning?" He smiles.

"Meh, usual to be honest," I shrug, attempting a smile.

"By usual, do you mean sitting drunk on the couch at two am flipping through pictures of you and Harry?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah," I laugh. The bastard knows me too well.

"Look, Em. Sometimes it's good to have a wee cry and sulk, but not all the time. You'll never let go if you keep living in the past," we reach the cafe door and before he opens the door, he sighs, "Harry wouldn't want this for you, he would want you to be happy."

"I know, I know. It's just hard, especially since we just past his 2 year death anniversary and now his birthday is coming up. Once I get through that, it should be okay, I should be okay," I lie. I'm never going to be okay, but I can easily paint on a smile and pretend like it is.

"C'mere," Niall opens his arms and I walk into them, embracing in a cosy hug, "you know, Harry would be so proud of you right now," he kisses the top of my head and walks inside, holding the door open for me as I walk in.

"Hello kids, it's chilly outside, but the heating is on so it should warm up in here in about ten minutes," my mother grins and I nod.

"Put the kettle on will you mum?" I shout through to the kitchen and get an 'okay!' In response.

My mother got on with Harry, but my father never. My father thought he was a bad influence on me, because he smoked weed, had underage tattoos, skipped school. Whilst my mother seen past that and thought he was the loveliest, kindest, most charming boy ever and had very high hopes for Harry.

I however, I thought he was just lost. Beaten as a child. Made to feel worthless. Then he had to watch as his mother was abused. His sister got it too, but she never ever got it as bad as Harry.

Then children at school started asking questions. He was only eight, he didn't understand. Then when he was fourteen, his father had been caught out. He was jailed for two years, then had a restraining order put down, so that he wasn't allowed near any of them. No one understands why he didn't get longer for what he had did.

Obviously when he was fourteen, everyone was in his business, wanting to know everything. Why his father was jailed. Why Harry had cuts on his wrists and swollen eyes.