Learn Along The Way (A Louis Tomlinson Fan Fiction)

Chapter One: The Pharmacy

*McKenna's POV*

Alone. All the time. Only one person talks to me. Don't worry, this isn't a "Poor me. Feel bad for me. My life is awful." kind of story. Although it may seem like it in the beginning. I actually like being alone. There's something about the quiet, sereness of it all that I find extremely intriguing. But i guess I would like people if they gave me the chance to show them myself. It's not like I'm antisocial by choice, people just generally don't like me.

Anika is the only person who will talk to me. She's my bestfriend since year four. I love her to death, but it stings a little when she leaves me to hang out with her other mates. It's not like I'm being clingy, because trust me, I don't care if she has other mates, it's just the fact that I don't. She's invited me out with them multiple times. I actually went once, but they kept talking about me, pretending I couldn't hear them when they knew perfectly well that I could. So I stopped going, and eventually, she stopped asking all together. It's okay though, like I said, I like to be alone.

I live by myself in my flat in the center of London. It's technically called a "penthouse suite" but since I've lived in the UK my whole life, I call it a flat. My flat takes up the whole top floor, just to give you an idea of how big it is. Anika lives in one of the tiny flats in the floor below mine, although she might as well live with me considering she has her own room here with most of her clothes, besides her fancy ones for dates, in there. She even gets her mail delivered here. Now that I think about it, she probably should just live here, save her the rent every month. Wow, why haven't we thought of that before. Oh yeah, because we're idiots.

I'm seriously rich, due to my inheritance after my parents died (I'll get into that later), but i try not to let it get to my head. I have a job as a barista in Starbucks, but I don't need it. My favorite part of my flat is my closet. I designed the entire place myself, so I made the closet awesome. It is inspired by Hannah Montana's closet, but with a twist. It has all my coats and jackets at the front of it. But when I press a button by the door, the walls open up into a huge walk in closet twice the size of Anika's flat. It has a white patent leather sofa and a tv and heated floors and a revolving thingy with all my clothes in it. One wall has floor to ceiling racks of shoes, one has floor to ceiling racks of purses, and one has floor to ceiling racks of hats/accessories. The final wall (next to my revolving thingy) has a huge vanity with all my makeup and stuff. It's designed like a dressing room mirror with all the lightbulbs around it. Now here's the twist. At the back of the closet, at the corner of my wall of shoes and wall of bags, there is a button. When i press it, a little doorway appears and there is a tunnel to Anika's closet. She still believes I am a magician and can teleport myself into her closet. It's hilarious.

My flat has a gorgeous view of London. It is situated perfectly so that all the cafes and shops are within walking distance. I walk to Starbucks for my shifts, it's literally 5 blocks down the road.

Okay, so about my parents. I guess I should start from the beginning. Well, my dad, he used to... touch me; in ways a father shouldn't. At first, I thought it was normal: the occasional lingering kiss on the corner of my mouth when he kissed me goodnight, or the subtle squeeze of my bum when we hugged. But as I got a little older, he started to be more forward with his actions. I was an early developer, so by year three, I already had boobs. He would touch them when we hugged. He even walked into the bathroom when I was getting ready to shower and stared at me for three whole minutes.

Everyone knows that he touched me, due to the fact that we had an assembly about abuse and the principal just so happened to pick me to be used as an example. When she started talking about sexual abuse, I lost it. I just broke down crying, screaming at her not to touch me like my father did. I didn't mean to say it, it just slipped. Everyone treated me differently after that. My friends stopped talking to me and the teachers didn't know how to handle my situation. I guess this wasn't in their "special training" or whatever. One night, however, sent me over the edge. It was the summer before year four. My dad came home from the pub a few blocks down piss drunk. He walked into my room while I was reading, and shut the door. He lied on top of me and started kissing me. I tried to push him off but he was too strong and stubborn with alcohol.