A loud scream escapes my mouth as I am dragged down a corridor by my hair. It hurts so much, I try to stand up, but just fall harder as the person dragging me starts going faster. I scream asking him to stop, to release me, yet nothing changes. It seems to take forever until we appear to be in some kind of office. The man who dragged me vanishes into thin air. Suddenly, in front of me I see Stanley. I really hate seeing his face, it makes me feel sick. He looks at me with a creepy grin on his face while I'm trying to wipe my tears away after how I was brought here.
" So now you see that you should listen to us and that it can hurt if you don't. You haven't written a single letter to us, or let's say to Zayn yet"
" So what if I haven't? You really think dragging me down the corridor will change that?" I interrupt whatever he was about to say.
" Oh, Becca, that is not why I dragged you down. I just figured that you're actually hopeless, so I might as well finish you off right now. " These words really made him so happy, I can see how hard he is trying not to smile, but he fails eventually.
" What do you mean finish off?" Stanley's words hit me too late. He takes a gun out of a drawer and points it at my head. Before I even have the time to move he shoots me in my leg.
I wake up screaming. That was just a dream. I try to calm myself down, but it is hard as my leg actually hurts. I notice that I fell asleep with the console under my leg which must have caused the pain in my leg and the nightmare. Irritated I throw that stupid thing to the wall and it somehow jumps back to me, now hitting my head. I yell in frustration and realize that I won't achieve anything by trying to resist Stanley. He might actually have a gun, who knows. I must be writing letters, but what do I write there? Funny enough I've had this question before. However, this time around it's different. I have to figure out what to write, so I am released from whatever this place really is.
I grab a piece of paper, a pen and sit by the table which is still the only piece of furniture in this room or should I call it a cell.
Dear Zayn,
Life can get so complicated in such a short time. A few days ago I wrote you a good bye letter and here it appears I am still alive. Thank God! Or is it not really a blessing? You see, the thing is, I am locked up by this idiot called Stanley. He will be reading this letter, so maybe I should address it to him instead of you. But I miss you so much. I miss knowing that you'll always be there for me, to protect me from all the evil of this world. It hurts. Now, Stanley, how am I supposed to know what I have to write here if I am being locked up here all the time, not being able to talk to anyone, even you? Your theory is that I can't tell the difference between reality and my imagination. You see, these kind of things only happen to people who have experienced some kind of trauma and I haven't. My whole life has been plain and even boring most of the time. Why would I go crazy all of a sudden? It makes no sense. Ha, maybe it shouldn't, I'm crazy after all, right?
A flash of light blindens me and now I know that this question will be answered by no one else than Stanley himself. Here it goes again.
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Letters to Zayn
FanfictionA journey of a 19-year-old who is in love with a famous band member Zayn Malik. They've known each other since childhood, but Rebecca never had the courage to tell Zayn the way she feels about him. She finds that the best way to do so is writing let...
