If only you could see everyone now. All the boys were married, of course Liam was with Danielle and Zayn was with Perrie. Harry and Niall both married fans and then there was you and I. The nights we all spent together were always wonderful especially when we all had couples nights. But our teenage years when we were all young were the best. I felt the onslaught of fresh tears prick my eyes. I had cried so much today, you would have call it my man period. All these memories made me upset, thinking of all the times we had together, but at the same time all the wonderful, incredible, beautiful times made me happy. Happy knowing that I had spent it with you, although it was cut shorter than I would have liked I still got to spend a wonderful amount of time with you. My throat was tight and the sun seemed to be brighter than ever before because of the blur of tears cast over my blue eyes. I smiled although it hurt; I smiled because yet again another beautiful memory startled me out of my sadness.
But suddenly, a memory struck me that I would never be able to forget. That night you told me about your past and at home. “Oh, Josephine. I wish I could have whisked you away from all that. Nobody deserved that at all...”
“Hey, Jo?” I said to you. We were lying on the bed just talking when suddenly I thought that you had never really told me about your home life before we met. You hummed in response. “You’ve never told me, have you had any boyfriends before us?” I could feel you stiffen beside me and I grew worried.
“I’d rather not talk about it.” You said, your voice catching in your throat.
“Babe, I’m here for you no matter what. But I respect that if you don’t want to talk.” I said. We had been dating for about five months now and I respected you in every way possible. We hadn’t gone public yet for fear of the media but we were starting to talk about it. You didn’t reply instead there was silence. I could hear the faint rhythm of your breathing and suddenly the silence was broken.
“I was abused by an ex boyfriend,” you spoke quietly and slowly. My heart dropped and my fist clenched. You sighed beside me and I rolled my head to look at you. You were chewing your bottom lip, I could see the contemplation in your mind if you wanted to share the rest; I stayed quiet waiting for you.
“I was eighteen, and I thought I was in love. His name was Brandon. We had gone to school together and after we had graduated we met up in a coffee shop and got talking. One thing led to another and I was falling for him, hard. He was so sweet, caring, romantic, just all around wonderful. But things changed after a few months. He was no longer romantic and sweet rather his alcohol fueled rages were cast over me. He would pick out my insecurities and taunt me with them, he would make fun of my weight, the way I looked, my job. But, one night we got into a massive row about his drinking, he slapped me, but apologized profusely. I was shocked but I accepted it, saying his excuse was that he was drunk. I didn’t blame him, I shouldn’t have argued against him. At least that was what I thought was the reason. There were other times, times that left bruises, and the lies I had to tell to cover them up grew with the colour on my skin. But, one night... I was in bed waiting for him to come home,” You swallowed thickly, and I grabbed your hand rubbing my thumb over your knuckles. “He stumbled in the doorframe, and took off his clothing. He – he crawled into bed, and started kissing my neck. I shrugged him off because well I wasn’t in the mood, but he rolled on top of me. He told me to shut up and let him fuck me, and I fought him. He punched and slapped me until I bled and rolled off of me, clambered out of the room and slammed the door. I cried so hard, I could hear broken glass and plates smashing against the walls and that’s when I knew enough was enough. I got dressed, cleaned myself up, grabbed my purse and waited until the commotion stopped. What felt like hours may have been minutes but I waited and I left. He must have heard me leave because I could hear his drunken, angry shouts follow me down the stairwell. I didn’t turn back, I ran. I left him, my life and part of myself in that flat and never looked back. I didn’t consider the fact that I was a victim of domestic abuse; I don’t know what I thought. But all I know was I never want to see Brandon again and that... I’m scared of being in a relationship because I’m scared of what will happen. I’m scared of men now, I don’t know what they’ll do, and I’m scared to get intimate with someone because of what Brandon did to me. He broke me, Louis.” You finished with a crack in your voice and with tears rolling down your cheek. I could tell you reopened the wound that you tried so hard to cover. I could feel my throat growing tight; nobody deserved to go through that. You were so beautiful, and happy. I couldn’t imagine the pain – physically or mentally – that you had suffered. I pulled you closer to me and hugged you closer to my chest. I stroked your back in a slow soothing motion and your sobs quieted.
