Don't You Forget Me (A One Direction FanFiction)

Chapter 5

During the taxi journey all I could think about was how kind Liam had been. Plenty of other guys would've run a mile if they were confronted with the sight of a girl breaking down, but Liam stayed. Adding the fact that he is a member of one of the most famous boy-bands in the world and it's pretty freaking amazing. I glanced down at the phone number in my hand. Was it all a joke? Had Liam set me up? No. I don't think he's like that at all, but then what do I know? I stopped being a fan just over a year ago.

 "Here you go, Miss." We had pulled up outside my house. I saw my Mum's silhouette against the thin curtains of our front room and I knew I was about to walk into WW3. Oh fuck.

  "Thanks." I said. I paid the fare and left the taxi, watching the lights fade into the distance as it disappeared into the approaching darkness of the night. I took a deep breath. Time to face the music.

  The walk to my front door seemed to take forever, perhaps it's because I knew I was headed straight into the gates of hell and beyond. I felt her presence behind me as I turned to close the door.

  "Where the hell have you been?" Mum was furious. Her dark brown eyes flashed with anger as her words cut like knives.

  "I-I went for a walk..." Shit, shit, shit!

  "A walk huh? That walk just so happened to take you right out of the fucking college gates, did it?" She had placed her hands on her hips now, and her perfectly plucked eyebrows were raised expectantly. Who did she think she was? Was she bullied everyday? No. Had she lost her father? No. And had she lost her brother, the only person who understood her, and who she could trust completely? No!

  "Just FUCK OFF, alright? Do you have any idea how completely shit my life is? I have a Mum, who drinks herself to death every night. My Dad is dead because of me and so is my brother!" I screamed, tears falling yet again, my fists clenched tightly.

  "Don't you dare speak to me like that. I am the one who puts food on this table. I am the one who has to go to work everyday and pretend that I'm fine! I lost my husband and my son! And you, you are the only one I have left. But you insist on destroying yourself and destroying our relationship! I love you, you are my baby girl! Please go easy on me!" She pleaded, the mascara running down her makeup coated face, her brown hair falling into her eyes. But I was immune to her pain. She had given me this speech far too many times now for me to care.

  "I wasn't aware your job was being a prostitute Mum, judging by how you make yourself look everyday just to fit in! Mutton dressed as lamb are we? And well, you want me to go easy on you? I'd say that works both ways!" And then I ran up the stairs to my room, locked the door and cried for what felt like hours.

  *Flashback*

  I can't eat or sleep. I want to die.

  Mum is trying to make it better by constantly being around me and asking if I needed anything, when she is just as bad herself. She is suffocating me.

  I keep expecting to see Dad and Michael walk through the door with a few mackerel in the coolbox and carrying their fishing rods, but I will never see them again.

  There is a dull ache in my heart, the ache of loss. Something that hugs from Mum and cups of tea can never stop.

  My Dad, my guide, gone.

  My brother, my bestfriend, also gone.

  I drifted to the bathroom and picked out one of Dad's razor blades. I locked the door and sat on the edge of the bath. I've never felt so low. I didn't hesitate as I glided the blade over the soft, pale skin of my forearm. I didn't flinch as it sank into my flesh. Blood beaded up instantly, but was mysteriously washed away. Only then did I realize that I was crying. What the fuck am I doing?? I ran to the sink to rinse my arm under the cold water, then with my other hand I fumbled around for the first aid kit. When I opened it, I found that there were no bandages left, and that Michael had used them on his leg after a rugby injury.