One Direction Preferences

#51 Death of a Child

#51 Death of a Child

WARNING- HARRYS HAS SUICIDE...DONT READ IF YOU FIND THIS STUFF QUITE EMOTIONAL!!

Niall:

He got the news while he was onstage. One of their security guards pulled him over to the edge of the stage and whispered to him. Immediately he ran offstage, leaving all of the stadium wondering why he'd done that, but the boys continued on with the show. He rushed straight to the airport, boarded the first flight back home and then directly to the hospital. When he walked into the room you were still sitting beside the bed, tears pouring down your cheeks and the tightest grip you'd ever had on anything was on your baby girl's hand. Niall broke, he cracked, like a dam wall shattering, all of his tears came flooding out and he dropped down onto his knees beside the bed, holding onto you and her and he was praying to Almighty God not to take his baby girl away from him. She was six years old, there was so much he hadn't been able to do with her yet. But there was really no hope and a few hours later she left, she didn't wake up, she didn't say goodbye. He didn't get to see her smile, her eyes, hear her laugh or talk or anything, not even one last time.

Liam:

You never thought it would happen to you. You'd always seen the news stories or read it in the paper or wherever, but you never believed that something like this could happen to you. It was shortly after midnight and there was a knock on the front door; you and Li were still awake, sitting on the sofa waiting for your son to get home from his first date with this new girl. Liam answered it and all you could hear was the indistinguishable murmur of voices. Then they stopped for a moment and you could hear the crackling sound of a police radio. Heart beating harder, mind jumping from possibility to possibility, you stood up and walked over to the front door. An officer stood there, a grim look on his face as Liam was crumpled against the door, his hands gripping the door handle. "What's wrong? What's happened?" "Mrs. Payne, there's been an accident involving your son. We're sorry, he didn't make it." Was there any air in the house? Why couldn't you breathe? Your vision began fading to black, your body getting warmer and warmer, until the floor was rising up to greet you.

Louis:

"Daddy, where's sissy?" Two days and still you hadn't left the bed since hearing the news. "Where's mummy?" Louis was the one that had been taking care of the four year old twins and your thirteen year old son. "Mummy's not feeling well." He explained in the kitchen, preparing their lunches for the day. "But where's sissy, I wanna play with her!" You rolled over, burying your face in the pillow, trying to drown out the sound of their voices, reminding you of the fact that your fifteen year old daughter had run away from home four days ago just to be found... dead two days ago. "You - you can't play with her anymore, love. She, uh, why don't you three go get ready for school? Then walk to school. Your old enough now to be able to get you three to school now, right, son?" "Yeah, Dad." You heard his voice quietly agree as he led the other two upstairs to their rooms. The soft creak of the door opening and shutting made you open your eyes to see Louis coming towards you, his eyes still a little puffy and welling up with more tears. He slid under the covers as well, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tight as your heart rose to your throat and your grief poured out of your eyes.

Zayn:

Standing tall and brave at the funeral was probably the hardest thing that he had to do. He kept his arm wrapped tight around you as you sobbed into his shoulder the entire time, and your other son stood on your other side, trying his best to look strong, but he was struggling to hold in the tears. Zayn knew that all of the cameras were on you all and he couldn't believe that they wouldn't respect his privacy just this once. "It should've been me. He still had so much of his life left. He was so talented." You kept repeating into Zayn's shoulder. Finally it was over and you were all back home. You found him sitting in the empty bedroom, still filled with his possessions and memories, but devoid of him now. He was sat on the bed, clasping one of your older son's favorite shirts to his chest. "He's gone, Y/N. What are we going to do now?" You sat beside him, and rested your head on his shoulder, "All that we can do. We'll be strong and honor his memory. He's in a good place now, Zayn, but we still have another son to look after and he needs us too. We lost a son, but he lost a brother."

Harry:

As a parent, you and Harry had always thought that you were doing alright. You gave your teenagers the freedom they needed, but enough restrictions to keep them from doing whatever they wanted. You thought you knew them pretty well. You had a twenty year old daughter, seventeen year old son, and then a fifteen year old daughter. They would all talk to you, tell you about their day, the drama that had happened at school. At least that's what you always thought. Your eldest thought, she'd moved out to go live at her university, but she still kept in touch although she left out the stories about her and her friends doing drugs and sleeping with someone new every night. Your youngest daughter normally was out with her friends until seven o'clock each night of the week and then on the weekends she was barely home. But your son, he was usually shut into his room, straight home from school, he would tell you about the tests he'd suffered through that day and his friend so-and-so had told him a funny joke. In your mind there was nothing wrong with any of that, Harry saw nothing wrong either when he was home. Little did any of you know that you were beyond wrong. You and Harry came home from work one day at the same time which was odd in itself, but when you walked inside, there was something different about the place. You couldn't quite pinpoint what it was, but there was something. Harry had the same reaction as you and he began walking around from room to room, so you followed. Finally you reached your sons room to find a piece of folded paper taped to the door. "Mum and Dad" it read. Your heart stopped and Harry's hand shook as he reached out and took it from the door, unfolding it slowly. I'm sorry. "No." You choked on the word and pushed at the door. "No. Open the door! Right now open it now!" You were choking on tears and hopes that you were wrong, but when Harry finally got the door open you stopped. The tears your voice your heart your life. Everything stopped except for the swaying and the bile rising up your throat. No.You were on your knees as Harry rushed inside, quickly working to untie the rope, to get your son's body down from the ceiling fan, to try and save what was already gone. You didn't find it then, but a couple weeks later after the funeral. You were all moving out, you couldn't stay in the house anymore. All that was left to pack up was his room. Harry, ever-strong beside you, gripped your hand and kiss your forehead as you worked up the courage to sort through everything. But there on his desk, amid the scribbled drawings that had once made you think he would be an artist, there was the note. Jagged, dark letters, splotched here and there by tears, your son's voice rang out in your mind, telling you all of these things at last that he'd felt was necessary to keep quiet. The fact that he'd been bullied for years, that there were voices in his head and outside of it, all telling him to kill himself, he'd been fighting it for years, contemplating how and where and when to do it. That day had been the thing. The final thing to push him forward, onto his own knife, off the cliff, into the rope.