Forgotten (A Niall Horan Fan Fiction)

Chapter 17

Charlie's Pov

I was awakened by the sound of my mother knocking on my door.

"Charlie it's dinner time I brought you a plate." She said as she stepped through the doorway.

"Thanks." I mumbled, taking the plate from her.

"That boy likes you Charlie." She said with a sly grin on her face as she stepped backwards towards the door.

The thought of him makes my heart pound.

"Thats what everyone has been saying." I mutter. Even though on the inside I'm screaming.

"So listen to them. Stop pushing him Boo, let him in." She whispered before walking out and shutting the door behind her. The sound of my nickname from my childhood makes my chest tighten. The thought of letting anyone into my life makes me cringe.

I laid my plate down on the bed and pulled out my phone. 21 new messages, from Niall Horan and 1 from B.

What the fuck?

I opened his messages and read through them.

"Thank you for forgiving me."

"I like you."

"Why aren't you answering"

"Babe"

"Charlie please"

"CHARLIE."

You get the point.

I opened the text from Bridget.

"C I don't know if you have checked instagram in awhile, but you haven't seen Niall's picture you should probably check it out."

Oh shit.

I opened up my instagram and found Niall's name. I clicked on his most recent photo. His arm was wrapped around a beautiful blonde girl. She was kissing his cheek and he was smiling like it was the best thing in the world.

My heart tightened when I saw the comment. Tears rose in my eyes.

"I guess you could say I like her. @mackenzzzzzieebabe" It read. Oh he likes her?

FUCK YOU NIALL.

The anger coursing through me was unnatural, the hate I feel for him is so confusing.

Okay Niall go like her.

Everything that people are saying is wrong. He doesn't like me, he doesn't care about me. Why is he doing this to me.

Fuck him.

I shoved my face back into my pillow. Leaving my uneaten plate on the bedside table. I screamed into the pillow, punching the mattress. My phone buzzed again. Being the idiot that I am, I looked at it.

"I like you." It read. I fucking hate him.

"I hate you." I replied. his response was instant.

"What did I do this time."

"Figure it the fuck out."

"No tell me."

"Fuck you."

"You are stubborn."

"You are retard."

"Why?"

"Nice instagram."

"Fuck."

DID HE REALLY NOT THINK I WAS GOING TO FUCKING SEE IT?

"You 'like' her Niall? Do you fucking really?"

No answer.

I found the picture again, Niall is wearing the same outfit he was wearing last night at the party.

This was from the fucking party.

"Am I supposed to be a secret to you?"

"Not even close."

"Then why do you keep doing this?"

"I dont know."

"Bye."

He makes me feel worthless, like shit, he makes me want to cut again. I went to his instagram and scrolled through his pictures.

Girl after girl.

Every one is beautiful, perfect, model like.

Am I his fucking charity case?

Of course I am, because I am nothing. I am worthless, ugly, and I don't matter.

The razor blade in the shoebox in my bathroom is screaming my name. Calling me with its voice, that sounds exactly like his.

I answered the calls.

My fingers fumbled in the bathroom for the blade. My breathing rough and jagged, his face popped into my mind. I carved a line, once. My breaths were shaky, the pain excruciating.

But it feels good.

Now the outside of my body knows exactly how the inside feels.

I watched the blood trickle down my arm and drip into the sink. I ran my arm under the water, rinsing away the blood, before grabbing a sharpie.

On my wall I scribbled

"It stings in the shower, and the sad part is, you know exactly what I'm talking about."

I face planted into my bedspread. My arm is throbbing. The lights are off, my room is dark. I drift off to sleep, and the last image I see before I go under is the pretty ice eyes mixed with blood red droplets, that just stare at me as I'm slowly slipping away.