*Autumn's POV*
I wake up to a blaring siren from the street below me. Living in an apartment in New York City, while being glamorous, is really a big pain in the ass.
I roll out of bed with trouble because I am so tangled in my sheets and hop on the floor, grabbing a plain black t-shirt and throw it on over my previously bare chest.
I then amble over to my dresser and grab my 1950's style glasses and a pack of cigarettes and head outside to my "balcony" which is really just a window ledge that is the perfect size for me to sit on.
I open the window and climb out and onto the ledge. Why I do this I am really not sure. I think it just helps me clear my head. Or maybe I like the thrill of it (I live on the 7th floor of my complex and it would be quite a ways to fall). I light a cigarette and close my eyes, leaning my head back against the bricks of the building, thinking. Just thinking.
I start to get cold and climb back inside, tossing my lighter onto my kitchen counter and head to my "studio". It's really supposed to be the guest room of my apartment but I never invite anyone over so I made it into my studio.
I grab my paints and brushes and set up my easel. Then I paint. Painting helps me let out my feelings. I'm shit at it but it's one thing I actually enjoy doing other than smoking and drinking coffee. I paint for about an hour before my legs start to cramp up. I stand up and stretch, walking backwards to admire my work.
Then I sigh.
I painted him. Again. I can't stop painting him. Him smiling, him crying, him sleeping, him laughing. Him. He was my everything. He still is my everything, although I am not his.
"Him" is also known as Harry, by the way.
Harry Styles. We met at a concert, Arcade Fire to be exact. I was wearing a baggy black t-shirt, black shorts with black tights under them, and chunky black boots. My makeup was minimal except for the heavy black eyeliner.
I like the color black, by the way.
I looked good. I was crazy and wild but also mysterious. My haircut was cute and I looked happy.
Notice I said I looked happy though. Looked is the key word. Was I really as happy as I seemed?
If anyone looked closely they would notice my dark circles from my lack of sleep. They could have noticed that my clothes were baggy as though I got them a size too big and that my bones stuck out unnaturally. They could have noticed my hands covered in burn marks and my nails bitten down to stubs.
But no one ever looked close enough at me to notice. I mean, plenty of people looked at me and spent time with me, but they never really looked.
I was sick and slowly fading and no one could tell. My plan was to disappear. It was working until that night at the concert, when I met Harry. He noticed me. He looked at me. But I scared him.
That killed me.
A.N. No this won't be the typical "sick and sad girl until the boy finds her and saves her and finds her sadness cute and a quirk". This is going to be a realistic story, I promise. Thanks for reading, please favorite and vote! I'll be updating more too! Love love love xxx
