One Direction Imagines

Hearts Beat Harder. by Haley (Siall)

As I lie here in my bed, staring at the ceiling fan going around and around like a clock going much faster than time proportions, I can't help but notice the absence of your body next to mine.

Your poster is on the wall next to me. Your face is erupting with joy, just as you would look at me when you were here, and honestly nothing else would matter, not even the fact that you would be gone for such long amounts of time. It never bothered me so as long as I was with you, but right now you aren’t; and that’s what kills me. I've taken down the poster multiple times, it being the reason I cry to sleep most of the time. Although by the time my crying has stopped it's already six in the morning, so it doesn't do me much good. But the thing is, I can't sleep without it because it gives me a glimpse back in time of how happy we were and it's nice to get away for a while, but then I'm harshly shoved back into reality and I find myself withering away with my once bright soul.

Yet here I am, lying on my bed at four in the morning, snuggled up in my blanket because you not being here beside me has caused my insomnia for the past week. You being gone has taken a turn for the worse on me. Maybe this whole relationship wasn't a perfect idea in the first place. I knew I would get too attached from the start, from the first time I saw your eyes in the crowd of people surrounding you, asking if you were /the/ Niall Horan. You said yes. I had to google you later.

Despite the large crowd of girls swooning at the mere sight of you, you still seemed intrigued to see me in the back of the barrier of females. You smiled at me and I gave a shy smile back. My friend was with me and made cooing noises from beside me, but for once I wasn't bothered by her usual antics. All while the girls around you screamed out your name, and you answered by signing autographs on various parts of their bodies that they offered as a mark board, you sculpted a custom made path towards me. My heart was beating faster and faster by the closer sight of those blue eyes that caught my attention in the first place.

I'd never felt that feeling before the same way I did with you, not even with any of my serious relationships between me and one of my earlier boyfriends. It all scared the piss out of me, but I kept acknowledging you anyway. I quickly fell in love, rather than the slow love that usually occurred in my life. This was a dangerously abrupt fall.

I opened my eyes again, not realizing I had closed them. I blinked profusely, trying to get the image of you out of my head. It was like a slide show, of all the times we went out and it was all in a photo booth form of a presentation. The tears began to seep through my eyes and flow onto my warm cheeks. My hand guides it's way to feel where you lips would have been by now if I had been having a bad dream. "It's only a nightmare," you would say, "I'll always be by your side."

The memory of your lies stabbed my insides with a thousand dull knives all breaking their way into heart only to leave a gushed break where the full, loving one had been. You told me you would always be there for me, every night before bed you made sure to tell me you loved me, as you nestled your neck next to mine, forming the perfect pair of puzzle pieces together. If only I had known that it was all a lie and then maybe I wouldn't be so broken right now. This was my nightmare all along.

My eyes droop, exhausted from staying awake for so long. Being shoved back into a dream isn't as great as it might sound. Being thrown from both reality and fantasy is dangerous and can mess with your mentality, the truth can be woven into your lie, then there's no telling when you're really awake or asleep.

Niall sits at the foot of my bed, smiling at me. I reach out to him only to feel the swoosh of the air as I desperately attempt to obtain his grasp. I wake up again- it's morning so I groggily slide out of my bed. My cheeks are damp from crying all night long. The mascara I forgot to remove last night stains the bags under my eyes. I rip my shower curtain open, he stands there with a disapproving look. "You've got to remove your clothes first," he says, shaking his fingers at me and pointing to the nightgown glued onto my body. I shake my head in agreement, stripping of the clothes. "That's more like it," he smirks, leaning in for a peck on the lips.