The Price of Love - NIAM [IN EDITING]

The Price of Love // Almost all of the letters.

PROCEED WITH CAUTION, this story is not edited, and is overall pretty much just a wreck. I am working on fixing it and it will be done as soon as possible (:

17 December, 2011

Dear Mom,

I've decided to ignore the fact that you are dead. I'm going to write to you as if you've merely gone away on a business trip or something. Nothing more, nothing less. 

You see, this is the journal you bought me back in 2008, a week and three days before you were diagnosed. (I've been keeping track).

I'm not really sure what to say now. I guess I'll just be telling you about my life, and venting my feelings perhaps. I wish I could talk to you one more time, but this is probably the closest I'll ever get to that.

          Love, 

               Niall Horan

P.S. I miss you. So does dad. He has to work double shifts just to support us. I haven't heard from Greg in two months, but I'm sure he misses you too.

-

3 January, 2012

Dear Mom, 

Today was my first day back to school after Christmas break, and I was both delighted and forlorn to be on campus. I was excited because I could finally see Harry, my best friend, but I was scared because I would also have to see Liam, Louis, and Zayn, the ones who make everyone—including myself—hate me. 

I am used to it, of course. Not a day goes by without a harsh word of disgust being thrown at me. I am typically not bullied in a physical way, aside from a few shoves to the locker or something like that, but words still sting.

I had stood at the school's bus stop as I waited for Harry to arrive. The cold winter air nipped at my exposed skin but I didn't really mind. I quite enjoyed seeing puffs of air in front of my face, and the way people's nose and cheeks got cherry red. Is that weird?

Anyways, because I was lost in my strange thoughts, I barely noticed a pair of hands snake their way around my eyes. I had flinched on instinct, but the familiar minty waft of Harry drifted past my nose and I knew there was nothing to be afraid of.

"What are you doing?" I questioned him.  

"I made you a little something over the break," Harry had said, a giggle in his voice. When he took his large hands (another keen observation of mine. It's amazing how much stuff he can hold at once) off my face I turned around.

I immediately noticed a flower crown full of pale yellow petals resting on his cinnamon curls. "Is that what you made me?" I asked. 

"Yep! Here," he had paused to take the crown off his head and set it on mine, "you look much better in it than I do."

"I can't wear this, Harry!" I exclaimed, knowing how many people would make fun of me. I wanted to wear it because it brought a smile to Harry's face, but I don't think I'd be able to stand the negative criticism that was sure to come. 

"Oh.. Okay. I understand." Harry took the crown of flowers off my head and stuffed it into his book bag. A frown tugged at his lips and all his felicity was gone in a matter of seconds. 

"It's not that I don't like it.." I said, in an attempt to console him.

"Yeah, yeah. I understand. It's totally cool man," he had said. But I knew that I fucked up.

I hadn't been convinced that he was okay, but I dismissed the thought for later. The school bus came to a stop only a few feet in front of us and I had no time to ponder about it.