He Cared (Niall Horan)

Chapter 6

"Hey Aim, over here!" Niall shouted, gaining my attention.

"Coming!"  I tried to walk fast, but my movements were sluggish and awkward.  Nothing's the same anymore.

"Can I ask you some stuff?  Uh, please?"

"It depends, what do you mean?"  I was skeptical to say the least.

"Well, as you know, I'm a pharmacist, I'm usually the cashier, but when I'm handing out people's prescriptions, they sometimes ask me some questions I don't know the answers to, and I have to ask Greg, he's my assistant, and brother, yet he's a bit more medically educated."

"Um, alright then, what would you like to ask me?"

"Well what is it like being depressed?"

Depressed.  How he said that word with such casualty infuriated me.  I am not "depressed." I am mentally scarred.  What do you think it's like to see the remains of your best friend-- YOUR FATHER, all burned up and dead.  Limbs out of place and eyes lifeless and dull.  It permanently digs into your brain and imprints it with such clear quality, that you can never forget it.  And the worst part is, I couldn't tell him how much he meant to me for that last time.  He risked his life for another's in a house fire.  And nobody survived.  So to say that I am "depressed" makes me wonder how such inexperienced people can assume to worst possible things at the worst possible moment.  My mother, who used to love me, kiss me, hug me, comfort me, well that mother I once knew vanished once I lost my dad.  Oh, and on top of all the shit of my family, I'm bullied for no apparent reason.  I'm not depressed.  I am alone and I am lost.  The people at school who are "depressed," posting pictures of their sliced up arms and of mascara streaked faces, they're not depressed they're attention whores who need to appreciate their iPhones and clothes, while I have no electronics and live off of 2 pairs of jeans and 5 shirts.  I don't wear socks with my one pair of sneakers.  I have one set of gym clothes for school.  I joined the lacrosse, dance, soccer, and basketball teams at my school to get the jerseys and shorts, then quit.  I have a 4-pack of Hanes underwear that included 2 "free" bras  that were made for a bust of a 10 year old.  Overall, I'm not depressed, I'm un-cared for and unhappy.   Even if I am "depressed" I'd rather not be in that category, the category where people plead for sympathy on twitter because "they're all alone" because no.

Someone depressed simply does not tell anyone, one who is depressed "smiles" and hides the scars.  They block out what used to be important, and let themselves cry.  Or there's people like me, who just want to die.

Why won't he just let me die?

"Bye Niall."

I'm going to die tonight.

"Fuck you Niall."

Too think this boy even cared about me, huh?!

"You're a sick person."  I narrowed my eyes at  him, he should never forget this.

He's leaning in.  Again.  When I'm vulnerable.  He's trying to kiss me.

"YOU BASTARD, DEPRESSION ISN'T WHAT YOU THINK.  IT'S SOMETHING THAT YOU CAN'T CONTROL, THAT YOU CAN'T AID.  IT'S SOMETHING PEOPLE DON'T LIKE TO TALK ABOUT, SOMETHING THAT SHOULD NEVER BE CASUALLY SPOKEN TO A PERSON WHO HAS BEEN FORMALLY DIAGNOSED WITH IT, YET REFUSES TO TAKE THE DAMN PILLS BECAUSE THEY KNOW IT DOESN'T WORK.  FUCK YOU, DON'T EVEN BOTHER CONTACTNG ME, I KNOW HOW TO BLOCK PHONE NUMBERS."

The tears were streaming...

On both of our faces.

By now all the other boys were in the hallway, witnessing my breakdown.  They're probably all like him, about to snatch me and get in bed with me, because I'm helpless.

"Goodbye boys."

And with that I left, and no one chased after me.  Although in the back of my head, I knew I was itching for Niall to beg me for forgiveness.

But my assumptions about him were always wrong.

I'm a poor, depressed girl, and that's all.

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HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII YAY ITS'S SUPER LONG TODAY HOLLA

DRAMATIC MUCH I THINK YES

OKAY BYE -LILY