Dear Niall,
July 20
I didn't mean what I said about hating you.
I hate what you did. I hate that I'm alive. I hate that they moved me to some nuthouse today. I don't hate you though.
You know, Louis didn't even try to visit me. He made no attempt to call my dad.
Louis doesn't love me. He never did, and I'm slowly starting to accept that. It's okay, I think, to stop loving someone.
I didn't stop loving you, though, okay? Even if I'm alive because of you, even if I'm stuck in this damn ward because of you, I still love you. You're my best friend, okay?
Love,
Elle
Dear Elle,
July 20
You're alive. You're alive and you're alive and you're alive.
You probably hate me, I know. I know you're furious but please, Elle, try to understand. Try to look at this situation from my point of view. Just try.
I was scared, and I was beyond panicked when I found you. But when the doctors told me that you were going to be fine, you can't even imagine the relief that washed over me. I felt like I could breath again, just knowing that you could, too.
I went to the hospital to visit you. You wouldn't let me in, but through the window I could see you. You were asleep, and your blond hair was matted to your head with sweat and you had massive dark circles under your eyes, but you still looked beautiful.
I'm not allowed to see you again until they let you out of Riverstone. Remember when we were kids and every time we passed that place we'd laugh and call it 'psychoville'? I take it back.
I can't wait for them to let you out. I just need to see you. I need to talk to you. I have a lot to tell you.
Love,
Niall
