Sincerely, Niall [z.h.] ✔

Wednesday May 8, 2013

Dear Zayn, 

     I had therapy again last Monday. Ms. James wasn't there, though, and I'm extremely grateful. She has a new assistant, someone younger than Ms. James. His name is Liam Payne, and he's really nice. He had me sit down and he just asked me questions about you. What your favorite color is, if you're a good singer, how you woke me up in the morning. I liked it way more than any session with Ms. James because Liam was patient with me when I had to think about some things. 

     I think that you would like him. He's really pretty, but not as pretty as you are. He's got brown hair almost all shaved off, and these really deep brown eyes. I like you're better because they are golden brown, and his were just brown. He's taller than me, but I don't think he's taller than you.

     He began to ask questions about me. What I was feeling. If I've ever cried since you went missing. If I waited for you. If I cuddled onto things that reminded me of you. Then he asked me if I'd ever cut or thought about cutting. The answer to both of those were no, because I've been so preoccupied with your disappearance that it hadn't even crossed my mind. He asked me if I could keep a secret, and I said yes. 

     He rolled up the sleeves to his shirt and I gasped at what I saw. There was a lot of little white lines scared onto his wrists. None of them looked new, thankfully, and he didn't flinch when I touched them, so I figured they didn't hurt anymore. He told me that he cut himself because his father used to hit him and his mother, even raped him once or twice when he got really drunk. It was the only thing that he knew what to do, and now he regrets it. Wishes he never started because it's really hard to stop. 

     After that whole fiasco, our time was pretty much up. Liam said he was going to start joining us on our therapy sessions, and I'm glad because that means Ms. James won't hurt me with him there. Or at least I hope. I went home after that, but not before I got a big hug from Liam. 

     I kept thinking about Liam's scars as I sat and waited for you to come home. And now that he's mentioned it, I really started to think about how much it would hurt-if it would at all. I wondered it I would have the guts to actually do it. So I got up and went to the bathroom, to look for a sharp object. I filed through all of the drawers until I found something really, really sad. It made my heart break, and I ended up passing out on the bathroom floor from crying so hard. 

     There, in the back of the drawer, were two shiny little razor blades, crusted with dried blood. Your blood. Does that mean that you cut yourself and hid the evidence from me? Why would you hurt yourself like that? Did you really think that it would help you with whatever you were dealing with? Did you really choose the blades over coming to me? Or at least Lou or Haz? 

     I woke up with the blades in my hand, blood dripping down my arm because I had squeezed them too tightly and had sliced some of my palm. I wrapped it up and disposed of the weapons, going back to our room to cry some more. 

     That's when I spotted your sweater on the floor, and I remembered Liam asking if I cuddled with anything of yours. I had said no because I didn't have anything to cuddle to. But the sweater was just like in those movies and books where they lose their boyfriends and they cuddle in the oversized sweater. I guess it's more of a hoodie than a sweater, but it doesn't matter. It was yours. 

     I put it on and curled up into bed. The sleeves were really big and my fingers didn't even poke out of the sleeves. It came halfway down my thighs, too, so the pocket rested just below my stomach. It smells just like you, too, and that helped me cry, and cry I did. Everything reminded me of you then. 

     When I fell asleep, I dreamed of you. I could see you standing in front of the mirror with the little silver razor in your hand as you dragged it across your wrist. I could see you crying as the blood caught in droplets under your wrist until it got too heavy and splashed onto the floor. Your eyes were red and bloodshot. Your hair was a mess, and you were pale, almost as pale as me. You started to sway after a few more cuts, clinging tightly to the counter. 

     You closed your eyes and sobs fell from your lips. You were crying out, and it didn't hit me what you said until after I woke up. It didn't hit me until you had collapsed onto the ground, the blade still pressed between your long fingers. It didn't hit me until I was sobbing uncontrollably, still in your sweater. You said you were sorry. 

I love you, Zayn. 

Sincerely, 

Niall