Just Like Any Other Day (Larry Stylinson Short Story) - DISCONTINUED

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I awake slowly, creeping out of the blanket of sleep. My thoughts are fuzzy around the edges and I don't dare open my eyes. I wriggle deeper into the warmth of the bed, curling in a ball. Sleep tries to lure me back in but its efforts are futile. No matter how hard I try, I'm unable to slip back into the depths of darkness. So I open my eyes.

A white ceiling. Cream walls. A perfectly square room. Two windows on the wall to my left, a table to my immediate right and a desk further on. In front of me, a set of doors indicating a wardrobe. Another door in the corner, probably to a hallway of some sort.

Something is off...

Suddenly wide awake, I jerk straight up in the bed. Where am I? My heart turns cold at my next thought... Who am I?

I almost scream at the scary realisation that my mind has been somehow wiped, when something catches my eye. There, on the bedside table. A bright yellow sticky note is taped to a red leather book. I pick up the book, feeling as if it has some importance.

'Read me! Urgent!' someone has scrawled across the sticky note. Frowning, I tear off the small bit of yellow paper and look at the book. It is about the size of your average journal. The cover is just plain red leather. No, not red, more... maroon. I open it to see lined pages that someone has filled with what looks to be their whole life story. It's the same handwriting that was on the sticky note.

Your name is Louis William Tomlinson. You are 21 years old. You live in London, England...

No, not their life story, I realise.

Mine.

I read on. The book describes practically my whole life. Some patches that seem more personal, like my life at home, what I was like at school and relationships to family members, are in a different handwriting that is marked 'written by Mum'. I learn about my family, my old school, my friends. As I read, I start to remember some of these things. My mum; Jay, short for Johanna. My sisters; Charlotte, or Lottie, Felecite, AKA Fizz, and the twins, Daisy and Phoebe. My dad, who split up with my mum when I was 19. My best friend; Stan Lucas.

Then something shocks me. Something which I definitely do not remember.

At 18, I auditioned for the X Factor. I got through to the boot camp but was eliminated there... Before put into a band with four other lads. Harry Styles, Niall Horan, Liam Payne and Zayn Malik. The funny thing is that while the first part of this book made sense to me, I can't pin down these four names to faces at all.

After explaining my experience on the X Factor - where the band, named One Direction, placed 3rd in the competition but still became massively famous - and the tours we've had together as a band, it goes on to list all of my favourite things.

Your favourite colour: red

Your favourite food: carrots

Your favourite song...

And on and on. Whoever wrote this obviously put a lot of time and effort into it.

Then, right near the end, it says;

You may be asking why you don't remember all this. Well, some days you do remember but just need a little help from this book. Some days you don't remember at all and just draw a complete blank. But on the days you do remember, why didn't you remember these things without having to read about them? 

Well, on March 3 earlier this year, you went out for a drive. You'd just had a fight with someone close to you and you needed to let off steam. You just drove around, doing nothing much, when out of nowhere a car hit yours. The driver, who was drunk and sped through a red light, didn't make it.

You, however, were in a coma for almost two weeks. The doctors didn't know how extensive the damage was inside your head - they couldn't know - until you woke up. And when you did eventually wake up, you couldn't remember a thing. At least, not at first. 

They told you your name and you remembered it. You didn't know your mum until she held your hand and explained who she was, but then you remembered her. Most other things you just didn't understand. You didn't even recognise the one who you'd had a fight with the night of the crash, the last person you'd seen, the person who'd sat by your side for the whole time you were in a coma. 

As the day went on, you came to terms with everything. You didn't remember it all, but you accepted it. They thought you'd be alright... Until the next day, when you couldn't remember everything all over again. 

So now every day when you wake up, your mind has been wiped. There is no other sustaining damage from the crash except for your memory loss. 

Most days when you are told about this, you cry. I'm so sorry if you're crying now.

I hadn't noticed the hot, wet tears spilling down my cheeks until then. 

I was in a car crash? And now every day I wake up and have to learn my whole life again? I want more information, but that's where it ends. At least, where my life story ends.

From: Harry Styles, fellow band mate.

And then it goes on to describe Harry to me. I had noticed that while describing the other members of One Direction, it said nothing on Harry. But I suppose that because he'd gone to all the trouble of writing this for me, he had a right to save himself for last or whatever. It also has a list of Harry's favourite things. But it's not until I read the very last paragraph that I fully understand why he would go to so much effort to write this all out for me.

My relationship with you: Well, you know that I'm your band-mate. And you've possibly figured that we're best friends... But it's more than that... I'm your boyfriend.