Letters To Harry

1- Letters To Harry

"HARRY!"

I was jerked out of my sleep by the harsh sound of the voice belonging to none other than my best friend and bandmate, Louis Tomlinson. Lovely way to start off a Sunday at....6am. Great, now he was officially dead.

"The fuck Lou?! Do you know what time it is??" I groaned, hoping I was loud enough for him to hear me.

"GET YOUR SORRY ARSE OUTTA BED AND DOWNSTAIRS THIS INSTANT OR I'M EATING ALL THE PIZZA!!"

Guess not. But no way was I gonna let him eat all the pizza! It may sound odd, but eating cold pizza slices with our tea in the morning was a sort of Sunday ritual we'd developed after the 'Take Me Home' tour. There had been so little time to cook on the tour, and although the stylists were amazing, the best thing Lou could make was cereal, and even that usually ended up soggy! Paul...don't get me started on Paul's cooking.

"Fine" I admit defeat so easily.

Pulling on my favorite robe (a green one that Liam bought me for Christmas last year) as I didn't know whether or not there was company who wanted to see my, erm, choice (or non-choice, I guess) of pajamas. Well, not everyone wants to see a naked Harry Styles, even if our girls think so!

When I arrived in the kitchen, Louis was seated on a chair, already stuffing his face with cold pepperoni and cheese, What wonderful manners that boy has!

I was sure to give him my best death glare before taking a seat. It was met with a glorious smile on his part. God, why is it so hard to stay mad at him?

Upon examining the table more closely, I realized it was covered in our weekly packages of fanmail. Yay! This was something I actually really enjoyed doing, reading what the girls had to say to us.

"You wanna eat first then open them up? Eat while we open them up? Or we could open them up and then eat...that won't actually work for me..." Louis smiled sheepishly, while putting another piece of pizza (this time pineapple) in his mouth.

"I guess we can eat while we're looking through them" I answered him, picking up the package marked Harry Styles in one hand and a piece of pizza in the other.

"Sounds good!" Louis hopped off the chair and made his way over to the living room couch to sit next to me. We took u our usual positions ; me on the end with my legs on the table (if Simon saw that he would have had a fit, he payed for that table) and Louis lying down on top of me and basically taking over the rest of the couch.

For the next hour and a half, we basically just ate 3 pizzas (mostly Louis, I only had 1) and read fan mail. Things got a bit silly when we opened corresponding packages with candy-cane and chocolate scented hand lotion and had a mini-war spraying each other until we both smelled like a Christmas sweets basket. Have to remember and thank whoever sent those with a follow on Twitter...

Finally, I was on my last bit of mail. It was an envelope, very thin. Probably only enough room for a note or a letter. I settled down comfortably to read it.

Dear Harry,

I can't wait until I can see you! I know we've never met, I am quite painfully aware of that, but maybe in Toronto this July...well anyways. I thought I'd write you about some stuff that's happening. I don't really know if this can work or not, but writing you letters you'll probably never read is sort of my best option right now. It's really hard, I just need to let it out to someone.

I'm waiting for the right opportunity. For the moment someone slips up and tells me exactly how I can end it all. I don't know why I feel like this, so many people are in situations so much worse than I am, and I feel so awful for wanting what I do. Did you know that I cut? Of course not, you don't know me. I still cut. Usually once or twice a week, sometimes much more, sometimes less. I'm happy for awhile, then it all catches up to me and the only way to distract myself is to self-harm.

I'm sometimes ashamed to listen to your music, hear your beautiful voice, look at your stunning face. I think of how, in my imagination, you would be so disappointed in me. I don't want that, but I can't stop. Since I started cutting (this past July), I haven't gone longer than 3 or 4 weeks without slicing my wrists open with a razor blade, and that was when I was away with no way to do it.

In the past year, mostly over the summer, I can't even count how many times I have wanted to kill myself. I think of how easy it would be. Just a rope, a bottle of pills, a sharpened knife. I can't believe I've become this girl. If you can believe it, a few years ago I was happy enough. I was a model student, and a good daughter. Now I'm disappointing everyone.

I failed my test because the night before I took it I could only sleep for a couple of hours because of the pain and the guilt. When I was told that I failed, that gave me another sleepless and painful night. I may also be in love with my best friend. I have never been this close to any of my friends before, so I don't know. But I tell everyone how I'm not EMO, I'm not BISEXUAL, I'm not suffering from DEPRESSION, that EVERYTHING IS FINE. Know what? That's the biggest lie. And I tell it every day. To everyone who asks.

I'm not sure why. And I tell everyone how in love I am with you, but maybe that's only because I know I have no chance with you. So I have no chance of having my heart broken again. Like it is whenever I have feelings for someone. The first boy to tell me he loves me was also the first boy who ever cheated on me. I walked in on him kissing my BEST FRIEND 2 months later. He never even had the courtesy to tell me it was over. My first heartbreak at age 13. Fun, right?

Sometimes, when a teacher or friend or my brother/sister/parents are giving me a hard time, I want to say "You know what? I fucking have feelings! Do you even have any idea how emotionally screwed up I am?! I fucking cut myself so that I can get away from all this pain and focus on that pain! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOUR ARE PUTTING ME THROUGH!" I want to tell them to fuck off, to tell them they're assholes, that I hate them, but I know I can't.

For some reason, people see me as this impenetrable wall, but that is so not me. I talk to posters, kiss pictures and write letters that I probably won't ever send. Ever. I steal my dad's razors and stain the towels red with blood. I have a "Stay Strong<3" playlist on my iPod. Yeah, I fucking get mocked for it, but NOONE I know face-to-face understands what hell I am going through Harry. I told my brother. I told him everything because he said I could trust him. What did he do? Fucking BLACKMAILED me!

I'm sorry, I know you hate swearing. I just needed to get it off my chest. Gotta stop writing now, I have to get some sleep. I'm sorry. Thanks for listening Harry, I love you<3

~Alannaxoxoxox