Hi all!
I'm so sorry about the mini hiatus! I've been doing some prep for school so I got a little busy. To make up for it, I am publishing two chapters today!
Also, after chapter 40, there are only ten chapters left, so this story is quickly coming to an end. Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy these updates!
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The bowl of cereal I ate—barely minutes ago—clearly was not enough. The sound of my stomach growling alerts me to this as well as the emptiness I feel.
I'm still hungry.
Getting up from my spot on my couch, I practically crawl to the kitchen in search of food. The shelves are far from empty, and the fridge is fully stocked. The problem, however, is my lack of energy to make anything that requires me to stand for more than a minute or two. This morning, I woke up completely fatigued, my bones and muscles aching and weakened as if I had just come off a three-month tour or a week of rehearsal the night before. While I hadn't been doing any of the sort, I did try a new workout yesterday, which more than explains the tiredness.
The exercises were too hard, and I barely made it to the end of the session, but I did finish. Afterward, I went straight to bed, not bothering to change or anything.
I was that tired.
Usually, after a rehearsal, I come home and take care of myself. I make sure to hydrate, stretch, and shower to prevent something like this from happening. Clearly, choosing to forego that routine was a mistake, and I am now paying for it. Due to this venture, properly feeding myself has become impossible, as I can't stand for too long without wanting to drop to the floor. I did take a few painkillers, though, and am now waiting for them to settle in.
I need it to work soon.
In an attempt to take my mind off of the pain surging through my body and take care of my persisting hunger, I drag a chair into the kitchen and place it in front of the cabinet. I sort through the food in there and find a few snacks that should appease my appetite. Too sore to move, I remain in my spot to finish the pseudo meal.
Never again, I think to myself, giving up on the whole workout thing.
It's just not for me.
Once I'm done with my food, I make my way to the couch, realizing the painkillers have begun to work. More relaxed now, I am able to enjoy these few, pain-free moments while they last. I turn on the tv, hoping that something interesting is on. After minutes of flicking through the many channels and even opening some of my tv apps, I find that there's nothing to watch. I trade my remote in for my phone and scroll through my notifications instead.
There are a lot of random ones from the fans, but a huge bulk of my notifications from both Twitter and Instagram seem to be directed at Perrie. From a quick scroll, I see a lot of angry messages. Initially, I decide to let it be and not explore it any further. However, my nagging curiosity convinces me otherwise. Opening twitter first, I find the reason for the overflow of messages: Zayn left One Direction. The fans, per usual, have taken to social media to blame Perrie for his actions, which is completely irrational and farfetched. The comments are absolutely disgusting, and there are even some threats on her life.
This is so fucked up.
I continue to read through the different tweets and even check out what's plastered across our Instagram comments. I'm absolutely appalled at what I see but I cannot say I'm surprised, unfortunately; attacking Perrie whenever something goes wrong has been a hobby of theirs, especially as of late. I hate how desensitized they become—how malicious their words get.
