More Than This (One Direction)

Chapter 1:

Chapter 1

-Nell-

 I lean against the old, brick wall letting a stream of tears rush down my cheeks. I collapse to the ground, resting my head on my knees and sobbing into my faded jeans.

“She was in an accident…”

I cry harder, trying to force out all my sad thoughts as the conversation comes back into my head, like a terrible nightmare.

“…we couldn’t get her to the hospital in time…”

I squeeze my eyes shut and clamp my fists into tight knots.

“…she’s gone…”

I cry harder.

I cry because I’m a miserable excuse for a daughter.

I cry because it’s not fair.

But most of all, I cry because I miss her.

“Nell?”

I look up, wiping my eyes.

A pair of dark blue eyes and a mess of brown hair stands above me.

“Nell…I-I’m so sorry,” he says, pausing before sitting down next to me.

I wipe my eyes again and lean my head up against the hard, brick wall.

“Nell? You know you still have your brother? He’ll take care of you,” he says quietly, putting a hand through his hair.

I swallow, letting a single tear slide down my face, rolling down my tear stained cheek.

“If you need time—“

“Why should I need time?” I demand furiously.

He sighs.

“Well, if you do…”

“I don’t.”

He looks at me for awhile.

I stare straight forward, looking at the other side of the wall, feeling as if they were coming closer and closer.

“Were is he? Still on tour I suppose,” I say half-heartedly.

He nods his head slowly.

“He booked a ticket for you to fly to London next week,” he says, taking in a deep breath.

I nod my head numbly.

“I can help you pack your bags if you want?” he says, attempting a smile.

I shake my head.

“I don’t want to go,” I say, wiping my eyes again and sniffling.

“I tried to tell him that, but he can’t leave the boys and you have no were else to go.”

“What about you? Can’t I stay with you?”

“I suggested that too…he said he wanted you with him…”

I let out another breath.

“Why couldn’t I talk to him?”

"Well, you could have but you kind of ran off…”

I groan inwardly and put my head in my hands.

“What day next week?” I ask weakly.

“Friday, you have a 1 am flight and you land in London at 9,” he says, rubbing his temples. I look over at him.

He has dark circles under his eyes and he looks awful.

“How are you?” I ask, leaning onto his shoulder.