You and Me
- Reads 1,101
- Votes 19
- Parts 18
Tags1directionfanfic
Okay, so listen up. I'm not your typical girl, here. Kay? I don't like make up. I don't like heels or purses. I don't like painting my nails or wearing expensive perfumes. And definitely not into having a relationship any time soon.
I like food. If food were human, we'd be married together. BTW, I love coffee on winter days and ice cream on sunny days. Same with music, rainy days and sunny days are two types of playlists I have on my 4-year old iPod. Its my life, basically. I like to sing. I like to write songs and poems. I like to draw crazy stuff like dragons and shit. I like to play basketball, baseball, soccer, and sometimes tennis. And I know I have flaws.
My parents don't really get along. They fight, dad leaves to wherever. Mom cries in the room, wishing she never met him. This is almost every week, may I add. My little brother and I have to suffer from not having support from our dad as much as from our mom.
Back in America, (now I had to move to London. Dad got a job there.) I barely had friends. My 'boyfriend', Shane, was trying to use me for his pleasure. He was my first 'love' ever. Apparently, he didn't feel the same. I was just another heart he put in his jar. That broke me. Made me feel like that was, and still is, what a boy really wants from you.
So now I shut almost everyone else in my life out, but my parents. I keep my thoughts and feelings on paper, and wait for a miracle to happen.
Well, it did. Kinda.
Five boys and two girls came to the rescue.
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#423
1directionfanfic
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I met him a long time ago. I've known him for most of my life and out of all people, I've mostly spent my time with him, by his side whether it's the line at the tiny coffee shop around the corner, a seat on an airplane or the place that means the most, the dancefloor. We were kids when we shared the stage for the first time, him 14 and I a mere 13-year-old. Back then it all seemed so simple. Somewhere along the line, he found his way into my days. It was easy. He became my best friend, my shoulder to cry on when the weight got too heavy to carry. For the longest time, he was the rock I leaned on, the person I trusted to lift my feet off the ground and bring me back down safely. As we grew older, not much changed. He and I were one on the dancefloor, a united front with a bond we thought would never be broken. I still trusted him to be there when I reached out and to catch me if I fell. Still no bruising, at least not on the outside for the people watching to see. And there were many curious, expectant eyes. Even more voices to cheer us on and offer their input as to who we were, who we should be and who we were made for. I spent countless hours reading the comments made by people from the other side of the world. How we were magic together, how we were our best selves while connected by a song on the floor. How he looked at me and smiled, how he was never that excited to dance with anybody else or the way it showed that he loved me. It's never that simple in real life, behind the curtains of the stage where the eye of the viewer cannot reach. I often wished I could tell them I saw it too. Just reply to the comment that I felt it when he and I played our roles for a scene, once again made up by someone else. I wished I could tell them I felt it when we were alone, too. Because I did. But life has a funny way of working out. And sometimes, it doesn't work out. DISCLAIMER: This is pure fiction about Sean Lew and Kaycee Rice. None of this is real.
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