(The attachment is who I picture as Kayla, it's Amber Heard -- SHE'S A GOddeSS ).
"I just want you to know how much your music has inspired and changed me as a person, I know you probably get this a lot but it's one more of the thousands of fans that love you, yours sincerely, Olivia." I read the handwritten letter out to my best friend, Kayla.
"It's too basic" she grimaces, shrugging her shoulders whilst playing with the dry ends of her blonde hair.
"You're right" I nod before rolling my eyes and scrunching the paper up.
"The guys get that stuff all the time, if you want to catch their attention you need to do something different" she explains, flicking her eyes up to me whilst she nonchalantly gives me advice.
"But the concert is tomorrow night, I don't have much time for an extravaganza" I groan.
Kayla chuckles in response and shakes her head.
"What are you wearing for the concert?" I ask her.
"A white top, my leather jacket and those ripped black jeans I have, the ones that are exactly the same as yours" she smirks.
"You mean the ripped black jeans that you stole from me" I correct her with a grin.
"Yep" she smiles and I shake my head before spinning around in my wheelie desk chair to face my wardrobe.
"What should I wear?" I ponder.
"Certainly not your ripped black jeans" I hear Kayla's voice from behind me.
I giggle before standing up and opening my oak wardrobe door. My wardrobe greets me with a burst of dull colour, blacks, whites and greys. I let out a discontent sigh.
''What's wrong with you?'' Kayla asks me with no concern in her voice at all.
''Remember when we were younger and we used to dress up in floral print clothes and not give a damn in the world? Regardless of how ugly the clothes were?'' I flashback to when I was a young child in that hideous dress of red and pink shrubbery.
''No, I don't, because I had great style even as an annoying child'' I hear Kayla boast before turning round to face her. She is looking down at her freshly manicured nails and I roll my eyes yet again.
''Nevermind'' I smile before turning back round to look at what to wear.
''Here, move out of my way'' Kayla hops off of my bed with a creak and pushes me out of the way of my wardrobe. She rummages through my clothing and I feel violated.
''Yep, perfect'' She pulls out three articles of clothing and gently folds them over my desk chair.
''Now you're ready for the concert, I've got the tickets, you've got the car'' She continues, her tone laced with authority. She flicks her wrist over and scans her eyes onto the leather watch strapped around her arm.
''Shit, got to go, Olive'' Kayla yanks her tassled leather bag from my floor and slings it onto her shoulder before stamping over to my bedroom door.
''Okay, see you tomorrow'' I sigh, thankful that I managed to fit a word in edgeways beside the hurricane that is Kayla.
''Get some goodnight's sleep'' She states, opening my door and stepping out of the doorway. I nod. Kayla stops in the doorway and turns round to face me, her expression serious, ''Oh, and, Olivia, don't bother writing a letter to the boys, you're nineteen years old, get a grip'' She bluntly states before smiling and shutting the door.
I feel my face turn red as I hear the familiar click of Kayla's boots stomp down my stairs. She's right. I mean, a letter? Pathetic. Pathetic. I walk over to my bed and sit myself down onto the soft duvet. When I hear the slam of my front door, I let out a frustrated scream and throw the scrunched up letter across the room.
I guess I just wanted to show how much I appreciated how much this band has changed me as a person, but I suppose it was a tedious move.
I remember watching them on The X Factor when I was 14 years old, right from when they got through, to when they were formed. I cheered as they climbed to the top, I mourned when Zayn left. They were a huge portion of my childhood, and tomorrow night, I finally get to see them live, in the flesh.
My mother and father always tell me that I'm childish, and that I need to get over my 'obsession', but how can I when these five boys have pulled me through my teenage years and out into my adulthood? It wouldn't make sense if I didn't support them back.
I lay back onto my bed and close my eyes. The soft ripple of the wind shudders outside my window and all I am thinking about in my mind is the sound of my favourite band, One Direction.
''One Direction!'' It's great to finally see you, live, in the flesh'' The interviewer over-excitedly states.
''Ah, well it's great to be here'' Louis replies to him, nodding his head acknowledgingly. The interviewer lets out a cheesy laugh.
''How's the tour, boys?'' He asks, flicking his eyes over to each and every one of us. Liam speaks.
''It's been actually really great so far, every place we've been to have been so welcoming and we are never bored of the faces of our fans'' He smiles. It's true, we do never get bored, at least, I don't. I love what we do, every hour of every day is more golden memories.
''Speaking of the faces of your fans, Harry, would you ever date a fan?'' The interviewer pops and suddenly the large microphone is in my face. I scoff and look over to the other boys, they don't look shocked. Neither do I. I'm used to this. Being labelled as the 'heartthrob', the 'player', the 'loverboy', which I'm most definitely not. The boys get sick of it, and so do I.
I sigh and act like nothing was said.
''Funny you should say that,'' I start, catching my eye on the interviewers', ''Our new album is promoting really well, in fact, almost too well, it's really great what our fans do for us'' I completely blank his question and offer a polite smile. I never learn. Just when I think that this guy genuinely cares about how it's going for us, he throws in a question to feed the beast that is the media.
''Um, good, good'' He looks taken aback and withdraws his confidence from me. He faces his microphone to Niall and all of the rest of the questions blur off as I focus into space.
''Would you ever date a fan?'' I mean, what kind of question even is that?
I don't even know the answer.
All I know is that I want this interview to end so I can get back to the hotel and get back to bed.
Goodness knows I deserve it.