Wish You Were Here

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Wish you were here

Wish you well

If you only share this hell

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I watched Zayn storm out of the room with fury. My eyes were dripping with tears as Louis and Ronnie directed me out of the room before Harry could say something to make me even more upset. I cried for what had to be hours in an empty room. I felt more shock than pain, but tears come when your brain knows they should. I couldn't help myself. In the room there was just me, Louis, Ronnie, and a couch. I switched from shoulder to shoulder in the quiet room. At this time sound would let me alone. I could zone out and not think about anything. But quiet just makes me focus on the details and the horrid things such as my betrayl to Zayn. Silence sucks. 

Eventuallly I was brought back to the hotel. I was weak and torn and ready to roll over and die. The hotel was the largest suite I had ever known. The walls were painted a bright cream and the counters in the small kitchen glossed in black colored marble. There was even a mini fridge in the kitchen and a stove with no pots. Useless. The furniture and apolstry was white as well as the soft carpet covering a slick dark-wooden floor. The place gleemed with beauty with four doors each leading to a room. The bathroom was on the left as soon as you walked in, and it matched the scheme of the palace. It was more of an apartment than a hotel.

I was astonished as I walked into the room, as I always am, even though I have seen this place many times. Louis had my arm slung over his shoulder as he basically dragged me into the room. I was like a drunk being taken home personnally instead of letting them drive themselves. At this point, I was as sober and naucus as one. It was too dark to tell if someone was watching the running TV or if it was forgotten. He flipped on the switch and left me hanging by the island in the kitchen. Ronnie followed in after me.

"Louis," I breathed. "Louis, is Zayn in there?"

"No," he sighed. "And it's better that way. We don't need any more tears tonight do we, Sunshine?" He pretended to steal my nose, but I turned away and attempted a giggle. He was trying, so I could too. He directed me into the room he and Harry shared. My heart skipped a beat when I gained closer ground. I didn't want to see Harry. He was probably mad at me, and I was too dizzy and painfully numb to comprehend. It was hell to feel this. 

"No! No! No!" I quietly protested. "I can't see Harry."

"Don't worry," Louis edged. "Niall took him out for a drink and some supper. He won't be back until late." He snickered. "He will probably pass out on the couch out there, drunk, when he comes back." He was laughing at this, but, when he saw me with a solemn face, he killed it.

"Well, then. I will leave you ladies to it." He clapped his hands together gently. "Kate, your bags of clothes are right in that corner." He pointed across the room to three tan suitcases stacked one on top of the other. "Good night, ladies." 

The night appeared to drag on longer than the crying had. Ronnie had brought in a tub of Ben&Jerry's and let me go to work while we watched a marathon of Nicholas Sparks' classics. Seeing other people's misery and joy made my life seem a lot simpler. Except when I finally realized that my life sucked more than the screen and that this was real and their stories were figments of an author's imagination. I was my own author here, and I was doing a pretty crappy job at it. 

Watching these movies made me feel like I had only just been through a break-up. I mean, all these movies face a break-up at some point. But in my life it wasn't just a simple we-break-up-and-eventually-get-back-together break-up. This was worse. I was pregnant. Pregnant. And to make matters worse, I had no idea who the father was. I'm sure plently of girls would love to say they were carrying a member of One Direction's babies, but I didn't. Not at this point in life. I was eighteen and had my whole life ahead of me. I had plans. Plans to go to college. Become a teacher. Educate the future. Make a difference in the world. I can't do all that with a baby at eighteen. Espicially not alone.

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