I Write Sins Not Tragedies

Hi, I'm Lindsay. I'm twenty. I was adopted at age two. I like to do all the stuff normal girls do for fun. But my job isn't exactly normal... I'm an assassin. I've been one since I was twelve. So, yes, I'm an experienced killer. My next target: Louis Tomlinson.


7. Guilt

We got to their flat and we sat down on the couch. Moments later my phone rang. "Sorry guys, I gotta take this," I said walking into the kitchen. "Yello?" I said into the phone. "Hi Lindsay. I was wondering if the mission was going alright?" "It's fine. I'm at his flat, so I gotta go." "Okay. Goodluck." He said and hung up.

I walked back in and they asked me who it was. "Oh it was my friend... Eleanor," I say, using the first name that came to mind. Louis ran out of the room, crying, I stood there confuse, and the others sigh as if this happens a lot and they wish I didn't say that. They just sat there though. They didn't go after him. As if reading my mind, Liam said, "His ex was named Eleanor." "Was?" "She died about two months ago. Lou was going to propose to her, but he never got the chance. Whenever something reminds him of her, which happens a lot, there are water works. He shuts everyone out."

"Oh I'm sorry. I think I can change that though," I say walking to Lou's room. I knock on the door. No answer. Big surprise! I open the door anyway and see he's in a ball on the bed looking at his phone. "Louis. Do you want to talk about her?" I asked. No reply. "Louis. If you keep locking everyone out, it'll only get worse. Friends are here to build you up. That's why the other lads are here. That's why I'm here. Would she really want you to be like this? Locking everyone out of your life? If she loved you, she wouldn't. And by the looks of it, you love her."No response. I took the phone out of his hands. I saw a picture of her, and I was in horror. "Louis is that you girlfriend? Oh I'm sorry, was she?" He nodded, finally acknowledging my existence. "I'm sorry Lou," I whispered and ran out the room, out the door, and didn't stop. I just kept running. I couldn't stop thinking of the guilt. That is, until I blacked out.
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