How To Love (a Niall Horan fanfiction)

Julia is 16 years old. She lives with her abusive dad in a small appartement in London. Her mom died together with her brother in a plane crash on their way home and her dad changed. He started hitting her and calling her names. Horrible names.

When Julia meets Niall he sees her bruises and does everything to help her. But she's not used to being loved anymore and doesn't dare to love him back. Niall tries to show her how it feels to be loved. But Julia is afraid her dad will come back and what he'll do to her.

What happens when Niall wants her to feel love, but the only thing she's able to feel is fear?

WARNINGS: Strong language, sexual content (later in the story), violence

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1. "Tell me,"

-- Julia's POV --

I winced as he hit me again. "It's all your fault! She's gone! Because of you you stupid, idiotic bitch!" he screamed as his fist collided roughly with my cheek. The tears were streaming down my face continuously and I hoped he'd stop before I'd never wake up again. To my luck the phone ringed just as he was about to punch me again. He lowered his fist and turned around harshly before walking away with heavy steps.

I sighed and brought my hand up to meet my swollen cheek. The pain rushed through half of my face and I breathed out harshly. Standing up I walked to my bathroom. What the mirror showed me made me loose my breath. My arms were bruised such as most of my face. My lower lip was bleeding and the thick, red liquid were dripping to the floor.

I grabbed the nearest towel and poured cold water on it. I watched the water spread through the fabric for a few seconds before I pressed it against my skin. The pain was indescribable. I let out a cry but continued to wipe the blood away. When I was done I put a bandaid over the cut and walked out of the bathroom.

My dad wasn't there which made me let a breath of relief fall from my lips. I laid down on my bed and closed my eyes. The only thing I could really wish for was to get to go to school. My dad didn't let me. Since my mother died I had to quit school. No one asked for me. I didn't have any friends so it's quite obvious. 

-- The next morning --
When I woke up my head was pounding. Not like a headache. Well, sort of, but on the outside. Standing up I walked into the bathroom again. The bruises was clearer. Blue, purple, green, yellow. It looked horrible. I pulled off the bandaid and saw that the cut was much better.

I walked back to my wardrobe and pulled put a pair of skinny jeans and a long-sleeved sweatshirt. I dressed myself and covered the bruises with makeup so no one would say anything. After making the rest of my makeup I put my lightbrown curly hair into a high ponytail and sliped a pair of uggs on.

When I walked down I noticed my dad wasn't there. I sighed in relief and hurried out of the house with my key and phone. The walk to the library was only 15 minutes so I could manage it. And it wasn't cold. At least I didn't feel cold with my sweater and hoodie. 

When I came to the library I walked straight in, took a random book and walked towards the sofa. While I walked I read the backside of the book, which wasn't the best idea. I bumped into something, or someone.

I looked up and my eyes met smiling blue ones. "Sorry," he smiled.

"No that's okay," I replied and sent him a quick smile as well. I started walking towards the sofa again. When I reached it I sat down and sighed. It was soft and fluffy, just the way I liked it. From what I read on the backside, the book sounded good so I opened it up and started reading. 

A few pages into the book I was interrupted of the same irish accent that belonged to the boy I bumped into earlier. "Do you mind if I sit here next to you?" he said. I shook my head without looking up from the book and mumbled a "Not at all," to him. He sat down beside me as I continued reading.

After a few minutes I sent a glance in his direction. He didn't have a book with him. He was sitting and staring at me. And he didn't look very comfortable. "Is there anything wrong?" I asked him and he nodded. "What's that?" he said and nodded his head towards my wrist. I looked down at it and I could clearly see the fingerprint-formed bruises that decorated my skin. "Nothing," I said pulling up my sleeve and smiling. He shook his head and took the book from my hand. He placed it on the table beside the sofa and took my wrist. I winced.

"Nothing?" he repeated with a raised eyebrow. "Tell me," he said and looked deeply into my seablue eyes. "Look, I don't know you. I don't know anything about you. I don't know your name, your age, where you come from - oh yeah I know you come from Ireland I hear it in your accent forget that. I don't know who you are okay?"

"I'm Niall, I'm 18, I'm from Mullingar in Ireland, I have a brother named Greg, the rest of my family live in Ireland while I'm here, I'm in a boyband called One Direction with my four best friends. Now, tell me what happened to your arm," he said and I couldn't help but tell him.

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