Life Of a Direction-ette

Try being that girl that everyone is used to not being popular. That girl that doesn't win anything. Try. Try this: Try being that girl that ends up being famous. That girl that everyone wants to be like, but secretly hates. Also, try being all those girls and not knowing what to do about it.

Charlie didn't ask for fame. And yet, it consumed her.

Charlie was used to being an outsider. Y'know. That one girl that everyone knew but never talked to. She didn't even think that she would win the direction-ette contest. And she sure as hell didn't think she would fall for someone in one direction. When things get tough, she wants nothing more than to go home with her mom. Some things aren't so easy.


22. Chapter 22- a thank-you-for-the-thousand-views chapter 4/4

*Best viewed in black under white.* *TRIGGER WARNING* *READ AT OWN RISK*


      Over the course of the next few days, I have been asked if I was okay by everyone. Well not the boys, they hadn't known yet until Zayn yelled at them.  I didn't need him to say anything, cause I was fine.


"Louis! Stop yelling at her!" Zayn demanded. Louis's expression hadn't changed as he took a second to stop going off on me. 

"Why should I? She's been giving all of us shit for a whole week for no reason at all." Louis stated with a gallon of sass. He turned back to me to say something, but Zayn beat him to it.

"Miss Jackson's dead, Louis." Zayn said softly. Everyone's facial expression changed.  It was quiet as I put my hands in either of my black jacket's pockets. 


Damn, my shoes look really green all of a sudden.


I looked back up a Louis, who's expression was softer now.

"Ch-Charlotte, I didn't know-"

"It's fine." I say to him simply before walking away from them.



      Zayn has been hell bent on getting me to own up to it to the point that he sent a ticket to Jess to come to Atlanta. She even tried to get to start eating. I stopped for a while and I started cut. I still have the scars on my bicep to prove it. 


"Charlie, you have to eat."


      There is a short silence on my side of the table before this was said,

"Charlie eat your food." Zayn tells me in a husky tone letting me know he was getting irritated with me. 


"I'm not hungry." I say simply. I feel as if I am the kid and he is the adult. I don't want to eat and I don't feel like it. It isn't high on my list of things to worry about. 


"Charlie-" His voice is stern but it wasn't louder than mine once I say,

"I'm not hungry! I don't feel like eating Jess's crappy ass pancakes and you can't make me!" 


      Everyone looks at me and for the first time I feel like the outcast again like in high school and It didn't feel good being the awkward one that everyone was always staring at, judging them. 

      My breath catches in my throat and I walk away from the table quickly with a small, "I have to go." 

    I step out the front door and run. I don't know where to but I know I had to get out of the place. 


      The waves crash softly against my shins, never escaping my sight. It was peaceful,  kind of, being out next to the ocean with nothing and no one to constantly remind you that you mom is dead.  


"Char, it's okay to talk about it."

"Charlotte, you know you can talk to me."


      But that's what I want not do. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to be reminded that my last living releative-HELL, that my mom of all people- was dead and gone. Forever away from me. Explaining to someone that their mom is dead and that is okay to talk about it would slowly make them go insane.  
     I feel like I'm going insane. I cut-I fucking started cutting-and I ate less. Big macs aren't a big thing to me right now. 
I shiver slightly as a cool breeze rolls by. The clouds look grayer than before. The sun wasn't out and it looked very sad. Kind of like me. Just really sad... and broken.


"Charlotte?" Someone whispers. It was so soft that I catch it at the last second. 

"What?" I croak out. I don't want to sound sad or broken or what ever depressed people felt. I'm fine. I'm okay.


"It's raining." The person says. I haven't really notice the rain. It's basically the cousin of my tears and I rarely see the difference. I turn around slowly, noticing it is Zayn.


"I know." I say softly  I just stand there in the cold waters. It brushed up against me roughly as it too hated me. As if it wanted me to leave. I sigh as I ask, 

"Zayn, why do bad things happen to good people? Am I a bad person?"


"No. That's not it at all-"


"Then why is my mom d-dead?" I ask abruptly. Zayn looks at me for second not knowing what to say.

I'm not-I don't want to seem insane or delusional. I just want my mom back. That's all I want. I don't feel like I should have to pay for what those nurses did. Stupid nurses. How could they over look something like that? W-why?


"Why?! I'm not a bad person! I don't hurt people! I don't understand why this had to happen to me, of all people! Why me?" I question. He just looks at me like a broken toy. Am I broken?

 I don't get why this had to happen to me. I'm not bad. I don't deserve this. Do i? Did- Is it my fault? Is it? I feel like it is. 


"Charlotte, it's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong." He tells me, answering my mental question. 


"It feels like it's my fault. I could have been there, Zayn! I could have been there! I could have done something-"


"Like what? What could have you done, Charlie? You couldn't stop her from losing her too much blood. You couldn't have stop them from over looking it. Charlotte, it's not your fault." He tells me sternly. I look over at him and the tears come. Slowly then all at once. Zayn's next to me quickly, using his fingers to wipe the tears that fall down my cheeks. 


"Charlotte, it's okay, you know." "She's in a better place." "There's no need to cry.", he worries. He's been worried about me for a while. I guess I've been off my wagon for some time.


      I look up him but those damned tears fall quicker. He reaches around me and picks me up bridal style, walking us  to his car. I clench onto his shirt and cry harder. I don't think he will care, he'll probably just give it to me later.

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