Letters Best Unread (A Niall Horan Love Story)

Everybody is worried about Niall Horan. He gets loads of hate and insults everyday, and everyone's worried that it's getting worse to him than the others. Niall thinks he's fine, but agrees to go to the doctor.The doctor has him write pretend letters to a fake address. No one expected for the address to be real. No one expected Niall's letters to reach her. She got the letters that no one was supposed to get, and she read every single emotion and pain he wrote about. Somehow she fell in love with him.

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11. Ten.

Niall sat in his room staring at the closed laptop in front of him. Should he or shouldn’t he? He could always lie and say he did when he didn’t. He could always just rebel and spend rest of the night wallowing in his own self-pity like always. There were tons of choices to choose from. Some more serious than others, and some scarier than others, but still –choices.

 

Its not as if Niall was oblivious as to what would go on. He knew all too well. There would be girls who have stuck with him from the beginning saying things such as how beautiful he was, or how much they loved him. Liars. There would be the girls asking for shout-outs like crazy. Annoying. The ones who said sexual things to him that were far too young to even know what they were saying. Gross. And Niall’s personal favorite, the ones who hated.

 

They would say how ugly he was. They would say how he didn’t deserve to be in the band. They would spot imperfections about him that even he hadn’t noticed yet, and he’d notice a lot. Once you go through this kind of harassment you learn to realize the things wrong with you. You notice everything. And the worst thing wasn’t that Niall read these hate comments, or that he practically thirsted for them, no-no. It was something worse. He believed them.

 

There was no sound in the room. Niall was barely breathing, as he stared down at his laptop blinking with light every few seconds. It was like a monster. It was breathing and whirring to go. Ready to rip apart every good thing about him. He learned that the internet was a bad place from the very start. It could literally break a person, but yet people visit it. They could get hate, but they still continue to go online every day to read it. It was almost addicting.

 

He opened the laptop quickly. Soon enough it was coming to life and he was staring at the now open laptop for a change. In a couple easy clicks he could be broadcasting and watching the comments roll in like the tide. It was really tempting. It was as if he needed the words. He needed to read them and find out what was wrong with him today. Strange how you could hate something so much, but need it at the same time. He opened Twitcam and stared at it.

 

Niall was broadcasting only forty seconds later. He tweeted the link and in less than a minute he had around ten-thousand viewers. So far the comments were all good as only the dedicated fans would have known he tweeted so quickly. Some commented on how glad they were to see him. He’d been lying low for some time now. Others commented on how horrible he looked –as in it looked like he was sick or not feeling well. Maybe he was sick. Maybe this sort of thing was like the flu and it would pass and Niall could be happy again. He liked the thought of that.

 

“So how has everyone been?” He asked and instantly his comments were flooded.

 

Most girls would answer the question, but some asked how he was doing. It seemed that all they cared about how he was. He wanted to smile. He couldn’t fall for the lies though. Lies, lies, lies. That’s all it was. Lies.

 

He took his snapback off and ran his fingers through his hair as he searched through comments for hate. None yet. He put his hat back on, “I’ve been good! I’m just enjoying the break until we head back to America.”

 

Niall figured he could lie right back to them. He lied through his teeth.

 

He turned some music on, grabbed a bag of chips to eat, and just messed around. He had to put on the act that he was okay. That he wasn’t being torn apart inside. He’d learned how to. Half an hour passed, and now the hate was coming. He’d seen glimpses, but the comments were so fast that he couldn’t read the whole thing. He needed to read them.

 

Could you chew any louder? My god you’re disgusting.

 

There it was the first hate comment. It wasn’t even that bad, but it still stung Niall like a hundred bees. So first it was his singing, then it was his looks, and now it was how he ate. It was fascinating.

 

Please go put a real shirt on. No one wants to see that.

 

So now it was the way he dressed. He had tried to change his style up a bit: more revealing clothing for his newly gained muscles thanks to the gym, and snapbacks to cover up his hair. What should he wear then? Should he try dressing more like Harry? Would that make him more likeable?

 

You’re ugly.

 

Niall knew the comments like these would show up sooner or later. People who just generally wanted to make him hate himself. That happened a long time ago though. He didn’t believe that he could ever be helped or ever be the same person as he used to be. That Niall seemed to distant now. But he didn’t want to feel better. It was a desire of his.

 

Don’t listen to them Niall! Us real directioners love you and think you’re beautiful.

 

More lies, eh? Niall thought. That’s all they did was a lie. He wasn’t beautiful. He wasn’t anything they claimed him to be. He was a broken human being who stayed cooped up in his flat all day long eating to only go outside to write letters to a fake person who he named his Princess. Real fucking great. A real good life he led.

 

Niall stopped broadcasting and lied down. He felt even worse. Good job, doctor.

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