Zayn’s POV –
I walk up the road; I don’t know where I was going. I don’t care to be honest. I just wanted to get away from life for a moment.
As the bridge came into view, I notice a girl standing on the fence. My heart beat picks up and I begin to run towards her. She was obviously about to kill herself, no one ever stood on top of a fence on a bridge.
“Wait!” I call out and her head snaps to face me. Now being even closer to her, I could see her hazel eyes and see they were full of pain and confusion.
Something had hurt her enough for her to want to end her life. Someone has obviously mistreated and mislead her. Criminals.
She obviously felt like no one would miss her if she died.
She’s probably confused why I called out to her.
When I reach her, I grab her hand and pull her down from the fence.
“Z-Zayn? Zayn M-Malik?” She chokes out. Tears stream down her pink cheeks. Her hazel eyes were shiny from the tears.
“That’s me.” I reply. “Don’t kill yourself.” I tell her.
She smiles, even though the smile was small, it was still there. “I won’t, promise.”
“What’s your name?” I ask her.
“Diana.” She replies.
“Bye, Diana. It was nice saving your life and meeting you.” I say before turning around to walk away.
Diana’s POV –
He turns around and walks off. That’s it?
I just met one out of five of One Direction. Whenever I daydreamed of this moment, I always thought it would be happier and maybe lasted a little longer.
I never dreamt that one of them would save my life. I look at the ground and try and fight a smile.
*Four months later *
I never tried to kill myself since that day.
Sometimes I try and tell myself that it was a dream, but that day was too real for it to be just a dream.
I unlock my phone and hold it above my face. I open up Twitter and refresh the page. I’m immediately faced with Tweets about One Direction.
‘@onedirection OMG Diana is amazing!’
‘So glad Diana leaked, it’s the best song ever.’
Diana? A song from their new album? I couldn’t help but feel a little puzzled.
My mind went back to the day I met Zayn. I had told him my name was Diana.
I close down Twitter and open up the YouTube app and type in ‘Diana leaked’. It took me about ten minutes to find a legit video of the song.
At the beginning I could tell someone had recorded it off their phone. I could hear a computer mouse clicking at the beginning.
The first two verses went by but nothing clicked. It was just a song with the same name as me. There’s no way it was written for me.
It wasn’t until the chorus started:
Let me be the one to light a fire inside those eyes,
You've been lonely,
You don't even know me,
But I can feel you crying,
Let me be the one to lift your heart up and save your life,
I don't think you even realise baby you'd be saving mine.
Then it hit me.
They wrote a song for me.
Zayn must have told them about that day where I tried to kill myself.
I looked at the comments that people posted on the video.
Apparently they wrote it for their fans that self-harm.
I think they saw a fan self-harm or something, anyway, it’s still a great song. Can’t wait for Midnight Memories!
All the comments were pretty much the same as I scrolled down them. Some people claimed they were ‘Diana’.
Why would they write a song for a fan? I know they really appreciate what the fans have done for them considering they wouldn’t be where they are now without us. They wouldn’t have even made it through the first X-Factor live shows without us.
I close down YouTube and lock my phone. I let out a long sigh and close my eyes.
I must be dreaming.
They wouldn’t write a song for me.
He probably meets fans every day; he’s probably forgotten about me by now.
I throw my duvet off me angrily and storm out of my bedroom, leaving my phone sitting on my bed. I try my best not to stomp down the stairs.
I enter the kitchen and grab a bowl only to put it back. I didn’t feel hungry. I never do.
It’s the same routine every day:
Wake up, go downstairs, go in the kitchen, grab a bowl, put it back then try and figure out why I grabbed a bowl.
I haven’t eaten since . . . I don’t even want to think about it. I pull out a chair from the table and sit down. I rest my elbows on the table and put my head in my hands.
“Are you okay, Diana?” My Dad asks as he enters the kitchen. I hear the loud clatter as he takes out plates from the dishwasher.
I lift my head from my hands and turn to face him. “Yeah, I guess. Just tired.”
Being a nineteen year old and staying at home without a job is normal in England. Except I can’t get a job. Who would want me to work for them anyway? I stay inside every day and clean the house since Mum isn’t around to do so.
No, she’s not dead. I wouldn’t care if she was. She left me and Dad when I was twelve. I was upset but I didn’t self-harm. I didn’t self-harm until I was seventeen, that’s a completely different reason.
It’s definitely not the reason why I’m suicidal either, that’s a different reason also.
A completely different reason. A reason I kept to myself. A reason no one knew, except my friend Abbie.
“Go back to bed if you want, but before you do that, at least eat something. I swear you have been losing weight.” Dad and I are like best friends. He was upset that Mum left, but he moved on – like I did.
“Maybe you should get a job, it might make you happier and you can make new friends.” My Dad suggests. I shrug.
“I’ll think about it, I guess.” I say. I leave the kitchen and hop up the stairs. I go into my room and collapse into my bed.
I didn’t want a job.
I don’t want friends.
They’ll just leave.
Like when . . . no, I don’t wanna go there.
“Di, I’m gonna leave my credit card on the side, can you go shopping for me? I have left a shopping list next to it, you should be able to carry it all home, and if not give me a call and I will pick you up.” Dad calls up the stairs. I walk to my bedroom door and open it.
You’re probably wondering why my Dad isn’t going. He has to work, he works at home. That way he can take care of me since Mum left.
“Okay!” I call back and turn around to get changed and try my best to look decent. I chose my skinny black jeans and pulled my navy blue hoodie over my head. I brush my hair and pull it into a side ponytail.
I head downstairs and slip Dad’s credit card into my pocket and pull on my black Vans.
I haven’t gone shopping in five months. For the first time in four months I have to cross that bridge.
The one where I met Zayn.
Pushing the memory from my head, I leave the house.
It was a ten minute walk to the shop. I didn’t want to cross the bridge but I had to. I ended up sprinting, but it was better than reliving what happened four months ago. I always dreamed of meeting one member of One Direction, just not like the way I did. I don’t want people knowing I’m suicidal. I don’t want to be judged.
I finally arrived at Tesco’s and walked inside the huge building. The manager, Phil, passed by and gave me a wave. He is one of my Dad’s friends. He walks over to me.
“It’s nice to see you here, are you shopping?” He asks and I nod. “Good, good. Anyway, I was gonna call your Dad tonight and ask him if you want to earn a little money. I remember your Dad telling me once that you play guitar?” He says.
“I used to play,” I add and he nods.
“Do you think you could play at the concert I’m planning for tomorrow night? The guitarist I had booked called up sick. You’re the only person I know that can play.” He begs. I sigh and give in.
“Sure, sounds good.” I lie. I didn’t want to perform in front of people, but I guess it will show Dad I’m willing to do something with my life other than mope around the house. Phil might even give me a job after. That’ll definitely make Dad happy.
“I’ll text your Dad the details tonight and get him to drop you over then.” He says and walks off with a quick wave and goodbye.