Dearest Riley

Riley Horan. Sound familiar? Probably not. According to Modest! Management (a.k.a. One Direction’s management company), Riley doesn't exist. She is Niall Horan’s sister, but she goes by her fake name: Riley Gibbons. Management has asked (more like forced, actually) Riley and her family to keep her identity a secret from everyone else. No one knows that she has a famous brother, or that her famous brother has a sister. And it seems that Niall is absolutely fine with this situation; he seems to enjoy Riley not being in his life. Depressed and quite pissed (because her life is pretty bad at the moment), Riley thinks she has no one to turn to for help. That is, until another member of One Direction strolls into her life and changes things.

And don’t worry; this isn't a typical “teen-age-ery” love story. In fact, Riley doesn’t even like Harry Styles when he enters her life. If you really want the truth, Riley thinks Harry Styles is an asshole…….

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6. Night From Hell

FUcK. 

Harry Styles and I were sleeping in the same fucking room. The. Same. Fucking. Room. 

Fuck... Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I repeat the word over and over in my head, my sanity slowly slipping away. I could hear him stirring in his sleep. He slept in the bed in the guest room, while I slept in a sleeping bag on the floor. His breathing hitches a little, and then he begins to snore. Fuck. He snores?! This night couldn't get any worse. 

I begin to mumble the word repetitively, in an attempt to distract myself from Harry's presence in the room. And, to my surprise, it started to work.

"Fuck. Fuck... fuckfuckfuck, fuck....fuck."

"Excuse me?" Harry says, turning over in his bed to face me. "What did you just say?"

Oh shit. Was I that loud? Harry's snores could be heard over an army of chainsaws for goodness' sake.

"Umm... duck. I said 'duck'. I was just dreaming about ducks, that's all." I cringe at what I just said. Ducks?! Really?! I mentally face-palm myself. 

"Listen, Riley, I know what you really said. You said 'fuck', loud and clear. I know it must be hard for you to sleep in the same room as me, but I'm not about to fuck--"

I cut him off, afraid of where he was going. "Excuse me?!"

"Wait, what's going on here? Weren't you just talking dirty to me?" Harry asks, scrunching up his eyebrows. 

I stare at him for a moment before bursting into a fit of laughter. "Trust me, I don't want to sleep with you. And thank you, for showing me just how perverted you really are."

I shake my head and roll over in my sleeping bag. That boy has problems. I'm not even going to bother calling him an asshole, because words can't describe how arrogant he is.

"I'm not perverted!" he shouts, sitting up in bed, fully awake. He crosses his arms, which only makes me laugh more. 

"That's what all perverts say!"

"Yeah, well, you're a bitch!" he shouts, obviously satisfied with his lame insult. 

"Thank you. Now that that's all settled, good night." I smile. I don't mind being called a bitch. I know I am one. 

"Wait, hold up, I'm really confused. What the hell is wrong with you?! I just called you a bitch! That doesn't bother you?!"

"No, actually, it doesn't."

Harry groans, obviously frustrated. It was quite hard to insult me. 

Harry gives up, eventually rolling back over in bed and returning to sleep. Meanwhile, I continue to lay on the floor, consumed by my thoughts. Today has been a living hell. After we picked up Gemma (and Harry) from the airport, we drove around Mullingar, searching for a shoe shop that carried Harry's favorite brand. After looking for two whole hours, (which I didn't think was necessary but apparently the diva really needed another pair of boots), we ended up driving all the way back to the airport, because someone forgot their designer scarf (and let's just say it wasn't Gemma's). And, if that weren't enough, Harry sang One Direction songs the entire time. It wasn't that he was a bad singer, but it was the fact that their songs were repetitive, cheesy, and not very well-written. Plus, their songs were very perverted, and Harry's cheekiness only made the lyrics that much worse.

So, in reality, it was the day from hell. 

I was just really fed up with everyone in my life right now, so shitty days are ten times shittier. Niall has completely ignored me for the last three years, and no one knows my real name. I just want to be Riley Horan, the girl who loves punk rock (and no, despite what Emer says, 5 Seconds of Summer is not punk rock), and loves to draw. I want to be able to sign my artwork with my real name, and drive in the same car as my mum and dad. I want to be able to tell my friends who I really am, and not just hide behind my fake identity.

I want Niall to be able to go on twitter and brag about how I got the highest grades in my class (which I did, surprisingly) and be the big brother who is proud of me. I just really don't want to be Riley Gibbons, the mysterious girl who Harry Styles calls a bitch. 

 

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