1982, Lindbergh St.
You are probably reading this right now and asking yourself; Why the hell would a guy carry around a diary? He's probably a faggot. And I am one- A "Faggot" I guess, and I'm not okay with that. There are people around me who don't know. Like my parents. Their completely oblivious. Their oblivious to whatever the hell I do and I can't blame them for that. For dinner, we had Philly Cheese stakes, and when I asked for someone to pass the salt, they'd tune me out. It doesn't bother me anymore- I mean, it used to, but I've gotten over it. My mother and I used to be close. Almost like best friends. I'd tell her what a shitty, fucked up day I had at school and she'd say that it'll get better. It never did. After two years, my sister Lilian died in a car crash and they still haven't gotten over that and for some strange reason, I did. Lillian knew I was gay. She'd blackmail me. "do my dishes or I'm telling them," she'd say, or, "Clean my room." she'd order. "don't tell mom that I had one of her cigarettes." or, "don't tell mom i'm going out tonight." the time she went out, she never came back. The cops informed us that she died instantly from the airbags. I can't stop crying now because I know that its my fault that she's gone. I'm going to stop writing before I say something completely off the wall that will make me go crazy more than I already have.
If you were offended by anything used in this book, then please don't read it. This is an AU story, meaning that Niall is not like the real Niall. Yes, he's gay in this story and I don't think that really matters. Other than that, I hope you enjoy. ☺