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…….


1. Niall Came Back

I sit there, listening to my brother go on and on and on. I swear, there is no one more conceited than my brother.

“Oh, take a breath, will you? You haven’t stopped talking about yourself since you stepped off the plane. We didn’t miss you that much for goodness' sake,” I snap at him, not even worried about what my mother will have to say.

“Oh, so you have a more interesting story to tell? Please, go ahead; tell us what you did while I was away… performing in Madison Square Garden I may add,” Niall snapped back, folding his arms with a smirk plastered on his face.

“Oh, well, if you must ask, I enrolled in college. I care about my education. I’m the one who’s going to get a proper job, unlike you, who ran off and traveled the world without giving a damn about your own family. And, I don’t know if you know this, considering that you haven’t talked to me in over a year, but I also happen to be in a serious relationship with a future doctor. That’s right; I’m dating a medical student. Mark and I will both get proper jobs, and maybe we’ll start a family, and maybe, just maybe, we’ll even think about our kids having their uncle around. Oh wait, their uncle Niall doesn’t even want to be known as my brother! Well then, I guess you won’t be invited to me and Mark’s Christmas party,” I say, on the brink of tears.

Niall’s smirk has faded, replaced only by sheer guilt. My mother stands in the corner of the room, an aghast expression on her face. Too damn bad. I speak the truth.

I stand up before anyone can say anything, and before I begin to cry. I quickly leave the room, shutting the door on that situation.

My brother is an asshole. Actually, both of them are. Greg is just as bad as Niall. They both shut me out of their lives, so why should I let them in mine? They can just piss off and leave me alone for all I care. Actually, on second thought, maybe they already have.

A tear slips out of the corner of my eye and slowly rolls down my cheek. I quickly brush it away; I refuse to cry over someone who doesn’t give a damn about me. I refuse to cry over the sick bastard that can’t even bear to call himself my brother. That’s right; I refuse to cry over Niall Horan. Why should I cry over someone who won’t let me out of his own secret? Because I shouldn’t, that’s why.

I turn the corner and run up the stairs to my room. I slam the door as hard as I physically can and scream. I fall onto the carpeted floor of my bedroom and sulk in my own misery. Why can’t he just tell everyone? Why do I have to suffer while he’s away living his dream? Niall is such a coward, and I realize now that he always will be, and maybe that’s the answer to my questions.

Niall has always been so lucky. His dream came true. Greg has it good, too. He married a beautiful girl and has a family of his own. Greg also has Niall.

I have nothing.

After a few good long minutes of crying my eyes out, I muster up the energy to stand. I weakly walk over to my window and look outside.

The neighborhood was bustling. Kids played on the playground across from my house, and an ice cream truck was parked nearby, the music audible in my room. An old man crosses a street, and a woman pushes a baby carriage. A bus pulls up to a bus stop, passengers filing in. It was quite a routine day. Nothing out of the ordinary; the rest of the world was perfectly content with me and the hell I call my life. But I don’t mind; not many people really do care about me an awful lot.

Before I turn away from the window, something catches my eye. It was a poster on the side of the bus stop. It was quite old; it was a Camp Rock poster, back from like 2009. I was surprised it hadn’t been taken down by now. Anyway, the poster had Demi Lovato on it, with the phrase Who Will I Be? branded on it with big bold lettering.

I sit down on my bed and contemplate that. Who will I be?

I begin to cry again as I croak out the answer. “I want to be me, Riley Horan."

That’s who I’ll be. I’ll finally be me.

If only that bastard would tell the world that he has a sister.

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