Letters To Juliet [Harry Styles]

Hey Dere:3 So I know im adopted and all, but I just found out someting epic. My brother that I got seperated from when I was adopted's name is Shiloh! I finally got his name:) My mum's name was Karmen also. Shiloh should be 15 years old right now.....I wonder if he's hot....OMG STAHP IT SARAH THATS GROSS. But hey, he could;)

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I toss the last pair of shorts I own into my Zebra duffel bag. I plop down onto my black bed cushions and wipe the sweat off my forehead. Finally done with my packing.

I stand up and look down at what I'm wearing, still in my button-down shirt with boy shorts. I stand up and walk into the bathroom that is attached to my room. I smile at the white walls with chipped paint and pictures of myself and my father hanging on each corner. I walk up to one that is hanging crookedly and carefully take it off its hook. I smile down at it and wipe away a tear that I didn't even realize that had made its way down my cheek.

Its a picture of me, my father, and my mom. I was about 6 in the photo and on the swings at the park down the street. My mom is happily pushing me from behind as I go high in the air. My dad is standing to the side smiling at our happy family. I can easily remember that day. I had just one my class spelling bee so my parents took me out for ice cream. I chose my favorite, Cookies and Cream, and we all walked to the park together. My father jokingly stole my ice cream and ran off to the swings as I chased after him, giggling the whole time. He stopped as I flung myself onto a swing and he walked over with a smile on his face. He set the cup of ice cream down and came over to me. My mom followed and put an arm around his waste. "Push me Mommy!" I shouted at my mother and she ruffled my hair and I pouted as she started pushing me. That was the last good memory I have of my family together.

The next day my mother lost her high paying job as the assistant manager for Simon Cowel. He told her that he's going into bigger industries so he let her go. She started struggling to pay for us and her and my father got into fights a lot. She then got depression and turned to drugs. About a year later she died of Lung Cancer. Who do I blame? Simon Cowel.

I suck in a deep breath and take the photo back to my room and neatly put it into my bag. I walk into my bathroom once more and start the shower. I peel off my dirty clothes and slip into the shower. I sigh in pleasure as I feel the warm water hit my back. I feel as if all pressure is being lifted...even if only for a short moment.

I wash my hair and do the other things, then make the mistake of looking down at my wrist. I feel as if all that pressure that was gone before is now returning, one short moment at a time. I use my other hand to trace the scars slowly. I stopped cutting last month, but I still feel the pain. I shake any thoughts that will lead to bad memories and turn the water off. I step out, dry myself, and get dressed. I nod in approval at my black shorts with shredded/fringed ends, Bazinga shirt, and black combat boots. I look in the mirror and scrunch my hair. I leave it as it is and put on liquid black eyeliner and a layer of mascara. I nod once more before adjusting my shirt and walking into my room. I grab my bag and fling the straps over my shoulder. I slip my IPhone in my back pocket and walk out. I look down the hall to see my dad's door shut. Here goes nothing....

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