Complicity [h.s]

00

Hi, Aven,

Here goes nothing.

I've avoided this for a long time. But I think I'm ready. I think this will help me. I'm going to start writing about you as if I'm writing to you. Because when I see you again, you'll get to read about everything you missed with us four. You gave me your journal, and I read it every night. It's been the only thing bringing me comfort. So now, I'm gonna do the same thing. I'm going to write about you in the hope to put it in your hands one day—returning the favour. The thought of doing that brings me hope that I will find you. I am going to find you, Aven.

So, where do I start?

Well, Niall got so fucking wasted again tonight and he's been really pissing me off lately. I think it's my sobriety that makes me realize how much of an arrogant dick he is when plastered. He use to be so tolerable, but I guess that's only because I was also pretty wasted myself. Now, I question suffocating him in his sleep every night.

Today, I'm officially 9 months sober.

Shouldn't I be getting one of those poker chip-looking things? The ones that support groups give you as an congratulations? Liam wrote 9 months on the inside of a beer cap and gave it to me, kinda redundant given it was an alcohol-related item he wrote it on. But I know he meant well.

Liam's really pushed me through this sobriety. I'm not sure why he has taken it so seriously considering he is a borderline alcoholic himself. But it means a lot. Every morning he reminds me what day I'm on. He also has it written on a whiteboard in our living room. I think he's more proud of me than I am myself.

Although 9 months of sobriety is something to be proud of, it also means I haven't seen you in 9 months. Every day without you is a day I've been sober.

No alcohol, no coke—nothing. I live and breathe Sprite now. I drink it constantly.

When I overdosed in Vegas, I promised you I'd be done with drugs. I was serious about that. Well...I still smoke weed. But I like to tell myself that's for anxiety. And I do still smoke cigarettes...so I guess that's a bit of a speed bump. You can't blame me though when you've seen what I've been going through every day.

Considering Niall, Liam, Louis and I are fugitives living together—life has been a little frustrating.

I don't what to get much into it...but I'm so close to shooting myself in the head. All of us living under one roof really makes me want to commit malicious homicide. The messy kind. The kind where there's blood on every single square inch of the crime scene. I'd kill Liam first probably, just because I could use one of his biceps to beat Louis to a pulp. Then I would go for Niall, the best for last. I'd probably cut his dick off first...ya know...because he's a dick.

Too much?

Fuck. Maybe I should start this over? Your journal entries were nothing like this...

No...you would want me to be real with you.

I guess I'm just lucky to have my own room. This place has three bedrooms. Niall has his own room and I have my own room. Louis and Liam share.

I have my own room because no one wanted to hear me moping about how much I miss you. Plus half of my room looks like a drawing board to where I stay up all night putting pieces together on where are. My walls are covered in pictures of places you could be and screenshots from security footage that I thought I may have seen you in. There are papers all over my floors, a bulletin board covered in evidence, and a small desk where I sit and write stuff down about my progress.