I Want (One Direction Fan Fiction)

1. I Want

Author's Note:

Hi Guys, this is really funny because although I like One Direction's music, I have only basic knowledge on them and am NOT obsessed. I thought it would be funny to write this as I have no idea where it is going.....

Thanks for reading!

HopeSilver

P.S Cover on the side in multi-media was made by imma1Dmomma - Thank you!!

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Update 12th Feb 2013: wow.... 'not obsessed'? Well, I think that has flown out the window...

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Bronwyn's POV.

I hated Sundays.

I sat up groggily, shoving my blue linen sheets off my sagging bed. Rays of light flitted through gaps in my curtains, casting a random pattern on my bedroom floor. Glancing at the clock, I noticed that it was 7:30. Great, I was already running late.

On Sundays I worked in a tiny cafe adjacent to the Head Office of The Times in London. I probably never would have chosen to work there if the cafe had been located anywhere else. My dream was to become a journalist, and I had wistfully sat at my desk, dreaming about that job ever since I was five. I was desperate to work as a journalist, and at times I felt that maybe I was too obsessed with the career. None of that mattered though. Twelve years filled with empty wishes hadn't gotten me anywhere. I hadn't landed a job in journalism - not even in my school newspaper. It wasn't because I was bad, I just needed a few recommendations and no one had the time to give a seventeen year old nobody a second glance.

I guess that is the thing about unemployment. Everywhere I go, or try to apply at, there is always a simple statement in small print: experience needed. That one sentence almost always stops me from applying. And it's a bit crazy because, if you haven't got any experience, how are you meant to? It's an endless cycle. You can't pull yourself out of it unless you're given a chance. Sometimes I thought that my chance had decided it didn't like me and committed suicide. 

So for now I worked in the cafe so that I could gain enough money to go to University. I wasn't filthy rich - a major consequence of my parents' actions.  They had abandoned me after birth and I was left in the incapable hands of my Aunt. We lived on the top floor of a dilapidated building across the road to Trafalgar Square with her tabby cat Louis. Although she may have been incapable, I loved my aunt Sarah profoundly - she hadn’t been the one who abandoned me.

I slipped out of my bed and walked over to the en suite Sarah and I shared. I turned the tap on, waiting for the water to gush out instead of drizzling like it was currently. I splashed the cool water over my face, shocking me out of my somnolent state. Glancing down at my cheap watch, I noticed the time - now I was going to be twenty minutes late... great, just great.

I flung open the dishevelled wardrobe in the corner of my room and flicked through a few t-shirts and jeans. Slipping on a dark top and worn pants, I ventured over to my bedside table, grabbed my purse and smeared on a minuscule amount of lip balm, just enough so that my lips wouldn’t crack. I was never one for makeup. The girls which plastered themselves in it frightened me. And not bothering with makeup was also contributing to my Uni fund. Too many girls spent hundreds on makeup each year which was completely unnecessary. I shouted goodbye to Sarah and left the apartment, ready for chastisement.