It’s a pleasure to burn. Really, it is. I’d do anything for him, even engulf my body in flames. I haven’t stopped smiling since my skin started to melt and I could see the happiest look on his face. God, he’s so adorable. His wavy dark brown locks flow like waves in the ocean. His supple skin was starting to glisten from sweat–you know, because of the fire. He looked perfect in every single sense.
My parents never quite approved of this, and I don’t think they ever will. Ever since I was a kid they never understood my obsession with him. I’d steal their money just for the possibility of being with him. I had a candlelight vigil set up for him that I’d pray to. One time, I even hurt myself and sent him pictures. They sent therapists and school counselors to help cure my disease that I like to call “love.” It never worked. Now, I’m 16 and I’ve decided to give my life to the man I love. This is how I want to die.
I’m trying my hardest not to scream. I know that would just ruin this beautiful moment. I don’t want him to think that I don’t accept the destiny he assigned to me. In fact, it makes me love him so much more. Not many of us girls get the opportunity to fulfill his needs. A lot of them join as a “fan,” but they’re nothing of the sort. They would never leave their families to run away with him, like me.
I’ll miss my friends and family. Also my dog Ozzy. I’ll miss living too. I think I’m starting to see bone. My vision is quite blurry, though. No eyelids anymore.
As my life starts to fade away, he tells me something.
“Say you love me.”
“I love you,” I whimper.
“Say my full name,” he demands.
“I love you… Zayn Malik of One Direction.”
