Chapter Text
It was a morning like any other. You sit up in your bed, stretching your arms above your head and yawning. Your bedroom is like one of any upper-middle white teenager; fairy lights, a few posters for various TV shows and pop bands, and a tapestry hanging behind a bed with far too many pillows. It's the bedroom of your dreams. You stand up and head to the bathroom to ready yourself for the day.
You brush out your [INSERT HAIR COLOR HERE] hair, humming softly as you comb through [INSERT HAIR TEXTURE HERE] locks. Satisfied, you move onto brushing your [INSERT TEETH COLOR HERE] teeth. You grab an electric toothbrush and apply toothpaste to the bristles. After you rinse your mouth, you head downstairs.
Your mom is sitting on the living room couch. She looks worried. You sit next to her.
"What's wrong, mom? You look worried." You say, frowning.
She's unable to meet your gaze. Ashamed, she looks down at the floor and mutters out the words, "I'm selling you."
You laugh nervously. "What are you talking about?"
She looks you in the eye, words suddenly firm. "I'm selling you for weed money, Y/N. You're being picked up later today."
"Mom," you choke out as tears fill your eyes. "You're joking. Tell me you're joking!"
"I'm not joking. Jesus Christ, don't make me say it again. I'm selling you for weed! Weed money, Y/N! I need money for that sweet Mary Jane! The devil's lettuce! Do you understand?"
"Who?!" You sob. "Who are you selling me to?"
"It's some band. You'll have plenty of time to find out when you meet them."
You run back upstairs to your room. You collapse onto your bed, sobbing into the sheets. Your mother is selling you to One Direction for drug money. And it's not even a cool drug. You sob harder. After a few hours, you stop crying. Your face is puffy, and your [INSERT EYE COLOR HERE] orbs are bloodshot. The bed creaks as you stand up. If your life is going to be like a fanfic, then there's no use in fighting it, you decide. You start packing. You pull your suitcase from your neatly organized closet. The bag is set onto your bed and you walk towards your dresser.
Inside the dresser is nothing but black leggings and oversized gray sweaters. They are all identical, except for scent. You pick out the smells you love the best – the ones that smell like 'Fresh Linen' candles, sausage gravy, and Indian bay leaves – and pack them into the case. You begin to cry again, but you work through the tears. You get dressed into your favorite outfit, black leggings, black Adidas, and an oversized gray sweater that smells like burning plastic. You drag your suitcase out to the hallway.
Downstairs, someone knocks on the door. Fear rushes through your body. The boys are almost here. You run into the bathroom to do your makeup. You put on a natural look. Just some eyeliner and three layers of concealer. You're about to put your hair up into a messy bun when you hear the door open.
You try to stay calm, but your mind begins to panic. The bobby pins in your hand drop to the floor as you run out of the bathroom, back into your bedroom. You slam the door shut and lock it behind you. You can hear them as they walk up the stairs towards your room. Harry and Liam and Tom and the other ones, are all waiting for you behind the door. How embarrassing, you think. Who would want to buy someone so cowardly? Someone knocks on your door.
"Hey, Y/N," a gentle voice speaks. "I know you're scared. This is a scary situation. But we're all so excited to meet you. Come on out."
You're not sure who is talking to you through the door. The speaker doesn't sound English at all. But the voice is soothing, and you decide to listen to him.
But the face on the other side of the door isn't Harry or any of the other ones. It's not even a white guy. A tall man with long, black curly hair, and a sharp nose stands in the doorway. He's wearing a black turtleneck and blue jeans and [INSERT YOUR FAVORITE SHOE HERE]. Behind him stand one vaguely homophobic-looking man and two visibly high men.
You shriek, slamming the door shut. The man calls out to you as you run back into your room, towards your closet. You pull out a shotgun and run back out. The three men run down the steps, but the gentle man stays.
He grabs you buy the shoulders. "Y/N! What are you doing? Violence is never the answer!"
You let out a guttural battle cry, and the man gives up, running downstairs to the dining room with the rest of the band.
A guy with short pink hair looks to the man. "Yo! She's crazy! Let's get out of here before she kills us." He sees you running down the steps and screams in fear, running out of the house.
You shoot into the air, screaming and spitting up several different bodily fluids. You point the shotgun back and forth between two of the band members.
"Don't shoot! I have a family!"
"No, you don't, Shavo." The man mutters.
"Shut the fuck up, Serj! Wait, where's John?"
Serj steps forward, palms showing. "Listen, Y/N, we're not going to hurt you..." A body collides into you, knocking you to the ground and the gun out of your hands. Your attacker then picks you up with ease.
"Grab her suitcase. We need to get out of here before the cops show up." John says as he carries you out of the house. Kicking and screaming, you're taken to their tour bus, never to see your generic suburban home again.