For the First Time | n.h.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Niall’s POV:

Christmas Day was somewhat of a blur. I had barely slept that night so, needless to say, I wasn’t exactly ecstatic to be waking up at 7a.m. It was a tradition though, and traditions weren’t things to be broken. Besides, it wasn’t all bad. The first thing I woke up to was Megan. She had fallen asleep last night after nervously explaining the details of her dream. Her green eyes had been so, incredibly wide as she tried to speak. Every so often her lip would quiver, and I would suffer from this chest-bursting fear that I would have to watch her cry again. I really couldn’t take it, and I knew it was selfish. But watching Megan cry? It was like watching a puppy being beaten repeatedly with no means of saving it. No, perhaps that wasn’t an accurate metaphor. All I knew was that watching Megan cry was immediately associated with me hurting the most beautiful, lovely girl on earth.

                Eventually she stopped talking though, and I had no idea what to say. I wasn’t sure if I should say anything. Reponses were becoming increasingly hard to come up with, especially when all I was given was a brief outline of a dream she refused to give me the details of. I didn’t pry though. I was in enough shock that she was talking to me at all...I wasn’t about to give her a reason to regret it.

                Instead, I just watched her. I watched as she sighed and gently leaned against the arm of the sofa. Her green eyes were trained on the ceiling, intrigued by something I couldn’t comprehend or see for that matter. I could tell there were more tears forming on the edge of her lash line, but I didn’t question it. She probably had a million reasons to cry. All I could do was sit there and pray and pray and pray that they disappeared so I wouldn’t have to see it.

                They didn’t though, and cried again. It wasn’t the same unyielding sobbing I was—wretchedly—used to. It was more held back; more natural. It was just her in all her entirety; staring, seeing, crying. Her expression barely changed. Her face was straight for the most part but the tears were there, sliding steadily down her cheeks, dripping off her chin. She made no attempt to wipe them away or even acknowledge their presence. It was like she accepted them.

                So when she fell asleep, I had no intention of waking her up. I did, however, plan on giving her the entire couch and maybe sleeping on the floor. Apparently those ideas weren’t followed through because I woke up on the sofa under a mound of blankets with Megan at the other end, curled up in a little ball of red hair and snowman pyjamas.

                I was awake for a while before Megan finally stretched out and opened her eyes. She stared for a minute and, ultimately, smiled...and that was enough to make everything just a little bit better.

                We went through the usual routine of exchanging and opening gifts. My family wasn’t sure what to buy for me, which resulted in a whole lot of jerseys I didn’t have and joke gifts. It’s a lot easier to surprise a child on Christmas. The entire principle of the holiday is so much more exciting when you’re younger. Nonetheless, it was good, and I was grateful.

                We had breakfast and, like I said, went through the usual routine. All that was left to do was sit around and digest food, which was exactly what Megan and I were doing; sitting together in the windowsill seat, not speaking a word. I’m not sure whether the silence was the result of a lack of things to say or the lingering resentment I still saw in Megan’s eyes, but I wasn’t about to find out. As long as things weren’t terrible—as long as the pretty girl wasn’t crying—things were alright.

                That’s right about the time my mum found us. She seemed hesitant until I finally asked, “What’s the matter mum?”