Hot Mess | N.H. (discontinued)

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Hot Mess:

c h a p t e r : e l e v e n  [ 1 1 ]

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“Lies are neither bad nor good. Like a fire they can either keep you warm or burn you to death, depending on how they're used.” -Max Brooks

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Emery

"You're living arrangements suck," Niall groans, although he does flop happily onto my queen-sized bed with a loose grin riding on his lips. "But," he continues on, sticking his hands behind his head comfortably, "I can honestly say you're bed does not."

"Yeah?" I laugh, shutting the door to my hotel room behind me; after our little lunch-date (please don't take that literally) at the restaurant, Niall had insisted that he's come over to my 'place'—but that was before he knew my 'place' was a small hotel room.

"Yeah," Niall agrees. He kicks himself up further onto the bed and snuggles up onto some of my pillows. "It's quite the luxury, if I'd say so myself."

"I agree," I say. I walk over and take a seat next to Niall on the edge of my bed. "I practically miss every one of Miss Walker's calls because I'm so deep in sleep in this bed."

"Who's Miss Walker?" Niall asks. I immediately realized what I just said and go into panic mood. Jesus Christ, Emery, I scold myself—that's the second time today I've done something like that.

"Oh, she's my um...teacher," I finally say, hoping that it was enough to convince the naive Irish, although it comes sounding more like I was trying to convince myself—which I was.

"Oh," was Niall's response, to which I responded back with a, "yeah." The room goes silent, the only sounds filling the thick air that I've managed to create being Niall's silent humming and my quiet breathes.

"Hey," Niall finally chirps up, sitting upright on my bed only to flop back down on his stomach and resting his chin in his hands attentively, "tell me about yourself."

"Uh, what?" I laugh, slightly taken aback by his eagerness.

"What are you, blonde?" he mocks, only to apologize quietly afterwards after I send him a glare that says, "yes, I am, actually."

"No, but seriously," he continues on. "I don't really know a lot about you other than you're here for schooling—" Lie, "—and you're a photographer—" Semi-lie, "—so, tell me more."

I decide to actually just start telling him some truth about myself for once; I mean, if we're friends now I guess I'm obligated too. Plus, I'd also like to get the inside-scoop on this popstar's life—as a friend, not a journalist for once.

"Well," I start, mimicking his position and laying down in front of him, to which he smiles at, "that may be a while. As you can already tell by my many bags of chips lying around my room and my phone dead all the time because of watching TV shows all day, I live an extraordinary life."

Niall lets out a hearty laugh at my comment and I crack a smile. "Yeah, well no one can compete with that," he agrees. "But tell me even more than your laziness, Em."

I think this over (after smacking him on the arm with the nearest pillow I can find) for a while. "Well...I'm from New York; I've lived there my whole life and I love it. I have a best friend named Quinn and, although she may seem like she's had ten cups of coffee, she's not. My mom's name is Melonie and my dad's name is Greg and I have a thirteen-year-old sister who claims she's your soul-mate. My favorite food is pizza—but only cheese pizza. I love animals; God, they're so cute, especially bunnies. I like writing and—as weird as this sounds—I enjoy the news."