More Than What Meets The Eye (One Direction - Niall)

Chapter Nine

"I can't believe they waited for you outside the house," I grumble. It takes us two hours to get home, and then another half hour to greet all the fans that stand outside the gates. Let's just say that it's been a long day. It is a little past midnight and I just want to get to bed.

"Someone's cranky." He smirks as I throw my bag on his living room couch.

"It's been an interesting day."

"Yeah, I'm pretty interesting," he says, flopping down on the red couch.

I land beside him and smack his arm playfully. "Not just you! Anna left today."

"Oh, right. Usually, you two are tied at the hip. Where did she go?"

"Italy."

"Italy?"

"Italy."

"Italian girls are hot."

That earns him a less playful slap on the arm.

"Ouch!" he complains, rubbing the sore spot.

"Don't be such a pig," I say.

He laughs. Turning to me, his eyebrow shoots up. "Jealous much?" 

With my nose wrinkled, I reply, "Hardly."

He gives me a look that suggests otherwise. Yawning, he stands up. He reaches his arms up in the air, making his shirt rise up a bit. A strip of his muscular back is revealed.  Shamefully, I stare at it.

"I'm exhausted. Let's go to bed."

"Right," I say quickly. My face turns bright red. Thankfully, his back is still turned to me, so he can't see my expression. To keep it this way, I jump onto his back. My legs wrap around him, and immediately, he grips my thighs.

"What are you doing?" he asks, the amusement leaking through his voice.

"You're a man now. Carry me."

He shakes his head, but begins climbing the stairs."You're ridiculous."

I hang my arms loosely around his neck. "You know you love me," I say, placing a kiss on his temple.

"Hardly." He tries mimics my voice, speaking in a pitch that is entirely too high.

"I'm surprised you can hit that note. You should think about becoming a singer."

"It's not really my thing."

"Really? You're pretty good."

"Then maybe I should."

"Yeah, I bet you'd make it big."

"I think I'd like to be in a group with a few other lads."

"Cool idea."

"Thanks."

He drops me on his bed. By this time, the heat has left my cheeks, so I'm good. He walks into his closet and returns with a handful of clothes. Quickly, he tosses me a shirt and a pair of boxers before disappearing into the washroom. Once I hear the shower running, I begin to strip off my clothes. I shrug into his oversized t-shirt and boxers. My own clothes are thrown into his laundry hamper.

When I hear the water stop, I give him a few minutes to get into some clothes before walking into the bathroom. I wouldn't want to walk in on him naked.

As usual, my toothbrush is sitting in a cup on the sink. Irish stands behind me as we brush our teeth. We spit at the same time. I give my face a quick splash if water, and give Irish access to the sink. He has this face washing routine that he's required to follow. I'm also required by contract to follow a nightly routine, but it takes twenty minutes. Why would I spend twenty minutes washing my face after I just shoved my way out of a horde of teenagers?

I make my way to the bed and throw myself onto it. After a minute, I push myself to one side and pull the covers on top of me. The other side of the bed dips a bit. Irish's arm drapes around my waist. I lift my head slightly, and his other arm slips naturally underneath my neck.

"Goodnight, Clara," he whispers, burying his face in my hair.

"Goodnight, Irish."

I don't close my eyes. I can't close them. I lay there, fully awake.

"Clara?"

"Yes?"

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

I don't reply. In one swift movement, Irish rolls me over so that I'm facing him. His blue eyes search my face. I try to keep it impassive.

His face falls. "You had a nightmare last night, didn't you?"

Damn it. "No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No."

"Yes."

I open my mouth to retort, but instead, a sob escapes my lips. Surprised, I slap my hand to my mouth. My face is wet. I'm crying without even noticing. My body begins to shudder, and I choke on my sobs.

Irish pulls me tight against his chest. His hands land on the small of my back, pressing me closer to him. "Shh..." he says softly, tangling one of his hands into my hair.

I give up on holdng it in. My cries grow louder, and my tears fall faster. "He had me! He had his hands around my neck! I didn't mean to break the vase! He was drunk! I was going to die!" I grab handfuls Irish's shirt.

Irish tenses up. He brings me tighter to him, even though I thought it was impossible for us to be any closer. "He can't get you, Clara. He's gone. I'm here. You're safe, baby." He repeats these phrases until my shudders turn into small twitches.

For the second time in a few hours, I let myself cry in Irish's arms.

Small chapter, I know.

Team Niall or Team Eric?

Comment, vote, fan!

Or, if you want, follow and tweet Clara! (@ClaraStends)

Thanks for reading! x -voguelike