Let's Pretend [Niall Horan]

Chapter 8

“Do you think Faith really hates me?” Niall spoke suddenly, dropping his slice of bread.

There was a long silence as the words hung there between us.  I cleared my throat, nervously pulling at my hoody string.  I actually had a whole speech written on a piece of notebook paper in my right pocket, but I didn’t have the courage to pull it out.  

“Um, I’m not sure…” I trailed off.  I knew what I wanted to say.  How I wanted to explain how Faith’s mother was completely mental and anything that came out of that mouth of hers seemed like some crazy lie –– but what if it all was true and Faith really did hate Niall?  Then what?  

I sighed helplessly.  I had to give Niall some hope…  "It'll be okay, Niall.  I'm sure Faith doesn't hate you."

Niall looked up from the tray, glancing at me.  His blue eyes darkened as he read my face, making me feel miserable.

“You’re lying,” Niall mumbled, turning back to the tray.  He picked up an apple slice, taking a bite, chewing for a very long time.  “I’ve been thinking,” he continued, setting the slice down and brushing his hands off on his sweater.  “Let’s forget all of this and go back to London.  You know… move on with life.” 

“Niall–“ I started.

“We have the new album to practice for.  You know, Kiss You music video was just released and we have work on the movie too,” he stated firmly.  “Thank you for the food, Harry.”

“Yeah.  It's no problem.” I didn't know what else to say.

“I’ll be ready in a few hours.  Let’s get out of here.” Niall rose off of the bed, shuffling towards the dresser and pulling out shirts, socks, jeans.  He threw the clothes decisively into the empty suitcase that was lying on his bedroom floor.  

As I quietly left Niall's bedroom, though, I thought I heard a muffled sob.

-Faith-
••January 21, 2013•• 

I stuffed the last of the belongings that I had decided I needed in my life, which weren't many, into my ugly gray duffel bag.  Nothing I owned was too terribly important to me, other than the contents of the locked closet.  (I had even found some clothes in there along with the other relics of my past life; I haven't worn them, though.  Ever, or at least since I had the surgery.  I could only imagine the kind of insane rant Mother would give me if I did wear them.)  Lately, I had even been wearing the silver key that Uncle James had given me – the one that unlocked the box of my past – on a jewelry chain around my neck.  

It was the wee hours of the morning, and I had spent all night packing and planning.  It was still dark and cold outside, but the full moon was bright enough to light my room through my window – I was afraid to turn on my light, because Mother might wake up and catch me.  The thought made me shiver as I checked under my bed and in my drawers for anything else I wanted to take.

Nothing else left to pack…

It's time for action, Faith.

I held my breath as I tried to zip the duffel bag as quietly as possible, which wasn't easy with its old, rusted zipper.   I only packed a few pieces of clothing, toiletries, money for transportation and food, and the box filled with all my memories of Niall and I when we were younger.  Even if Mother said he was a bad kid, I had decided I needed to keep it…  I just couldn't get myself to really believe I was such a rebellious girl before my surgery.  How could I have been such a good friend to this Niall Horan kid, who Mother says was a complete stoner but who was so famous now?!  He was in that one in the band, One Direction, that I listened to when ever I felt gloomy.  Of course the music had to be when Mother wasn't home –– listening to music Mother disapproved of was the first thing I had done without her noticing, which soon lead up to watching TV and going into the locked up closet.  She still doesn't know I listen to One Direction.  

I smiled as I slung my duffel bag over my shoulder.  Maybe I actually was a rebel in my past life.  After all, look at me now, defying my mother and running away from home!  But about Niall –– this just didn't add up.  If he was such a rebellious, drug-addicted nobody, how did he ever get so famous?  When he was on the Late Night Show, he seemed like a very sweet, down to earth kind of kid… or at least that’s how I felt while watching him.   

I glanced over at the clock on my bedroom wall, hearing the second hand tick loudly.  It was exactly 5am.  The taxi was set to pick me up at 5:15am at the end of my street and drive me to Kilkenny Airport.  From there I was off to London International Airport, where Uncle James was to pick me up.   

I can't believe I'm actually doing this!

I took one last long look around my dark room, at my too-large queen-sized bed, the heavy designer furniture that Mother had imported from Italy, the rows of makeup on my vanity that Mother always bought for me and I hardly ever touched.  The tasteful black-and-white striped rug was fluffy under my feet, and I caught my reflection one last time in the expensive full-length mirror that was "guaranteed to make anyone's reflection 20% slimmer."  (I could never really tell the difference between that mirror and any other one, though.)  My room was beautiful, it was elegant, it was everything most girls would want.  Heck, I might even have liked it, if I had been the one to choose all of this stuff.  But I hadn't chosen any of it – Mother had.  My room wasn't me.

And that was why I had to leave.

To say I was nervous would be understatement of the century.  I had never gone anywhere on my own, as long as I could remember.  

I was starting to get tired of "as long as I could remember."  It haunted me wherever I said that… Hopefully in London with Uncle James, I would be able to find out more about my past and fill in that yawning blank stretch in my memory.

Anyway, if the thought of going out for the first time by myself was nerve racking, the possibility of Mother somehow catching me on the way out was absolutely terrifying.  I had to get out of here. Out of this strict prison.  My life in the past was happier, or at least it seemed like it...   Even if Niall wasn't a great kid, from what I’ve found in the box, he seriously sounded like he was my best friend.  I had to meet him, at least, and see if he really did hate me and was using me for his drug money or whatever.  And the only way to be able to meet him would be through Uncle James, considering I had absolutely no idea how to find Niall.  For all I knew, he was busy with his band and had a new life and friends.  But I needed to hear him tell me that he hated me for me to stop searching for him – my best friend.

I let out a deep sigh, anxious of all that would be happening in the next 24 hours, but incredibly excited at the same time.  Taking one final look around my room, I silently opened my bedroom door and slipped out.  The hardwood floor of the hall was cold on my bare feet.   I glanced around nervously, heading down the shadowy hall towards the stairs.  I held my breath as I passed Mother's room.  Mother always kept her door slightly cracked open – probably for occasions like this. She never wanted me up earlier than her.  Luckily, her alarm wasn't set to go off until 6:00, and by then I should hopefully be at Kilkenny Airport.  She was a very light sleeper, though, just like me.  As I came close to the tiny slit through the door, I could see Mother's sleeping body wrapped up in at least three blankets, making her look like a huge cocoon.

"Goodbye, Mother," I breathed as quietly as possible, leaving her snores behind and tiptoeing down the stairs.

When I was finally on the first floor, I sat on the cold marble foyer, slipping on my white Toms on as hastily as I could.  I made hardly any noise at all, but that wasn't quiet enough, I guess, because suddenly I heard a noise from the second floor.  Stiffening, I held my breath. 

Creeeeeeeak…  Creeeeeeeak… 

A jolt ran up my spine.  Someone was walking down the stairs.

My heart in my throat, I scrambled to do the only thing that ran through my head – hide.