Second Snapshot (Picture This Sequel: Niall Horan)

-Stupid, crazy, messed up little love life. [Chapter 2]

 I still wear the necklace too. The necklace, shit. He had to have seen it yesterday, didn’t he? Then again I was wearing a pretty high collared shirt. What would he even say if he knew I was? Should I still wear it now? I don’t want to take it off.

It was then, as I tucked it inside my top that I realised how much I really still do love him. It’s like hiding this necklace underneath the thin materiel of my top is hiding that he was ever and still is a big part of me and I feel kind of…guilty. It’s not like I owe anything to him though, right? He’s the one who stole my heart and didn’t plan on giving it back, even not now, if he even realises.

A single tear rolled down my cheek invading my perfect make-up. I hastily wiped it away composing myself as I heard the low rumble of the car arriving to pick me up to take me to the boy’s hotel. And then I realised just how scared I was. This was finally sinking in, that after a year of no contact we were meeting again and worst of all being thrown into work collaboration together. How is this even reality? Running to the bathroom the next thing I knew was I was watching my own vomit spiralling into the loo before I flushed it away. I sucked in a few deep breaths before staring at myself in the mirror, my eyes were glassy with tears gathering but I wasn’t going to cry, I can’t. Leaning closer to the mirror and wiping away the slightly smudged eye-liner I chewed on my lower lip nervously. Did I really look acceptable to be greeting the boys for the first time in over a year? I guess it’s going to have to do. My hair still has that red tinge at the ends; I really need to dye that out soon. I picked up some lip-stick smoothing it over my lips before taking a gulp of water and popping a mint into my mouth. I smoothed my hands over my outfit to get out any possible creases. I composed myself as well as I could and after one finally glance at myself in the mirror I slung my bag over my shoulder and dragged my suitcases with me into the lift and into the car.

This is going to be a long 6 weeks.

“So I bet you’re physced about being One Direction’s stylist, right love?”

The driver asked me. He had no idea.

“Umm not particularly.”

“Ah not a fan? Many girls would kill for your job.”

“Something like that.”

I said and he dis-missed the subject. In fact he dis-missed talking to me completely. Whatever. Not like I’m in a mood to talk anyway. I could possibly throw up any minute now, again.

After some terrible consideration I have to come to the conclusion that maybe in order to avoid spending a lot of awkward time avoiding Niall I just need to ignore him. Talk to him when necessary in a civil manner and let him know when he’s pissing me off. I don’t want to be a bitch, hell I wanna tell him I’m still hopelessly in love with him. But I feel that the only way to refrain from him realising that is to be a bitch and ignore him. I’m here to work not to sort out previous relationships. Damn, New York has changed me. Since when did I put business before love? Oh yeah, when my mother told me to.

I almost threw up again when the car pulled up outside the hotel but I swallowed it all back down telling myself that it was a few hours until could lock myself in my room for the night and hopefully the boy’s would be busy tomorrow and I could do whatever work on my own.

I’ve spent so long building up my walls, etching my problems into them as a warning sign not to give me anymore crap. So why when I met Niall yesterday why did it feel like those walls weren’t there anymore? I felt so open and vulnerable like he just had to say one more thing to me and I was about ready to break. Because he was sat right next to me, talking to me, like nothing ever happened and nothing ever went wrong. And somehow that angered me. How he could be so causal after everything. What may be annoyed me even more was how he didn’t even punish me in any way after what I said and did to him. I was such a bitch, such a freaking bitch and he was being nice to me. Nice. Why? I wanted to scream at him and ask him why he didn’t give me what I god damn deserved but I also wanted to break down and let the tears explode again as I told him everything. But somehow, none of that seemed realistic. Besides I was forbidding myself from doing any of those things anyway because I wasn’t going to speak to him. I would simply pretend that he meant nothing to me when in fact; he meant the whole god damn world.