Second Snapshot (Picture This Sequel: Niall Horan)

-Detached memories. [Chapter 54]

I found myself turning around trying to get just one look at the door of Mark’s apartment and picturing him when he came out of that door, a wide smile on his lips as he greeted me, asked me a few polite questions and gave me that signature pat on the shoulder. But I didn’t see as Niall came into my vision giving me a simper of a smile as he stood next to me. I brushed it off and rested my head on his shoulder holding onto his arm as we just stared at my now empty apartment. The sofa was still there, the TV and the coffee table, but it just all looked so un-lived in. And maybe it was, I never really had strived to make it my own. I just took it as it was given to me, extravagant, expensive and modern. And then I knew – once I walked out those doors – locked this one and returned the key, that it would be just that. Empty. I wondered if somebody else would buy it, or get it gifted to them like I did, or maybe just use it as a holiday home, either way; the thought of someone else living there didn’t bother me. And maybe that was because in a way it never really felt like home, even if it was supposed to. But things don’t always feel the way they’re supposed to, and things don’t always go to plan and people make mistakes. But I can feel that moving back to London isn’t something I’m going to regret. Whatever happens.

-

Niall squeezed my hand flashing me a smile as we started up the driveway luckily clear of paparazzi. Give or take a few blurry photographs since Niall had been ‘off the scene’ the past two weeks and (hopefully) nobody knew he was in New York with me, or that I was coming back to London, making this arrival a lot easier. The gravel crunched underneath our feet and I remembered all the times I had walked up this driveway to be greeted by someone or something for so many different occasions. I remember most of the times walking up here with Niall, but sometimes I’d be on my own, sometimes I’d be excited, nervous, crying, smiling, escaping fans. Any situation, I always was fairly glad to be walking towards the comfort of this house. And sometime during the years I’ve known these boys I’d grown to find it more homely than my own home. And also, I felt a lot safer coming back here than I did my own home. But maybe it’s not even my own home anymore, according to my Mother it’s not, but I’m planning to pay one final visit soon. After all, I have to properly clear my life away, according to her. The merest contact I’ve had with her since the concluding argument early that December morning was a few days ago when I received a text from her stating simply-

I’d like all of your stuff removed from my house, soon.

Well, blunt and to the point had always been her forte. I wasn’t going to be difficult about it and if she was prepared to be co-operative then I would be back. Despite things I may have said, I never wanted it to turn out like this between us. I wanted distance, but I didn’t want out. I guess I’ve just always been the kind of person who used to believe that whatever happened family was supposed to be there for you until the end, through thick and thin, when you’re blood bound to someone clearly you were meant to endure a fairly tight knit relationship with them, right? But I suppose the term means something different to everyone. And clearly my Mother’s idea was not the same as mine. But I guess I had never really expected it to be. But you know those relationships; those relationships you can’t stand. The person annoys you to an end every single second of every single day. You shout, you go to war. You throw things at each other, you hurtle “I hate you.” ‘s every day, you insult, you sabotage, you bitch about them, you make them look bad. The apocalypse arrives and your last words to each other are “I never liked you.” The list could go on forever. But through all that, all that loathing you have for the relationship you just can’t, under any circumstances; let them go. And maybe it’s because you never even thought to give them any more than what you perceived them as: Everything you hate. And maybe, you were never meant to at least pretend to get along. And even if you never ever admitted it to yourself in your lifetime, you loved them really. And that was why you couldn’t let it go. Maybe not so dramatic, but with the same type of idea; that was how I thought mine and my Mother’s was going to go. No matter how many times we exchanged words of loathe, denied any traces of love and told each other we would disown each other, we never would officially call it quits. But we were, or she was. It wasn’t like I didn’t try, I did. I left her voicemails, maybe they were blunt but they were offering to sort things out with her, they were offering to just leave it on civil terms and pretend to get on for the sake of family. But no, she wasn’t having any of it. So after two months, I stopped trying. I never wanted it to be like this. I never wanted to be completely cut off from her, so much so that to her I was just another teenage girl and she was just another middle aged women, passing each other in this crazy world and thinking nothing more of it. But she did. And sometimes, one person’s apologies just aren’t enough. It takes two to make a relationship; it takes one to break it.