Reason To Be (A Zouis Family AU)

Part Four, Chapter Seven

Niall paces back and forth in his room, one wall to the other, trying to count the steps in an attempt to distract himself from the buzzing of his mind. Dad and Papa still don't know that he hasn't been taking his ADHD meds, and he doesn't want to tell them for fear of how they'll react. They hadn't taken it lightly the last time they'd found out he'd been hiding things from them.

So he walks. Tries to think of other things that don't centre around them the tightness in his chest or the scratches on his arms from where his nails have raked his skin in an effort to calm himself down, ground himself.

There are days like this, where he can't think and he can't breathe and he can't stop the energy that is flooding through him with nowhere to go - and there are the other days, where getting out of bed in the morning is the hardest chore, going to school is exhausting, and he feels ready to burst into tears at any given moment. The day he had spoken to Harry in the school bathroom had been one of the latter.

Harry - his mind latches onto that thought and spirals.
Dad hadn't been able to see him the day before; he broke his promise and didn't even call. He's in trouble, he has to be. Something has to be really wrong.

Or maybe he's the thing that's wrong. Maybe Harry has just had enough of dealing with all of his stupid problems, maybe he still thinks he's really annoying. He wouldn't blame him if that were the case. In fact, he would understand.

He's had enough of himself too. He's had enough of his entire existence being all or nothing, high or low.

His arms sting and he glances down, halting mid-pace when he catches himself clawing at his own skin again. Long scabs ebb their way from the base of his palms, over his pulse point, stopping midway along his forearm. He gulps, pulling his hands away to reveal fresh red welts, raised over his pale skin. He tugs down the long sleeves of his thin shirt and goes back to pacing.

He can't focus at school again. He hasn't had any detentions or gotten into trouble yet, doesn't have the energy to shout out in class and make others laugh like he did before. But he knows it's just a matter of time before his grades slip again and his teachers notify his parents. And then there'll be the disappointment...he isn't sure he can handle that on top of the disappointment he has in himself.

Luke hasn't been around in a while. They go to different schools now, and his friend has probably moved on. Probably glad to see the back of him, he knows he would be if he were him. He wouldn't want to have some ex-teen-addict following him around all the time. Luke does call, and message, quite a lot. But Niall doesn't message back most times. It just uses up too much energy - and he knows that makes him a bad friend.

Bad friend, bad brother...what else? Bad son, definitely.

He swallows down the lump in his throat, letting out a shuddering breath and realising that somewhere along the line, his eyes have started to burn. He blinks rapidly, lifting his hands to press his palms against his eyes, trying to take an even breath that has his shoulders rising high before they drop again.

"I'm meant to be better," he hisses to himself, fingers moving up to grip at his hair. He tugs at it, the slight sting of pain enabling him to blink the tears away. "I'm not - I'm meant to be better. Not screwed up. Not like this," he whispers to himself, voice hitching on every other syllable as sobs threaten to leak into his words.

He tugs his hair again a few times, stopping where he is in the middle of his bedroom and staring longingly at the door. Not that long ago, Harry would have been in the room next to his, would have heard his pacing and come in to talk to him. He would have listened to him let everything off of his chest and stayed with him whilst he cried.