I hear the front door in the hallway open and close, even over the sound of the water running from the sink, but I don't react to it. I continue doing the dishes even when I hear a person walking in, and sighing, trying to make their presence known. I do turn around, though, when I hear something presumably heavy being dropped onto the table; before I can help my instincts, I'm face to face with Freya, standing next to the small dining table, two boxes in plastic bags on it.
I sigh inaudibly before speaking up, "Hi." Without waiting for a reply I turn around, wanting to find more glasses or cutlery or anything that would excuse me from talking to her, but I just end up turning the water off. I have a habit of cleaning around when I'm angry. I'd be a good husband to women who like getting on people's nerves, like the one standing behind me.
"Hi," She replies meekly, and when I look at her again, leaning against the edge of the sink, she's still standing in the same spot and just looking at me. Looking at any part of my body except my eyes, that is.
"Where were you?" I ask calmly. It's not that I'd missed her or wanted to be with her or anything, especially after last night. But I have to admit I was a little pissed when I woke up alone this morning; I'm the one that should get to leave now. She's done the damage, it's my turn to get a break. I know it sounds childish, but it's the only thing that could make any of this bearable.
"Um... I was..." She trails off, cautiously pulling the plastic bags off of the boxes she'd brought. I keep furrowing my brows harder, as she doesn't exactly look like she knows what to do. It's like there's a hint she'd like me to pick up on.
"Could you..." Freya begins, bringing her sleeve-covered hand to her lips as I look at her, "Tell me which one you like more?"
With eyebrows as furrowed as they could possibly get, I slowly walk over to the table to see what she's talking about; sure enough, the two boxes are holding sets of plates in different sizes. Dinnerware. One has regular, round plates with pastel flower crowns painted along the edges, and the other one has plates that are completely white, but with wavy edges.
"I couldn't decide because I liked both sets, so I asked to bring them home so you'd choose." Well, I'm not gonna lie. I'd probably be indecisive between these two too.
Despite the thoughtful and even sweet gesture, I don't feel like I can respond with anything but a shrug at the information. She's trying to make things better, that much is obvious, but I can't keep giving in to these things. It's as if I cheated on her and then bought her jewelry in hopes to make her forget about it.
"I don't care," I mumble, after inspecting both items for a few seconds, "Whichever one's cheaper."
"Niall," Freya sighs, as I begin walking away, "Come on, I- I'm- you have to be patient with me."
And here I thought there's nothing she could have said that would keep me from leaving the room. "If you're implying that I've been anything but patient with you-"
"No, I know, but-" She stops all of a sudden, sighing louder this time, her hands in her hair. I'm just standing here, leaned against the couch, watching her, wondering if she's ever going to get sick of coming up with excuses. I'd be exhausted by now.
"I-I can't make progress every day. It's a process. And some days are going to be good, others are gonna be bad. Bad days are the ones where I think too much, I overthink everything, and I feel like the world is going to end if I don't do something drastic, and yesterday was a bad day. It was a bad day. And it-it probably wasn't the last bad day I'm going to have. And I need you to be patient with me."
By the end of her jumbled speech she's gripping the backrest of one of the chairs, facing the floor, her hair blocking out her face. I don't have to guess that she's near crying. "I don't mind if you don't make progress for a while," I speak up, quietly, still in my spot at the couch. "You can stay in place for as long as you'd like, but I don't want you to go backwards. And what you did yesterday, that was going backwards."
"I know," She whispers after a longer silence, almost too quiet for me to hear, and strolls over to another chair to sit down on. For a while she only looks at her hands, a guilty expression on her face. "I don't have anything to say for myself."
Good, otherwise I wouldn't have listened. "Are you sure you don't want to talk to anyone?" I ask, a little hesitant about the subject, "Like a... therapist? Or something?"
At first she only replies with a humorless smile, rubbing her face with both hands. "I never said I don't."
I keep watching her, my eyes a little wider at this point, not sure if I'd heard her well. "Well... do you?"
"Dunno. I guess it can't do me any harm."
I walk over to the table once I process her words, pulling a chair to sit in front of her. "A-are you sure? 'Cause I don't want you to do anything for me. And I don't wanna make you feel like there's something wrong with you, you just... have problems that I'm not qualified enough to help you solve."
"No, you've done more than enough." She continues nodding to herself, "Way, way more than enough. I'm a perfect example that you can't just fix a person."
Holding back a smile, I reach out to take her hands, not taking my eyes off of hers. Even though she clearly doesn't want to look at me. "Okay, so... do you want me to start searching for numbers?"
"You're really keen on sending me to a doctor, aren't you?"
Now if she hadn't said that with humor in her tone, I would've been pissed. "Wha- no. No, I... I want you to get better. Mainly for yourself. I know you want to start college and get in touch with your mum, and... you can't do either of those when you have these paranoid thoughts cluttering your head."
"Do you think that's what it is?" She asks quietly, "Paranoia?"
"Well, let's not diagnose you with anything by ourselves," I say through a sigh, getting up from the chair to get my phone, that's lying on one of the kitchen counters. I pick it up and turn around to lean against the counter, but when I see Freya standing a few feet in front of me, fidgeting her hands, looking nervous and nauseous, I pause opening the browser.
"You alright?" I ask stupidly, as if I don't know she'd rather be doing anything else than this.
"Yeah. Do it. Go on."
I keep my eyes on her for another minute, as if trying to break through a firewall in her head and see what's on her mind. If her feelings match her appearance, then it's not hard to guess. They hardly ever do in reality, but the pale, blank, half-dead face she's giving me doesn't seem like an act.
"Come here," I tell her, almost reluctantly, stretching my arm out to greet her in a hug. Without any hesitation she's scurrying across the room, wrapping her arms around my waist, making me shiver when she presses her hands to my muscle tee clad back. I feel like her body temperature is a couple degrees below what's considered 'average'.
"I hope it's only issues," She mumbles against my neck, her voice trembling, "I hope it's nothing serious, so help me God, if I get told I have a m-mental disorder-"
"Hey- no, okay? No," I place my hand on her chin to make her look up at me; I don't care how vulnerable she is, she has to think straight. "Don't say things like that. You're... you're gonna be fine, as soon as you talk to someone whose job it is to help you."
"You have a lot of nice ways to call it, yet I still feel like a crazy person."
"Well then don't," I tell her, rubbing her arm to which she winces for some reason, "What you're dealing with isn't half as serious as what mental hospital patients deal with."
At first she gives me a skeptical look, thinking I'm not taking her seriously, but ends up nodding when she sees my point. "Okay. I'm still allowed to feel a little cuckoo, yeah?"
"Well, you are a little cuckoo, but that's not why you need to talk to someone," I tell her, nodding my head firmly, while she cracks a smile, her first one of the day. "You're gonna be alright. I promise."
She slides her arms around my waist again, letting out a fulfilled sigh, as I hug her back tighter than before. "Ow! Wait, wait, wait, hold on-" Though the hug ends a bit too soon as she starts trying to wriggle out of my hold, and I frown at her weirdly as I let her go.
"Is everything- wait," I don't lose the frown from my face, but my eyes do end up widening when she starts rubbing her upper arms, giving me a worried and apologetic look. The image of me pinning her against a wall and her telling me I'm hurting her inevitably appears before my eyes, and I feel like my heart's sunk to my fucking toes and stopped beating for a second. "Let me see."
"It's nothing seri-"
"Let me see."
"I'm serious, there's nothing to-"
"Just-" I sigh and grit my teeth as I force the leather jacket down her shoulders, and she just sighs, looking up at the ceiling, silently letting me take a look at her arms. She doesn't even flinch when I start unbuttoning her shirt to get as good of a look as possible, but the lump that forms in my throat once I pull her shirt halfway down her right arm is enough to choke me; and it should. I should get choked for this.
"Oh m-" I can't even finish my thought, I feel like if I keep talking my breakfast would just come flying out of my mouth at one point. I carefully place my left hand over the light purple bruise near her shoulder, shaking my head at how the small circles fit my finger pads perfectly. Freya sighs as she averts her eyes from the ceiling to me, clearly annoyed by the way I'm acting, but I can't even give it a second thought.
"Niall," She calls in an exhausted tone, "I-I bruise easily, you weren't even that-"
"Violent?" I look up at her with raised brows, trying not to let my emotions get the best of me. "Is that what you're gonna tell me, Freya? That I wasn't that fucking violent?"
"Stop it," She's the one frowning at me now, "You're not a violent person, it was an accident. Trust me, I can tell the two apart."
I keep watching her while she gives me a reassuring look, and wonder if this is how she feels when I accept the excuses she makes for herself. "It wasn't an accident," I shake my head, having her roll her eyes at that, "I knew what I was doing."
"No, you didn't. You weren't thinking straight. And you can't say it wasn't my fault too."
"Please don't turn this on yourself, please-"
"Niall, you didn't lash out on me for no reason. If I weren't a girl, you'd probably realize it too." She shakes her head at me a couple times, as if waiting for me to continue disagreeing with her. And I still feel awful and guilty and I wanna rip my arm off and let her beat me with it, but she's not entirely wrong. I would have never touched her out of the blue.
"I'm sorry," I shake my head, refusing to come up with any excuse for myself. I'm glad that she's not upset about it, which is a surprise considering her past, but I don't think I'm gonna stop feeling bad about it anytime soon. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't- I could have- I'm-"
"Stop." Freya takes my face in her hands, her tone light as she repeats the word. "I'm fine. I'm not mad at you, I'm not scared of you either. I'm fine. Now..."
She takes a semi-deep breath, looking down at my hand - my phone. "Look up a decent therapist before I chicken out."
For the first time, the fact that I've physically hurt her leaves my mind for a second, and I manage to chuckle at her sudden change of moods. "Okay," I reply quietly, leaning closer to kiss her forehead. "I love you."
"I love you too," She sighs, nuzzling her head into my shoulder, sounding relieved that I'd said the three words. I kiss her temple a couple times while she tightens her hold around my waist; this is definitely not how I expected this morning to be.
*******
"You sure you don't want me to go with you?" I ask, my usual question for the past couple of weeks.
"No, I got it," Freya answers - the answer I've heard three times already - while she gathers her stuff from around the apartment to put them in her purse. "You know I do."
I nod, leaning against a wall and watching her, waiting for her to leave. "Well, uh- yeah, I'll be on my way."
As if on cue, she turns to me and, with a sheepish smile forming on her face, walks over to give me a kiss on the cheek. "I'll be back in an hour."
But before she can walk away, I pull her back to me, to give her an actual kiss on the lips. "Can I just say," I mumble, "Therapy's doing you wonders."
She pulls away from our already sloppy kiss, only to breathe out a laugh against my lips. "All thanks to you. Now if you don't let me go, my performance will go down."
I grin at that, stealing another kiss before she manages to leave for good. "I love you."
"Yeah, don't forget that!" She exclaims as she opens the door to leave, not looking back while I laugh at the last thing she told me. For a few seconds after she leaves, I keep standing against the wall, just thinking about the last two-ish weeks. In contrast to her first session, which I'd gone to with her and which didn't exactly end that well, she'd been coming home a lot happier the other three times. She's not comfortable telling me about the things she talks about in therapy, that might be it. And if it is, then, I don't think I'd have a problem with it just yet. As long as she keeps coming home like she'd just been to Disneyland.
I clear my throat and push myself off the wall, realizing I'm standing here and doing nothing. I head towards the couch, figuring I'd find Dawson's Creek or Supernatural on Netflix, and watch either one until Freya returns. Actually, that's not a good idea. If I started watching now, I would keep watching it until I'm done with the whole season. So I'll just watch cable TV. Yeah. They'll control the amount of time I spend in front of the TV screen since I clearly can't do it myself.
About a minute into my channel surfing - I've forgotten how boring television can get, dear lord - I hear the familiar melody of The Kids Aren't Alright, indicating my phone is ringing. With my eyes glued to the TV screen, I crawl up on the sofa and reach behind me, knowing I'd be able to reach my phone off the small square dining table. I glance behind me after feeling around for a few seconds, and finally snatch it, to see an unknown number on the screen.
"Hello?"
"Hi, is this Niall? Horan?"
I frown at the somewhat familiar voice - but I can't exactly put my finger on it. "Yes, who is this?"
"Doctor Bowen," The woman says, and continues talking as I start nodding to myself, remembering who she is. "Uh, Freya's doctor."
"Yeah, can I help you? Are you calling about her sessions?" I ask, all the while trying to open a coke can with one hand. I need bigger hands. I need Harry's hands.
"Well, yes," She says, and I frown at how uncomfortable she sounds all of a sudden. "I'd like to know if she's going to continue showing up?"
Well that's a strange question. "Um, yes? She's on her way right now."
"Oh," Dr. Bowen says, now sounding surprised - and becomes speechless for a minute. "That's good then, she hasn't come since her first session and I was just wondering-"
I'm not sure what happened first - if I'd dropped my phone and the can of coke, or if I'd lost my eye sight for a second which caused the falls. "U-um, excuse me?" I stammer into the speaker as I clumsily pick up my phone, forgetting all about the coke that I failed to open. Thank God. "She hasn't- what?"
"I thought you know," She tells me, with a pinch of awkwardness in her voice, but maintaining the passive tone. "Then again, it doesn't seem like she tells you these things, does it?"
No. No, it doesn't. Not at all. "No," I voice my thoughts, rubbing the corner of my eye, deciding not to start fully reacting to what I've just been told before the end of this phone call. "But thank you. We'll sort it out."
Before she gets a chance to say goodbye, or anything else, I hang up - I've been doing that a lot lately - and for a minute or so I just sit and stare straight ahead of myself, my thoughts already jumbled.
But no, this situation doesn't even require thinking. It doesn't. When you put a pot of milk on a burner and don't turn it off eventually, it will boil over. It'll happen even if you turn it off for 30 seconds or so, and then turn it back on again. And that's what she's been doing with me. And I'm the milk. This is when I boil over.
As calmly as I possibly can in this state, I find her number and dial it, trying to keep my head clear but failing continuously. My leg is shaking uncontrollably and I feel like I'm gonna pass out any moment now from the lack of air, and I'm starting to think I should've taken a tranquilizer before making this phone call, but I can't afford to waste time on anything else. If I don't do this now, I'm never going to do it and I seriously mean it.
"Hello? Niall?" The first thing I hear besides her voice is a crowd in the background, and one or two cars passing by. So far I know she's outside.
"Where are you?" I ask, and if I were thinking straight, I'd probably congratulate myself on sounding so calm.
"Uh, I'm on- I'm still on my way to the doctor. Why?"
I clear my throat, keeping my voice collected. "Okay, I'm going to ask again, and this time you won't lie to me. Where are you?"
This time she doesn't say anything, for a long minute or so. I'm thinking she's either trying to come up with something, or she got cold feet. "Freya?"
"I-I stopped to get something to eat, but I'm definit-"
"For the love of God," I groan into the phone, getting impatient but refusing to get angry just yet. "Your therapist called and I know you haven't been going. Where are you?"
When I repeat my question for the third time, all I hear on the other line is heavy breathing. She's really trapped now, she has no choice but to come clean. Actually, she does, but this situation will end one way no matter what she chooses to do. "Alright, since you're not gonna cooperate, this is what's gonna happen."
I get up from the sofa, heading towards the bedroom, and the sound of her breathing magically stops. "I'm going to go to the frat house for a couple of days, and in that time, you're going to pack your stuff and get the hell out."
"Niall-"
"No," I shake my head, struggling to shove some of my clothes in my backpack with one hand, "No Niall, no nothing. I've been coping with your shit for five months, I'm not gonna do it anymore."
"No! No, no, no, wait, I'll tell you, just- just wait. Please."
"Oh my God," I mumble, laughing bitterly, "Don't you get it? It doesn't fucking matter. Nothing matters anymore. Just do what I told you."
"Niall, please." I'm either imagining things or she's crying in public. "Please listen to me-"
"How about you shut up for once instead!" Just as I'd stood up with my backpack, I can't help but throw it across the room in anger, knocking a lamp over. I wasn't planning to do this, but his is it. This is when I get everything off my chest. "I've listened to you day after day after day, and honestly, Freya, I'm fucking sick of it. I'm sick of you, and listening to you, because you never do what you say you'll do. Your words don't mean shit. So spare me the suffer of being with you and take your things, go, go wherever the fuck you want, I don't care where you end up."
I want to say I could have handled that a better way, but I honestly don't think so. I know I could've used better words, maybe put a little bit more effort into not losing my shit, but I've simply had enough. I've had it, with her and what she calls 'promises', and sitting around waiting for her to make them happen, when I've subconsciously known that I'm just wasting my time. At this point she hasn't even failed me, she's failed herself and will continue to do so. She's never going to get better because she doesn't see how bad she has it and even if she went to therapy, even if she listened to me this one time, she wouldn't have accomplished anything. All she is is just an endless cycle of fucking up, complaining, and crying. There's nothing she or anyone could do about it. There's no cure. It just is what it is.
"Good- is it the morning or the afternoon?" After four rings, Seth answers my call, while I'm locking the door of my apartment. She has a key, she can get in. And hopefully leave it under the doormat when she's before leaving.
"Listen," I decide to ignore his question because he's probably gonna figure it out by himself. "I'm gonna turn on my location, and you're gonna come pick me up and take me to the frat house, okay?"
"Wha- whoa. Wait. What?" I sigh in frustration, but I can't really blame him for not understanding a word of what I'd said. Talking fast mixed with my accent has got to be confusing. "Why?"
Oh, I guess he understood me. "I... I lost it." I grit my teeth as I walk out of the building, shaking my head. "I can't deal with her anymore, Seth, I fucking lost it."
"Okay, alright, did you do something? Physical?" I'd be a fool not to know how Seth is about men hitting women. If my answer was 'yes', he'd pick me up and drop me off in an active volcano.
"No, she wasn't even there, she just... wasn't where she was supposed to be."
"Okay. Okay, I'll pick you up and you can talk to me. I'll listen. But I won't know what to say."
Good enough. "Alright. Just hurry up, I'm on my way and I forgot my winter jacket and I'm already numb from the cold."
"That's an idiotic thing to do, but I'll forgive you this time. Don't forget to turn on your location too."
"I won't, I'll do it right now."
"Good." Well, this is definitely not how I expected this day to go by.
*******
i'm very sorry for not updating in a century and a half but it is much easier to just lie in my bed face down and imagine these scenes in my head you know????
and please vote and comment? i'm on spring break as of tomorrow so next update will be up much sooner for sure x