Black
Niall was watching me.
He'd been out of the flat all Saturday, but he arrived home close to dinnertime. After exclaiming a greeting – which I hadn't bothered to return – he'd approached me in the common area where I was sprawled out on the couch clad in my plaid pajama bottoms and a V-neck, video game controller in hand and eyes fixated on the screen. Unfortunately, the blare of the music from my laptop did nothing to drown out his presence in my periphery.
But he was staring, not saying a word.
After several uncomfortable seconds on my part, I eventually paused the game and rolled my head to meet his stare with exasperation.
"What?" I asked.
His response was muffled by Rob Halford's heavy metal screech.
"What?" I repeated, scrunching up my face in confusion.
Plopping down on the armchair, he reached forward to mute my music.
"I said: busy day?"
I shrugged, mussing up my hair. "Made it to level fourteen in this bloody game."
"S'nothing. Jamer and I made it to twenty-nine," Niall said with a scoff.
"Well, maybe Jamer has no life and you're a right tosser," I grumbled.
"Yeah. Maybe." He raised an eyebrow, suspicious of my mood.
Just then, my mobile began to ring.
"Where were you?" I asked Niall, not moving an inch.
He scanned the table and the couch for my mobile, finding nothing. "Uh... first I had to finish up this segment I was working on at the news station," – he lifted himself off the chair, looking underneath his legs – "then I met with some lady who has connections to this travelling crew making short films," – he dropped to the floor, looking underneath the table, the couch, and both arm chairs – "and then I stopped by The Fox and The Fiddle to let the manager know Finley's got a permanent weekend slot in McNally's lineup and he'd better make a move if he's interested in – where the fuck is your mobile?!"
Confused beyond belief, Niall raised his disheveled head over the edge of the couch, his eyes boring into mine with insistence.
I shrugged, pointing over his shoulder. His head followed my finger, eventually spotting the device on the floor next to the wall.
"You gonna answer it?" he asked.
I shook my head.
"How did it get there?"
I shrugged again. "Threw it."
Niall looked at me like I was insane. "Why?"
Another shrug. "Muff—Misty keeps calling," I corrected myself.
Sitting back on the couch, Niall replied with a blunt, "So?"
"So I don't want to talk to her."
I leaned forward and turned up my music. A little bit of screamo, a little bit of death metal. It was nice.
"How come?"
"Ever since Fitz told her we broke up, she's been all over me. Offering condolences and trying to arrange meetups, like suddenly I'm all alone in the world and in desperate need of company."
Despite my bitter tone, Niall still looked me up and down with a cynical expression. Suddenly, I wished that I'd showered. Or changed into real clothes. Or opened my curtains to catch a glimpse of natural light.
But I had done none of those things, and the day was already over.
"Shut up. Don't say it," I snapped before Niall could open his mouth with a painfully honest response.
My mobile ceased its infernal ringing and Niall heaved a breath of relief at the silence.
"At least she gives a shit about you, eh? Which is more than can be said for your d —"
At my sharp glare, Niall shut his mouth.
But not for long.
"Anyway, you wanna come out tonight?" he asked brightly.
I shook my head.
"Why not?"
"Don't feel like it."
Niall gargled in the back of his throat in annoyance. "You never do anything anymore. Back in uni, you'd go out every weekend."
"We're not in uni anymore," I muttered.
"But you're still Harry."
"No, I'm Harry Styles, Market Research Analyst at Myriad. And I don't want to go out tonight because I've worked twelve hour days in the office since Monday. I've given three presentations, attended two meetings and spoken to about fifty clients. I just want to sit here and not move and not think."
"And you don't find that goddamn depressing?"
"So what if it is? It's real life. It's boring as hell and sometimes it makes you want to throw yourself off a building, but one day, you're gonna have to accept that it's what people do in order to make a living."
A phone was ringing again.
Niall was quick to brush me off. My comments rolled from his shoulders as if they'd barely made contact. "Nobody has to accept anything. For example, I refuse to believe that you're perfectly content sitting here listening to Iron Maiden and Judas Priest, just like I refused to accept that you were 'fine' when you were in your Enya phase. You're pissed now instead of sad, and that's refreshing from you – but I still think you need to be with the people. Calm your rage and all."
"I don't have rage."
"Prove it. Come out."
With one last glance in his direction for his strange, nonsensical logic, I turned back to my game and positioned the remote in my hands.
"At the very least," Niall said with a huff, pushing himself off the chair and walking across the room to pick up my mobile on the floor, "answer your bloody—" He stopped, examined the screen, and realized that my mobile wasn't the source of the ring. He dropped it to the ground, crying, "Oh, it's me!", and dug his hands into his pockets to find his own. I zoned out of his private conversation and focused solely on my game.
"Well, bunny, I hope you're happy," Niall said bitterly as he ended the call.
"I'm not, thanks," I replied absently, my tongue poking through my lips as I turned a sharp corner on the screen.
"Now neither of us can go out tonight."
"All right."
I didn't much care, but Niall apparently had some rage of his own.
"That was Claire. And as it turns out, she's coming over. She's thirty minutes away."
"Okay."
"No!" he exclaimed, infinitely frustrated with my nonchalance. "Not okay! A perfectly good night, a million opportunities, and now I'm stuck here with miserable you and Claire!"
Not at all fazed, I added dryly, "Don't forget The Fucking Turtle."
He groaned, collapsing on the couch. From the corner of my eye, I witnessed his absolute woe and paused my game.
"Did you ever consider telling her that you had plans tonight? That you didn't want to hang around the flat?" I suggested.
"She's already more than halfway here."
"So?"
"So I can't make her turn around. That's mean." "So maybe be mean," I offered, and Niall looked at me with a frown. "Look, do you want to spend the night with her?"
He shrugged. "No."
"Then why waste your time?"
Niall gestured to me, un-showered, unshaved, completely disheveled on the couch, and said dully, "You're one to talk."
I wasn't bothered. "Say what you want about me, but at least I don't hang around with people I don't want to be with."
Pushing himself off from the couch for the second time, Niall grumbled, "You don't hang around with anyone anymore."
It was as he was dragging his feet to his bedroom that I replied pointedly, "I hang around with you, mate."
*
On a weekday after work, I passed Finley and her perpetually disinterested, stupidly goatee'd boyfriend in the hallway and murmured a hello. Finley offered a slight smile and wave in return, her guitar strap thrown across her shoulder, and I could have sworn she craned her neck to peer into my flat as I entered, hoping to catch a glimpse of Niall.
I shut the door before I could assess the disappointment in her expression and turned to find Niall lounging on the couch, computer on his lap.
It may have been a trick of the light... but I was sure I'd seen Fitz's face in the middle of his screen. Heard her voice cheerfully chattering away at him from thousands of kilometres away.
As soon as the door slammed shut, so did his laptop.
"Hey," he said, glancing over his shoulder with an innocent expression, "you're home early."
Niall looked different. For a moment, I wondered whether he'd dyed his hair. I blinked in confusion, realizing that his hair was the same – there was just less of it on his face. He was significantly less bearded than before.
"Was that Fitz?"
"Who?"
I rolled my eyes at his feigned oblivion. Pointing to his laptop, I asked as I approached, "You were skyping with her?"
"What? No." Niall frowned deeply as if I'd wrongly accused him of murder.
Bored, I loosened my tie.
"Yes, you were."
He softened, his accused frown turning downtrodden. "She's my mate."
I eyed him as I pulled my tie from underneath my collar and laid it over the chair in the common area.
"I know," I said gently. "I was just pointing it out." Niall hesitated, picking up his glass of juice from the table and taking a long sip while he watched me unravel from the day. It was when I gathered my belt and tie in my hands that he spoke again.
"You want to know how she's doing?" he offered.
I did. I really, truly did. It was eating away at me every day. Questions about where she was staying and who she was meeting and what she was doing and if she liked it and if she was safe and if the sun was shining for her and if she missed home. Missed me.
Because I missed her like hell. Though we'd avoided each other after the breakup, knowing she was in another continent made it even worse. So much more painful. Like my better half had been ripped away and left nothing but a gaping hole in my chest.
...
"No."
The word came from my tongue, but the voice sounded foreign to me. It echoed in my eardrums and left a bitter taste on my lips. Like it wasn't really me who was saying it. It was someone else entirely.
But I left it at that, turning on my heels and heading to my room. I paused in the doorway, looking over my shoulder to see disappointment etched in Niall's eyes, the contemplative yet sad pout in his lips as he stared after me.
"By the way," I added, using my thumb and index finger to stroke my chin, "a goatee, mate?" My eyes darted to the front door, where just beyond, Finley's boyfriend sat bearing a similar style. "You're not fooling anyone."
He shrugged, unperturbed.
"Pretending not to care about Fitz?" he returned. "Neither are you."
*
I used to put in long hours at the office because I felt it was expected of me and I didn't want to let anyone down.
But after the break-up with Fitz and my promotion, I worked from dawn until nightfall because I had nothing to go home to. Nobody to see, nothing to do. There was certainly a heavier burden on my shoulders than before – I now reported directly to Alison rather than to a Senior Market Analyst. I certainly had more work and more responsibilities than before. At the heart of it, however, I knew that wasn't what kept me in my cube.
On a Tuesday evening, after the office had been silent other than the humming electrical panels for a good two hours, I turned off my computer and grabbed my mobile and blazer as I headed out for the night. I was surprised to find Vic at reception. It used to be that when I stayed late, she did, too – but that was when we were still on speaking terms. Then communication had ceased, and just when she made an effort again, I shut her down in my infinite depression.
"What are you still doing here?" I couldn't help but ask as I approached.
"Stupid fucking envelope stuffing," she grumbled, adding with a roll of her eyes, "the literal most boring task in the universe, and I've done it twice today. Twelve hundred letters with a massive typo had to be removed this afternoon, reprinted by Alison, and re-stuffed by – you guessed it – the lazy, underworked receptionist. I swear to Tom Cruise I could have watched Coronation Street in its entirety using only my valuable time that's been put to complete waste in this absolute fucking asscrack of Satan."
I'd only asked a simple question and was taken aback by her rant. In the couple of months we'd gone without speaking, I'd forgotten how explosive she was.
And I couldn't help snorting with laughter.
"So it's been a good day?"
"Go fuck yourself."
Though I wasn't sure whether or not she was serious, I cracked a grin. "I deserve that, I guess."
She raised a brow, sticker poised to seal an envelope. "You guess?"
I shrugged, sidestepping the awkwardness to ask, "When do you think you'll get out of here?"
She set the envelope aside and moved onto the next. "As soon as the sounds made by my empty stomach overpower the buzz in the ceiling."
"Ah. Which will be... when?"
"I was doing fine until you brought it up," she said, eyeing me in disapproval. "Now I won't be able to stop thinking about it and I'll be tormented by images of my stomach feasting on my other organs."
I laughed again. It felt good to laugh. My cheeks were sore from the few seconds I'd spent smiling – I hadn't exercised those muscles in ages.
I remembered that Vic was good company. And after a long, lonely day – no, week – no, month, good company was what I decided I needed more than anything else in the world.
Which was why, despite her initial skepticism, Vic accompanied me to Annexe for dinner straight from the office. After all, I had a gift certificate from Muffy that needed to be used up.
Vic sat across from me, surveying her surroundings with trepidation as she folded her hands neatly on the two-person table. I'd already explained to her that dinner was courtesy of my father and stepmother, but from the look she gave me, she still thought it was too much.
"Figured I owed you big-time," I said with a sheepish smile. "All those times I couldn't make it out for a pint."
She leaned back as the server arrived with our drinks, maintaining eye contact. "Couldn't? Or didn't want to?"
My smile faded. After we'd ordered our meals and the server left us be, we grabbed our wine glasses and took long gulps.
I tried again to break the ice.
"So," I said, setting down my wine, "how have you been?"
She shrugged. "All right."
"Flat's good?"
She nodded.
"Parents aren't nagging you to bring home a boyfriend?"
Her face fell. Once again, I knew I'd said the wrong thing.
I cleared my throat, changing the subject. "Have you been here before?"
"No."
"Me neither. There's this one pub called McNally's down the street from where I live. It's a sketchy little place, but we like it. We always say we're gonna branch out but then we end up at the same table two or three times a week."
Vic raised an eyebrow, leaning forward to fold her arms on the table. "We?"
"Yeah. Me and—" Fitz. We both knew Fitz didn't apply anymore. Thrown off but determined not to make things even more awkward, I concluded, "Me and... well, Niall. Mostly."
Vic nodded slowly, like she didn't quite believe me.
I sighed in defeat, all pretenses lost. "Look, I have an apology for you. I rehearsed it and everything."
It was her turn to be thrown off. With a frown, she asked, "An apology for what?"
"You know for what."
She blinked, her long eyelashes batting to prove her innocence. She was going to make me say it.
Swallowing my pride, I said lowly, "For kissing you that night."
Feigning confusion, Vic said, "You already apologized for that."
"I know, but it was in front of Alison and we'd just learned about Beckett. Anyway, I was going to ease us into it tonight, but I can launch into it right away to clear the air. Would that be better?"
She shrugged as though she didn't care either way. "I'm not interested in an apology for the kiss."
I deserved that, and I knew it. Nonetheless, I still sat back in my chair with a heavy sigh, wishing dinner would be served straight away.
Vic added, "I'm interested to hear why you've been so sullen the last month, even with your big promotion. Especially with your big promotion."
It felt like prying, but maybe it was her own way of getting things back to the way they used to be. After all, I used to confide in her.
"Well..." I trailed, rubbing the back of my neck, "you know Fitz and I broke up."
Her immediate question was, "What does that mean?"
My brows pulled together in confusion. "We're no longer... together?"
"No, no." She shook her head. "I never get what people mean when they say, 'we broke up,' like it was mutually decided. Was it mutual?"
I laughed. I couldn't help it. A short bark of a laugh because the thought of me ending things with Fitz was ludicrous to me.
"No," I said.
"Did she call it off?"
I nodded. "Although she says I ended it." To Vic's quirked eyebrow, I shrugged it off and said, "It's complicated."
"You're a walking Facebook status."
"Thank you."
"So... did you tell her about the kiss?"
"No." Initially surprised by my quick response, Vic glared. I leaned forward with an explanation. "I would have. I was going to. I didn't get the chance. She found out, actually, because... there's this lad who... well, it's complicated."
Perplexed but not pressing, Vic nodded. "Is that the reason things ended between you two?"
"No." I shook my head, suddenly changing my mind. "Yes." But I knew as I said it that it wasn't true. "Well, it's a part of it, I guess. I don't know."
The corner of her lips tugged into a half smile. "You seem a bit unclear."
"I am," I agreed with another short laugh. "She ended it, then she was around all the time and it felt like she was taunting me, then I told her we couldn't see each other anymore. She took it personally and fled to America."
"What?!" Vic cried.
Finally, an echoed reaction of my own.
"She was thinking of going beforehand," I said in Fitz's defense. "Maybe us breaking up prompted her to make it happen. Get some experience, figure herself out."
Vic sat back in her seat, no longer indignant on my behalf. "Isn't that a good thing?"
"Guess so." I shrugged. "But I'm still fucking confused. I don't know what she's thinking. I don't know what I'm thinking."
Vic considered this, taking another sip of wine as she mulled it over. Then, brown eyes staring into mine, she asked without apology, "What are you thinking?"
I paused, scanning the restaurant and eyeing the other couples who were probably talking about mutual friends or how much they loved each other.
I sat back in my seat, bringing my wine with me as I heaved a sigh.
"That work sucks," I admitted. "My flat sucks. This city sucks. And if it were simple, I'd just go somewhere else. Where nobody knew about me and Fitz so nobody tried to give me any advice about it. Where I wouldn't have to step into an office every day and hear the bloody phones ringing off the hook. My father wouldn't be able to reach me because I'd have no cell service. I'd just open up a seashell stand or a pineapple booth and wear shoes made out of old tyres and live under a palm tree forever. Maybe I'd get a pet raccoon or something. Share my jugs of rum with him."
Vic smiled. One of the first I'd seen from her in a long, long time. "And what about retirement? Your pension?"
"Dunno."
She tilted her head to the side. "What if you wanted to go on vacation?"
"I live on the beach."
"Everyone needs to get away from where they live once in a while. How would you go?"
"Dunno," I replied with a shrug.
"What if your pineapple stand was destroyed in a typhoon and you didn't have any insurance?"
"Dunno," I said with a chuckle. "Don't care."
"No? Why not?"
I scoffed. "Because it wouldn't matter. Why would I care about any of the bullshit when I thought the sun was gonna shine the next day?"
Nodding thoughtful, Vic swirled the wine around in her glass. "All of a sudden, you're Mr. Uncertainty."
With a lazy smile, I pointed out, "You were the one who first told me I'm not supposed to know. Weren't you?"
"Yeah, I was. You weren't too happy with that notion."
"It doesn't make sense to me," I offered with a shrug. "My whole life's been planned out for me, so not knowing what's gonna happen... it's scary, to say the least."
"So what now? Are you a free spirit?"
With a sad smile, I shook my head. "It's hard to change."
"But?" she said, urging me forward.
"But..." My smile was replaced with a pensive expression. "I guess lately, I've been having all these thoughts about the choices I've made and how I got to be where I am. Where I'm going. What I'm doing."
"Existential crisis."
"Exactly. And I guess... when I was younger, I thought I would be happier by now. I assumed that if I did exactly what my father wanted me to do, it would all work out and I'd finally be happy. And I mean, in theory, everything's gone the way it was supposed to. I've got a good job, live on my own, got my savings and my pension... but it's all turned out to be less glamorous than I thought."
"A disappointment, you mean."
"Not a disappointment. Worse than that. Like... just... bullshit," I said in a breath, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders even as I said it. "Bullshit of the highest order. Because knowing that I'm gonna be here, in this job and this life, except maybe with a fancier title and a nicer car, in five or ten years' time – knowing it – it's turned out to be bloody fucking depressing."
Vic nodded, slowly and thoughtfully.
"And I guess I've been wondering what it's like not to know. Maybe I'm glamorizing the other side of the coin, but not knowing where you're gonna be in five years – not knowing where you'll live or what you'll do, just reaching out for opportunities that grab at you – it's like... you can dream with that, you know? You have a rough day, and you can say, 'It's gonna get better.' You don't have to remind yourself that it's always gonna stay the same. And maybe you don't make as much. Maybe your resume's not as impressive. Maybe you're fucked when you retire. But you worry about all that when you get to it. In the interim, you dream about what you want. And if only some of the stuff comes true, or even if none of it ever works out... that's still better than never dreaming about it at all. Never giving yourself that hope." I'd lost myself in the whirlwind of my own thoughts, and when I called myself back to Earth, I locked eyes with Vic and finished, "Isn't it?"
A small smile was on her face as she swished her wine, watching me with interest.
"Exactly," she agreed softly, nodding her head.
Maybe that was all the apology she needed. Maybe it wasn't. Either way, as we ate our meals and exchanged smiles across the table and rambled excitedly about Beckett's idiocy in getting fired, it felt like things would be all right with us.
And I hadn't felt all right about anything in a long time.
It felt nice.
*
Niall told Claire it wasn't going to work out between them.
To be honest, it happened quite abruptly without any precursors or foreshadowing – unless our conversation the week before had inspired him. Even so, it was difficult to believe as the iron truth. For much longer than a year, Niall and Claire had been hopping into bed together and hopping out just as fast, promising every time that it was the last time.
Niall assured us – Jamer and I, alike in no way but our skepticism – that this time, it really was the last time. And to prove it, he dragged us to a club ten blocks down the street where he assured us he'd secure a woman to warm his bed for the night.
I didn't exactly care whether or not Niall was promiscuous for the night, but I tagged along – or more appropriately, was dragged along – because Niall claimed that he'd gotten me through my break-up by sitting on the couch and "whining" with me and it was my turn to get him through his. It just so happened that going to a club and drinking a copious amount of liquor was the only appropriate way to repay him.
Which was how I found myself chatting with a reasonably attractive raven-haired bird at the bar, rum and coke in hand, while Jamer hit on every individual breast in sight and Niall got out his camera and showed the club manager the latest of Finley's performances.
And how I later found myself grinding up against said raven-haired bird – who became more of a beauty by the shot – on the dance floor, my shirt sticking to the sweat on my back and my vision blurred by the flashing lights and the alcohol. Jamer was somewhere nearby, approaching women from behind as they danced and hoping that this time, he wouldn't be rejected with an expression of disgust. Niall had made friends with the DJ and was obsessively filming the spinning discs in the corner of the club.
And how I wound up in the bathroom corridor pressing the raven-haired bird against the wall, my hands squeezing the flesh on her hips and my chest pressed flush against hers, hot breath grazing her neck, thinking to myself, 'This wasn't as difficult as I'd thought.'
She searched for my lips. I lifted my chin, gazing down at her with lids half shut.
Breathy and worked up, she spoke into my ear. "Do you live on your own? Nearby?"
"Yeah," I lied, too drunk to reason.
"Can we go?"
I paused, raising my brows.
Ballsy. I liked that. I liked girls who got to the point. Girls who didn't play games or toy with me. Girls who said exactly what they meant.
Fitz wasn't any of those girls. She made everything complicated. Sometimes I had her pegged, but other times... she was a mind-fuck.
I hated that.
"Can we?" the bird repeated, blunt and serious and fit and eager. She was fine. Better than fine.
But she wasn't Fitz. And as much as I tried in that moment to convince myself that I was better off without her and her mind-fucks... she was all I wanted.
As annoying as it was, she was my one.
God. Fucking. Dammit. My bloody one.
"I can't," I breathed in apology, backing away from the bird in the bar. "I just... I came with some of my mates. We're probably... heading out soon. Together. The three of us."
Her face fell. "Seriously?"
Cringing, I nodded.
She released an exasperated sigh, pulling her skintight dress down her thighs and pushing me further away so that she could slide out from underneath me.
"Fine," she said, not bothering to look over her shoulder as she said while walking away, "thanks for wasting my night."
Bewildered but not altogether disappointed, I walked slowly back to the bar and was joined by Jamer, who hadn't made any successful contact with a female since arriving. Shocking, considering his slithering, greasy, dishonourable ways.
Both of us were going home alone, anyway – so I supposed in the end, it didn't really matter.
While we waited on Niall, who'd apparently lost interest in girls and developed a fascination with disc jockeying, Jamer and I ordered drink after drink from the bar. Maybe because we wanted to lose our inhibitions – though mine were more or less lost and as far as I could tell, Jamie Doyle had no inhibitions in the first place – but more likely because it saved us from having to talk to each other. Drunk or sober, it was clear that we were only ever around each other for Niall. If he was removed from the equation... well, there was nothing between us. No attachment. No kind feelings. We weren't even under the pretenses of cordiality.
At least we were honest with one another. No bullshit. When I thought about it, not too many honest relationships existed.
Last call was announced, and I decided it was time to collect Niall. As soon as I stood up, I realized what a mistake it had been sitting down at the bar. I'd had no idea how much I was drinking and how much it was affecting me. The flashing lights were blinding and the bodies on the dance floor were disorienting and by the time I grabbed a hold of Niall's shirt next to the DJ, I could barely function.
"What is it? Whoa!" Niall cried, dropping his camera and letting it fall to his chest, secured around his neck with a strap, before reaching out and steadying my shoulders to prevent me from toppling. "You're done, bunny. Done. How'd this happen?"
"Lezzgo 'ome," I said, not protesting when he slipped my arm around his neck.
"Yeah, all right," he agreed, patting my chest with a short laugh. After bidding his new friend farewell and promising he'd be back soon enough, he walked me outside and called Jamer to meet us.
As it turned out, I was much more inebriated than I could even process. When I dragged my feet and let my body fall limply against Niall's, unable to support myself, Niall coaxed Jamer into sliding an arm around me from the other side. With my arms around their necks, they more or less dragged me down the pavement. The roads themselves were dead, but young men and women were everywhere on their feet, walking and laughing and screeching after a Saturday night well experienced.
"Can't hold his drink, can he?" Jamer asked Niall as we walked along, my head drooped and my chin touching my chest.
"Not really," Niall said with a chuckle. "A few and he's fine. But he has a very definite threshold."
We turned off the main drag to walk down a side street, where it was quieter and we were less likely to be spotted by police on patrol. Chin to my chest, I blinked, wondering if I was sixteen and in school again, utterly fucked and dodging cops.
"You see him with that bird tonight? One with the tight arse?"
"Huh? Yeah," Niall replied, distracted.
Jamer snorted. "She was good to go and then he fucked it up. The moron."
"Easy," Niall warned. "And walk slower; otherwise we've gotta carry him."
"You joking?" Jamer asked, chuckling without humour. "I don't gotta do anything. What do I owe this chump?"
With that, his arm fell from around my back. I wobbled on my feet, stumbling forward until Niall lunged in front of me and balanced me against him, cursing me and my weight the whole time.
The experience had brought me ever so slightly back to life, and I sucked in a gulp of cold autumn air, willing myself to raise my head.
Bleary-eyed and dopey, my eyes met Jamer's as I leaned helplessly against Niall.
"You know," I said, reaching out with my index finger to point at him and wave my finger around as if I was writing in the air, "I really don't like you."
"Come on," Niall said, urging me to move, but I made no effort.
"You're a shit person, you know that?" I continued, my words slurred and dripping from my mouth like molasses – slow and drawling, like time had slowed down. Jamer scoffed, but I wasn't finished. "I know we were never friends, but you took a jackhammer to my life and didn't give a shit about it. That's not cool, mate. It's not cool."
Despite my slurring, he understood the gist of what I was saying. He opened his mouth to bite back, but I continued to wave my finger in the air as a means of silencing him.
"And I didn't do anything to you," I went on, shaking my head until I felt dizzy and had to blink away the moving pavement. "I let you into my flat, I fed you, I drove you places. I didn't say a word about any of the shit you pulled. And then all the shitty things you did to me in return..."
I shook my head again in confusion, brows knotting. Niall hitched me up – I must have been sliding down.
Even so, I raised my head one last time to say, "But you know, people have done worse to me. Believe it or not, they've done worse."
He sneered, running a hand through his beard. "Sure they have, Styles. I know it's been a tough life with your money and your cars and your girls and your fanciness."
It was my turn to snort, however childish it may have sounded in my drunken state. "You don't know anything about me," I said softly. I turned my head to look at Niall, pointing at Jamer as I said, "He doesn't know anything about me, does he?"
Niall shrugged, giving me an uncomfortable half-smile and attempting to urge me forward.
I looked at Jamer, pausing as I let a wave of nausea pass me by. I swallowed, saying as clearly as I could, "Mate, there's only one person I like less than you. And the only difference between the two of you is that he's supposed to love me... but he doesn't."
"Harry..." Niall trailed off, suddenly nervous.
But I wasn't nervous. For once, I felt fine. I smiled lazily, finishing, "My father."
I let that sit between us for a few moments. Jamer stared, his brows raised for only a second. He recovered quickly, back to unimpressed and cold in mere seconds. I was unable to wipe the drunken smirk from my face.
"Did you guess?" I asked him. When he failed to reply, I turned to Niall. "Did he guess?"
"Not gonna feel sorry for you," Jamer said with a shrug.
I shrugged in return. "Wouldn't want you to."
After a moment, Jamer snorted, losing eye contact with me as he shook himself out of it. "'Least you have a father," he said with a nod of his head. "Still better off than some of us, Styles. As usual."
I could have explained to him all the ways in which I wasn't. All the ways in which he was wrong.
But to Jamer, everything was about where one stood in relation to everyone else. The better off they were in a socioeconomic sense, the more harshly he judged them. He didn't know anything else.
Sort of like how my father was blind to everything but money and work ethic.
So I clamped my mouth shut, letting it be. A wave of nausea hit me again. This time, I had no defense but to break free from Niall and take a step off the pavement, leaning over the bushes of a lovely garden and throwing up my last four or five shots then and there.
But even then, I had to admit that it had been a nice change to go out for once.