I sat still and silent as Niall placed the hot mug of tea carefully into my hands, offering a small smile before he set a half empty packet of Rich Tea biscuits on the coffee table. I sniffed pathetically, still feeling groggy from the tears I'd shed in the car as he drove me to his apartment block. The same block he shared with Harry. I'd been hysterical, convinced he was going to lay into me, or worse, tell Harry. Most of all, it was the shock of being discovered, the disbelief at someone else knowing my huge, horrifying secret, paired with the knee buckling blow of finding out that I was well and truly pregnant finally catching up on me. But Niall had assured me that he just wanted to help, wanted to talk, wanted to be there. I told him I didn't need to talk. He insisted.
So now, here I was, curled up in a ball in the comfort of his sofa, sipping the intoxicatingly sugary tea he'd served up. He told me that was how they made it in Ireland, to drink up, it would help. Help what, I didn't quite know. It couldn't solve the problem of the baby that was growing inside me, could it?
Niall sat opposite me, sinking into the dark green, fabric armchair, looking very at home. I'd never been in Niall's apartment, but it surprised me. It was all very cosy, very homely, and he told me it was because he missed Ireland, and his family. He made it like a little haven, fashioning it similarly to where he lived back in Ireland, to help when he became homesick. I thought it was a nice thought. I wondered what it was to feel homesick. I'd never had the sensation - New Jersey held nothing for me but dark memories, and I knew very little of my second home in New York. The only things I missed about those places were usually memories of my father - of walking through Times Square with my hand in his, or building a snowman outside the house in Jersey with him and my little sister, though the images of the setting were hazy and distant in my mind, time taking its toll on my brain as the years slipped by gradually and the memories became buried deep down inside my head. Now, they were no more than a weary essence of times gone by. Not a proper memory, really.
We were both unspoken, sipping our teas tensely. Niall rustled as he extracted a biscuit from the packet, dipping it slowly, cautiously, into his cup. He groaned loudly when it broke off. Then he sighed, seeming to give up with the casual actions, our charade of ignorance against the elephant in the room. He glanced up at me, eyes vigilant; worried and wondering.
"Do you want to talk about it, Tamara?" he asked quietly. A simple sentence that made me feel sick.
I swallowed back my tea. "No. But you're going to make me aren't you?"
There was a pause, but I'd been right. Niall inquired, "How far gone are you?"
"Eight weeks."
"And how long have you known?"
"A few days."
I answered his questions curtly, reluctant to discuss it. I had been truthful when I told him I didn't want to talk. I didn't even want to be here. This all confirmed further that what I'd dreaded was really happening; it was a reality, and I was actually expecting. I wished I could will myself to wake up somehow, that I could sit up in my bed in the dark in a few moments and realise that this day had been a nightmare made up in my head and I was simply sick due to a stomach bug. Not a pregnancy.
Niall gazed at me curiously, probingly. He was being nosy, now, wasn't he? Fishing for scandel.
"Is it Harry's?" he asked slowly, inquisitively.
"I don't know," I replied coldly. But it was the honest truth, at least.
Niall shook his head, judging. I hung my head, feeling no more comforted now than I had at that god awful clinic. "I can't believe the twat didn't even tell us you were pregnant. Not like we'd want to know."
I looked at him in confusion, before realising what he thought. "Oh, no. Harry doesn't know."
Niall glared up at me in confusion. "What? Did you not tell him?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I don't know how to. I'm scared."
"Well he deserves to know!" Niall's tone rose with each syllable, and he looked angry now. I remained curled into myself, thinking easily, distractedly about how his accent twisted every sentence into an amusing little limerick.
"What would he say, Niall?" I replied quietly, "What would I say? Oh, hey, Harry I'm sort of a little pregnant. But don't panic, it might not even be yours! He doesn't need me messing him about, I've done enough of that."
"What if it is his? He needs to know about it."
I shook my head tiredly. Niall didn't understand - he didn't know how often I'd repeated all these arguments to myself again and again inside my head, going through every crevice and corner of my mind, every option I had, every reason, every cause. I'd made my decision. An abortion was simple, and it meant nobody got hurt, and nobody got their hopes up. There would be no awkward revelations to make, no paternity tests, no complicated legal proceedings or custody agreements. I would never have to face the fact that I might be carrying Josh's baby, a baby I wholly and absolutely did not want. Harry would never have to feel obliged to make it work with me, simply because I was the mother of his child, never have to feel pressured into taking me back even though I was a useless nuisance who'd hurt him over and over. Abortion was my way out of all the complicated consequences.
"He might not even want it," I argued with Niall, "He doesn't need me fucking his life up further with an unwanted baby."
"He would want to know," Niall told me firmly, "I would, if it were my baby. Are you just gonna abort his child without even telling him?"
"It's the easiest way," I reasoned logically, "everything goes back to normal and he gets to live his life without me getting in his way."
Niall's eyes were boring into me now. I looked up at him timidly as he stood from the sofa, tea long forgotten, hands tangled in frustration in his blonde hair. He was shouting now, but I barely noticed. I stirred my tea absentmindedly.
"Grow up, Tamara!" he yelled, "You know, not everything is about you? Harry deserves a say too. And, you can't just make this all go back to normal. It's a baby, a living thing, not some stupid interference with no thoughts or feelings. If it belongs to him, it's his flesh and blood, his baby...he needs to know!"
"But what if I tell him and it turns out to not even be his?" I raged back, finally snapping. Niall thought he knew everything, thought he had the moral high ground, making me feel like a heartless bitch for wanting rid of it. But he hadn't thought it all through. He didn't know how much I cared for Harry. I didn't want to break the poor boy's heart again, for it to end in a termination anyway.
"At least he knows," Niall replied weakly. "At least he had a chance."
"No," I spat back, "You know what happens then? Harry's torn up inside because he built his hopes up for a baby that doesn't belong to him. I still have to get an abortion. I don't even know if I want this baby myself, Niall. I have a life, a career...even if it is Harry's, I left him because I'm fucked up in the head and I needed time to myself. Is having a baby with him a good idea? Is me having a baby a good idea, full stop? I can barely take care of myself..."
"Harry would be there for you," Niall promised idly. "I know he'd do the right thing."
"What if he doesn't even want it? It could ruin his life."
"It could make his life. He would want his baby. You can't just abort it without letting him know."
"But what if I don't want it?!" I screamed at him, crying again. I was crying all the time, lately. "Don't I get a choice, Niall? Don't I get a say? Or is just all about fucking Saint Harry with you?"
He stared back at me in shock as the tears streamed down my face, seeming to realise that he'd been pushing me, attacking me, unconsciously acting biased towards Harry, his friend. He melted back into his arm chair. His troubled eyes were apologetic.
"I'm sorry, Tamara," he muttered.
I sniffed, gulping back the lump in my throat. "It's okay, Niall," I mumbled. "I just..." I took a deep breath against my tears, shaking my head. "I just don't want to be the girl who ruins his life."
Harry's POV
I strolled down the corridor slowly, near silently. It was still early, and the hallway was dead, most people still curled up in their beds, asleep and dreaming. I sighed heavily as I wished that was where I was. I'd dreamt of her again, the night before. Of her smile, her lips, her voice as she giggled in my ear. Of holding her tight in my arms, like I would never let go. But it was all imaginary, a fantasy, fuelled only by the yearning inside my head. It wasn't real. She wasn't mine.
I wondered a lot if she still spent all her time with the man she'd left me for. I wondered if he was kinder than me, if he spoilt her better than I ever could. If she let him kiss her, and hold her, like I dreamed of doing. I wondered if he was better in bed than me. I'd gone seeking reassurance on that matter several times, stumbling drunkenly into bed with cheap blondes who reminded me of her, just to remind myself that I could. I told myself that I could have anyone, and I tried to move on. I willed myself to want these girls I slept with, to touch them and feel free and alive like I used to. But her face filled my head, and she was all I could see, all I could taste. I only wanted her. And it hurt.
Sometimes it hurt too much. I'd found myself somehow sprawled out next to my bed one night, my tear streaked face tired and done with the world, a packet of painkillers emptied into my hand. I was ready to down them. If I didn't have her, why bother? Nothing felt right anymore, anyway. I didn't want to live any longer, not without her. When it was on the news the next day, she'd see and she'd realise that she should have loved me. That she'd been wrong, that I would never hurt her. That I lived for her.
It was Louis who found me. He ripped the drugs from my hand, making me drop my glass of water, before he bundled me into his arms in shock, untainted horror inscribed on his face, as I cried uncontrollably onto his shoulder.
He couldn't look at me properly anymore. There was this distant, saddened look in his eyes when his gaze locked on me, an essence of concern. He thought I was crazy. I got the impression he'd never look at me the same again.
I knocked on Niall's apartment door lightly, waiting a moment to see if he'd answer. I'd come to return a jumper I'd borrowed a few days ago. Not an urgent matter, by any means, but I longed for company, and I dreaded talking to Louis. He might bring up my lapse of judgement, my humiliating moment of weakness. I didn't want to talk about it. He didn't understand what was going on in my head.
I pushed the door open, knowing it would be unlocked. Niall was probably asleep. I'd wake him, accidentally on purpose, and we could talk for a while as he ate breakfast. I needed careless conversation. It might clear my head.
I stepped into the porch, moving towards the door into his sitting room, before pausing in my tracks. There were voices from inside wafting through the door - a girl's light tone. My heart sank, realising he'd probably scored last night and was entertaining a guest. I couldn't very well waltz in and ruin it for him. As I cocked my ears, I could pick out the American twang in her accent. Exotic. I was sure Niall must have been pleased with himself.
My curiosity got the better of me, and I pressed my ear to the solid wood. My blood ran cold as the voice inside the room rang alarm bells in my head, the recognition immediate. I could pick her voice out of a crowd of thousands.
"I don't want to be the girl who ruins his life."
I gulped harshly, pushing my ear hard against the door. I missed her. God, I missed her so much. Her voice sounded like heaven, even muffled through the door, and I wanted to run in, to scoop her up and kiss her and hold her and...
My thoughts were broken into by Niall's louder tone. "He misses you, you know. He's not himself. He'd take you back in a minute."
My brow furrowed in concentration as I listened, working out that they were talking about me. I wondered suddenly, what on earth Tammy was doing talking to Niall, of all people, what she was doing in his apartment. They'd never seemed that close before...
"I don't want that," she answered quietly, and I pressed my head further against the wood. "I left him to sort my head out. I'm such a fucking mess, Niall. I'm terrified of getting hurt. What if that happens now?"
"But he'd never hurt you," he replied.
"How can I know that?"
"I know that," Niall assured her, "I can see it. It's that way he looks at you..."
I listened, stunned. Was Niall talking her into taking me back? My heart was suddenly overwhelmed with happiness, with amazement at his friendship. He would do that for me? I could barely believe it. My pulse raced at the thought alone - of being back with my beautiful Tamara...
"I can't," she sighed sadly, "I can't know that. I've hurt him too much, anyway. He deserves better. You know that."
There was a silence. I urged them to speak inside my head, dying for him to argue back, to tell her that she was perfect, that she was everything to me. Hell, if he didn't say it, I'd burst through the door and tell her myself...
"He still needs to be told," Niall muttered darkly. My thoughts were abruptly stalled, confusion replacing my hope of having her again. I needed to be told? What was there to tell me?
Tamara's voice sounded heavy, thick with emotion, sadness. "Why?"
"He has a right to know," Niall said, sounding impatient. A right to know? My curiosity peaked, and I felt my guts tight with butterflies, my heart spinning in dizzying uncertainty. There was a lingering feeling of doom in my stomach.
"It'll only hurt him. I can't tell him."
"Then I will."
"No!" she exclaimed in return, "No, I need to be the one to tell him. He should hear it from me."
I was anxious now. My head swirled. I felt sick. My mind switched to the torturing image I held in my head of her with her other man. The man she left me for. The faceless, unnamed boy who had single handedly torn my life to pieces, leaving me suicidal and yet already dying on the inside. The faceless man in my head now looked like Niall.
"What if it gets out to the media?" Tamara fretted, "It would be awful. I couldn't take it..."
"That won't happen. I won't let it. I'm not telling anybody, I promise."
His tone was gentle, comforting, and I felt I might vomit. My head was flooding with images of her with him, my so called friend, my band mate. His hands all over her, touching her beautiful body like I should be, kissing her softly, whispering dirty nothings in her ear...
I'd kill him. I'd fucking kill him. I'd kick his head in, I'd punch his face until he was spitting blood. How could he do this to me? He knew what she meant to me - he knew - and yet he'd betrayed me in the worst way possible. My friend, sleeping with the girl I loved, when he knew how much I cared for her, how she meant absolutely everything in the world to me. The girl who I would die for. He'd been the cause of all my pain, my near suicide...I'd almost killed myself. Because of Niall.
"Tamara, you know that I care about you, right? I'll be here for you. Y'know. If you need somebody."
His voice was sickeningly sweet - as if he cared so awfully, terribly much about her - and I felt like puking. She was still seeing him, and not me. What had I ever done, other than treat her like the most important thing on earth? I'd always been good to her; I'd been everything she needed. I could always be everything she needed, and yet she wanted him instead? Maybe he was better in bed, I thought dejectedly. Maybe she just didn't want me. I was probably boring, monotonous, annoying. Useless.
"Thanks, Niall," she sighed back. He was probably hugging her. Holding her, like I should be doing. "I can't believe I'm in this mess. I don't want to drag you in too..." she sounded tearful. Oh God, I thought sickly. So protective of him, so concerned. Fuck them both. I hoped it came out, and she would feel as much pain as I did now. I hoped she cried about it, and felt miserable. But even with my bitter thoughts, my heart stung ruthlessly. I couldn't wish ills on her. All I wanted was for her to be happy - even if I wasn't.
"Don't worry darling, it's fine," Niall mumbled back. His pet name made my stomach lurch. "Sure, who knows, maybe you'll get your own TV show out of all this!"
He chuckled lightly, and I was bewildered once again. What kind of sick joke was he making? I didn't understand, listening harder for her response.
"What do you mean?" she asked, seemingly as perplexed as me, though she laughed frivolously. That soft, tingling laugh. It made my heart flutter headily in my chest.
"Can't you see it?!" Niall exclaimed, laughing, "Tamara Gold: Sixteen and Pregnant! Episode One - Who's the Daddy?!"
They both laughed.
The sound trickled through the door. I barely heard it. The room was spinning, my head was dizzy. Everything was turning, turning upside down inside me. My heart thudded dully in my chest, my breathing becoming shallow, stomach churning with nausea.
Pregnant.
I'd been wrong. It wasn't Niall, she wasn't cheating with Niall. She was confiding in him. Because she had nobody else...
Because she was Pregnant.
I gulped back vile, burning acid in the back of my throat as the thought twirled in my head, horror enveloping me instinctively. A baby, a child, a bump...she was pregnant, and that meant that I might be...a...
A father. My mouth went dry, hands grasping at my hair desperately as I thought of a tiny, blonde baby, with my green eyes set in the face of its mother. A tiny hand wrapping around my thumb, like I heard so many people talking about. Gripping on curiously, wondrously, to its Daddy's hand. Hoping for help, for guidance, for protection. How was I meant to provide any of that? I was only eighteen, my life, my career, had barely begun...
Before I could register my actions, my hands were shoving the door open, feet stumbling through, eyes setting on the girl who I loved, and the boy who comforted her where I should be. They both looked up in shock, mouths agape, as I was sure mine was. My head still span, and it took what felt like hours for the words to come out.
"You're pregnant?"
The words sprang from my lips - it didn't sound like my voice. Tamara, my beautiful girl, the one I loved so dearly, gulped and nodded slowly back at me. Her hand rested instinctively on her stomach, her soft, still flat tummy. I stared silently back at her, every inch of me feeling hot, feeling faint.
"Harry, don't panic," Niall insisted, I assumed the only sane one in the room right now, by Tammy's panic stricken face. "Everything's alright. Everyone needs to sit down and talk. Nobody's taking any action yet..."
"You were going to abort it?" I shrieked, ignoring Niall, eyes falling in horror to the leaflets open on the coffee table. "You can't get rid of it, not if it's mine!"
She shrugged weakly back at me. "I don't know if it is..." Her fingers rubbed circles into her tummy through her thin top, and I watched in awe. There was a baby, in there. It could be mine. Mine and Tamara's....
If me and Tamara had a baby together...well, that could solve everything. We could be together, we had a reason to make it work - she didn't have to worry about getting hurt, she had the baby as insurance against that, and I had Tamara back in my arms. I longed to go to her, to place my hand on her stomach, wondering if it was too early yet to feel the gentle nudges of the little thing inside. I knew nothing about pregnancies...would it be able to hear me, now? Would it grow to recognise my voice? Learn to kick when it heard its daddy speaking?
Niall was gabbling at us. He sat me down, thrusting tea at me, as I sat in a speechless haze, my eyes stuck to Tamara's. He wanted us to talk it out. All I wanted was to know if the little one inside her was mine. My own baby, my flesh and blood.
My one and only.