OVER 900 READS?! i live for you, i long for you, all haha. Let's get this story too 1K then.
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chapter thirty-two. something's gotta give.
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THE GARDEN KNOWN AS my stomach swiftly rids itself of the butterflies that built and cage themselves up within like a habitat, this weekend, disperse. That's only because Harry's car pulls into the driveway of my permanent home instead of his – my perfect getaway for the weekend. That has swiftly past by since Sunday bloomed into a bright sunny day and a cool, incoming winter breeze.
No matter the steady weather, I don't feel steadied in the slightest. Nonetheless Harry announces his arrival, that I can clearly see, and I groan melodramatically because I don't want to leave him. I made that clear the entire ten minute drive from his to mine. And through the wholehearted chuckles and faint laughter Harry made it clear that it's best for me to check-in with my father. Especially since my phone has been off the past weekend since I stayed at Harry's.
Pink lips meet mine in a soft kiss. It feels as if my heart stops to take in the whole feeling of a gesture so simplistic – a simple action from Harry that arises so many indescribable emotions I've never experienced before. Still, I'm besotted with it. And him.
Goodbyes are soon uttered and my feet drag along the pavement leading to my house, my home. My body heat battles against the chilled air, getting colder and colder by the day as we near on to a cold winter to January and beyond.
Just as slow I use my keys to open the door. Revealing my beautiful mother whom I subconsciously smile at. It's always great to see her return — with those habitual burgundy coloured painted lips and fashionable clothing, appropriate for her age. The brunet hair and dark eyes that sparkle in a misty stygian coloured night. My smile transitions into a widen beam.
That is, until, my father clears his throat with such confidence my entire smile fades as my eyes lock with his. They not only meet my fathers eyes but his uncanny companion also. Just as subconscious my eyes land on the left hand of David's; I loudly scowl. There is this prominent hostility surfacing through the atmosphere quickly, though I don't mind it at all. It's a downfall for us all.
"I've been calling you," my mother says nervously. There's an ounce of scolding in her tone but it's so vague I choose to ignore it. That and her uttered words as my eyes stare into the encrusted diamond on my father's fiancés ring. Gold based with several silver diamonds brightening up the whole lounge. Yet it's dampening my train of thought.
I don't say a word to anyone before turning to my only place of sanctuary, my bedroom. My feet trail up the stairs, intentionally ignoring the various calls of my name. I slam my room door behind me as I take in the coloured walls beginning to enclose me, peacefully.
It's not like Harry's room though, still it's a plus. Until an unfamiliar black haired boy looks up at me from his cell phone. He's comfortably sat upon my bed – invading my privacy. Unfortunately I have the slightest assumption on who he is, and that causes my body to heat up like a stove. The heat makes my blood severely boil my insides.
"Who the hell are you?" my teeth grit together when I question the unidentifiable strange boy. He looks up at me once more with a short yet careless glance, almost as if he has an idea on who I am. I catch his eye, and his features mock David's.
Without the boy answering, I automatically know that he is David's son, Calum. Before Calum's able to answer my question, I instantly prevent him to by raising my hand up angrily. Am I angry at him? I'll never know.
"You slept in my room, in my bed?"
Calum vividly nods. "Only 'cause Callie, my sister, slept in the guest bedroom," he answers. "Dad and Dad took your sister's room." My anger only increases as I storm out of my bedroom en route to the lounge.
I come face-to-face with my selfish father who thinks it perfectly okay to bring his new and improved family to temporarily stay in the house of the original family he'd once abandoned. And how is my mum coping with this? How can one remain civil dealing with such a thoughtless act?
Everyone looks alarmed at my demeanour, unbeknownst to the prominent way I'm flaring carbon monoxide out of my ears. Like those characters in the ancient cartoons way before my childhood. The clear memory of watching Loony Tunes and such with Zayn and Harry in the bedroom of Zayn's in his house simmers me down a tad.
All the same I'm sure my skin is spotting crimson through the usual pale colour it is. My index points avidly towards my dad, a label this man should never be entitled to. I grimace at him, at everyone truthfully – the entire trio standing tall before me. Not a physical type of tall but more psychological-like. An unfamiliar family can make a confused adolescent feel so small about himself; so insecure about who he is and who he belongs to.
"You let your prick of a stepson sleep in my room, in my bed without even bothering consult with me." I can hear the loud gasp escape from my mother's mouth without even stealing a glance at her. I'm certain there's shock on every part of her face.
David's eyes widen directly at me, though. I can clearly see that, and my father. He doesn't looked phased at my unkind words and this unusual boost of confidence that's causing me to act out like this. When he isn't around I never act out like this. I'm never this angry. Or tired. Or disappointed, the way a son should never feel about his own dad. An avid contributor to bringing a child into this cruel, cruel world.
But it's not only about that. A father can't just help birth a child, they have to be there for the developing kid too. Help them with their homework, teach them how to play sports. Those uncanny sex talks and uncomfortable questions about relationships and the "girls" as they age older. I've never encountered that because my father was barely around as Cara and I grew up — his presence was and always will be with Calum and Callie, helping them grow into successful adults.
As my mother plays both a mother and a father figure for her own two kids. Almost like she's birthed them herself, so it seems like.
"Niall," my mum scolds me once more this afternoon. "You have to be considerate of your father and his family."
"But we're his family!" my voice cracks as it raises over its usual volume. "And he isn't being considerate to his actual family, either." It only sounds like my voice raises higher and higher as it shouts to be heard, "He abandoned us, mum! He abandoned us for them!" my finger points to David swiftly. "They're even engaged!"
Everyone hears me. They hear me but they choose not to listen to me. There is a differentiation between hearing words and responsively listening to them. The reaction is easily identifiable. So I huff tiredly, because my energy is draining whilst trying to prove a clear point to people who aren't willing to listen to me. Like I'm some peculiar dummy rambling about religion and humanism.
I huff whilst running a shaky hand through my fallen fringe. "Fine," I mumble. "If you don't want to listen to me, then, sod all." My eyes look around the lounge, subconsciously missing my sister's presence — she would've defended me against our horrid father. She would've chosen to be there for me if she weren't so busy at work all of the time. I still urge myself to understand.
I take the silence as a cue to leave. Depart like my mother does when she leaves for work. Like my dad did when myself and Cara were younger. Like Cara does when she books jobs for her professional career. I leave whilst ignoring the protests coming from my mother. But soon as I'm out the door I begin to run. Run through the cold December air with only a thin crew neck of Harry's on. Ignoring the faint smell of coconut intermixed with the scent of an amber flowers. I run with no thought of a destination at all.
Yet my feet carry me to a neighbourhood that looks all too familiar. A cherry wooden door that I've knocked on way too many times to keep count of. A face I've known, practically, my entire life growing up in Manchester. A face that foreseeably blanches when I ask for the destination of her youngest but only son. Still, I'm invited inside.
My feet carry my dead weight up the stairs to a room that kept me sane for almost seventy-two hours this recent weekend. With tranquility and security from a boy that's just as confused in this world as I am. But the boy that resides in this room, isn't in this room.
Instead, it's another familiar, identifiable boy around our age. Sprawled upon the bed I've slept in the past two nights. On the soft sheets that sang me silent lullabies with muscular arms, softly, wrapped around me. With a comfort I, so, desperately needed. But my muscular security isn't anywhere to be found.
It's.
"Liam?"
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"All my friends are heathens, take it slow.".
LIAM. Did I just read LIAm. What's he doing in Harry's house? Let alone Harry's bedroom, ooh. Anyone want to crack a guess.
Where's Harry??? CrAck a guess on that question too.
Thoughts on David, Callie, and Calum?? Anyone taking sides between the battle that just went down between father and son? What are your thoughts on that.
And did you think Niall's mother should've voiced her thoughts more, or the way she acted was good enough?
eVERYTHING IS UNFOLDING AND I LOVE IT. YEss.