❝You sit there in your heartache, waiting on some beautiful boy to save you from your old ways.❞ ▬ When You Were Young, The Killers.
CHAPTER SIX
Though I'm not sure why, Niall's comment has annoyed me. We amble up the high street, the Irish boy gushing about how much food he's going to eat, and debating whether to opt for Nando's, T.G.I. Fridays, McDonalds, or Wetherspoons, all while being blissfully unaware of just how much his previous words have affected me.
His voice runs laps around my head, repeating the same phrase over and over again: people who are sad, people who are sad, people who are sad. Suddenly, I can feel everything. The hurt and the trauma and the abundant cuts, which dance up and down my arms and legs and stomach, blatant reminders of how much I truly detest myself. They feel blindingly painful pressed against the warm fabric of my clothes; I hadn't noticed that until now, which is crazy because they hurt so much I can barely breathe. The world spins around me. Ten minutes ago I was, for the first time in a while, happy. But now, I'm considering turning away and walking straight home.
No. Get a grip, Anna. I clench my fists and grit my teeth. Of course, I can never truly be happy as long as there are wounds on my skin and pain in my heart, but at the end of the day, Niall is still here, still hungry, still heart-achingly lonely; besides, I'm sure he meant nothing by his comment. After all, anybody could look at me and sense that I'm not exactly enjoying life. I'm probably just overreacting and over thinking, as usual. I take a deep breath, internally counting to ten. It'll be okay, I murmur to myself. You're okay.
"Anna?" Niall's voice causes my head to snap up; he has one eyebrow raised, questioningly, and rightfully so because seconds earlier I'd been furiously glaring at the ground, willing myself to not be such an idiot. "Uh... are you alright?"
"I'm fine," I say, and to prove my point, I force a grin. Surprising myself, I reach out to grab Niall's pale arm and pull him close, our hips bumping together. I'm determined to distract both him and myself, steal both our minds from our previous conversation and my reaction to it, and if pushing through my shyness and being a little flirty is the way to do it, then I'll give it my all. "So, handsome, where do you want to go?" My mind is screaming at me -- handsome? Seriously? You actually just said that out loud to a guy you hardly know? -- but I do my best to ignore it, and flash Niall an easy smile.
He mirrors my expression and looks up, his eyes fixing to a nearby restaurant. "I've decided on Nando's," he says, nodding towards the aforementioned building, whilst lazily wrapping one arm around my shoulder. Anybody looking at us from afar would assume that we were an ordinary couple; but, of course, we're neither of those things. "I mean, if that's okay with you. I'm not sure how expensive it is..." He trails off, shrugging timidly.
I scoff. "It doesn't matter how expensive it is. I want you to have a good time tonight, okay?"
Niall beams at me and grabs my hand, eagerly pulling me towards the door. We enter the restaurant and the gorgeous scent of peri-peri chicken hits us like a ton of bricks; Niall's stomach gurgles, barely audible over the chatter that fills the room, but apparent nonetheless.
A waitress leads us to a small table in an exclusive, partly hidden-away corner of the room; we slide into our seats and, wasting no time, each pick up a menu. Niall's eyes almost pop out of his head; he stares at the word-covered sheet of card, mouth open, his stomach undoubtedly grumbling at the wide range of available food. This, for him, is a food-filled form of paradise.
I easily opt for a chicken burger and fries, but for Niall, deciding which order to place is seemingly no easy feat. He spends the next ten minutes alternating between staring at the menu, clutching his head in his hands (and running his slender fingers through his thick hair, which I watch in a silly girlish daze), and grumbling profanities beneath his breath. Eventually, he slams the menu to the table and huffs, "I can't decide, so you'll have to choose for me." He lifts his head, narrowing his eyes at me. He speaks the next words clearly and slowly. "Choose wisely, Anna Winters."
I chuckle. "Wow, Niall. That's a huge responsibility. I don't know if I can handle such abundant pressure," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
Niall rolls his eyes. "Firstly, I have no idea what 'abundant' means, and second, if I spend one more minute trying to make up my mind, my head will probably explode. So -- you know what, yes -- I'll just have whatever you're having."
"A salad it'll be, then," I say, and burst out laughing when Niall's jaw drops and he immediately starts to frantically shake his head.
"No!" He yells. Then he catches on and frowns. "Nice joke. I nearly had a heart attack, thank you very much."
A part of me is wondering why he's against the idea of having a salad when, surely, any food would do, but the rest of me -- the bigger, more prominent and pushy part -- is relishing the way his eyes light up when he smiles; which is what he's doing now, having seen the humour in my little joke.
I walk to the counter to place an order for two Diet Cokes and two chicken burgers with fries, and while I'm standing there in the queue, two policemen enter the restaurant. I watch as they speak with the woman at the counter -- something about a scuffle in the streets last night and if any of the workers had witnessed it -- and an uneasy feeling spreads across my body. These two policemen look just like the pair who delivered the news to me and Mum that my father had died; they have the same outfits, the same shiny shoes, the same serious faces. I stare hard at my feet, trying not to let them get to me. I wait until I hear them leave before lifting my gaze, stepping forward to place my order.
When I get back to our table, two glasses of icy Diet Coke in hand, I'm surprised to find that the Irish boy himself is nowhere to be seen. I slide into my seat, unable to shake the uncomfortable feeling the policemen's presence left me with. I fiddle with the sleeves of my jacket, pulling them down over each wrist, and sip my Coke whilst waiting for Niall to return.
When he does, he simply shrugs. "Sorry. Went to the loo." As he sits, he glances twice at the door, and in the minutes that follow, he lifts his head to do the same another five times. He begins to knaw on his chapped lips, his eyebrows knotting together in what seems like worry. It appears as if he's anxiously waiting for something, or checking that something's gone and won't come back -- like when I see a spider scuttle behind the wardrobe in my bedroom. Then I realise. The policemen.
"You know," I say softly, confused and intending to get to the bottom of this, "policemen have always made me feel uncomfortable. As a kid, I never understood why anyone would go round looking for bad."
Niall tears his gaze from the door and fixes it to mine. "Uh- yeah. Me, um, too." He gives a small shrug of his shoulders and once again turns his attention to the door.
I reach across the table, a spontaneous part of me intending to take his hand, but think better of it at the last minute and wrap my fingers around my glass, instead. "Niall?" I press gently. "Is everything okay? You disappeared when those policemen came in, and now you're acting a little weird. What's up?"
"Nothing," he says, a little too quickly. He blinks and deliberately pronounces the next words more slowly. "I mean, nothing. I'm fine. It's like you said -- policemen just make me uncomfortable, is all."
Now, sitting here in Nando's beneath a bright, hanging light and with the scent of chicken making our stomachs grumble, seems like a good enough time to tell Niall about my father. Keeping such a huge part of my life from him feels all wrong, and besides, I've finally found somebody other than my mother to talk about Dad with (not that she ever does talk about him, unless it's to yell at me when I bring him up). "Niall, I need to tell you something. A while ago, my father was killed. Murdered. And two policemen came round to tell my mum and I the news. I never like seeing them now..." I trail off slowly and force myself to look at the boy opposite me. He's staring down at the smooth table, chewing his contrastingly ragged lower lip. Well done, Anna, I think sarcastically. You've gone and mentioned such a personal part of your life to a guy you hardly know -- and on a date, of all things -- and now he's going to freak out and leave. Great job.
After what seems like an eternity, Niall lifts his head and frowns. "I'm really sorry to hear that." His next question surprises me. "How did it happen?"
I open my mouth but the words refuse to come. They build up and block my throat, making me want to gag. Instead of speaking, I gently tap my untouched knife, which sits on the table ready for use. Niall stares at my hand and nods understandingly. "He was stabbed?"
I move my head to signal yes. My throat feels as dry as the Sahara Desert and I urgently bring my glass of Diet Coke to my lips, gratefully swallowing five huge mouthfuls.
"Oh," Niall says after a silence. "That's horrible. I'm... I'm so sorry.'"
Finally, words begin to fall from my mouth. "It's okay. It wasn't your fault."
"No," Niall says thoughtfully. "It wasn't."
At that moment our food arrives, and the topic of my father's death is instantly dropped. As if by some unspoken agreement, Niall doesn't mention it again. Instead, we talk about music and food and the scrumptiousness of our meals. Niall finishes his burger within minutes and moves straight onto his chips, speaking with his mouth full, talking excitedly about how this is the best meal he's ever had. He says that he's thankful he met me. I tell him I'm thankful I met him, too.
I find myself telling Niall things I've never told anyone before. Now that I've opened up about my father and he hasn't freaked out, I feel like telling him everything. We share snippets from our pasts; trips to the beach and scrapes on our knees, ice cream in the summer and hot chocolate by the fireplace at Christmas time. I even tell him about Cassidy, my old best friend, who moved to London a few years ago and whom I haven't spoken to since. I don't mention the fact that she was blonde and gorgeous and confident and lovely, the girl all the boys wanted to date. Instead, I depict her as what she was; a bitch for leaving me and never bothering to stay in touch. She was one of the reasons my life spiralled out of control -- I refrain from telling Niall this; I've already burdened him with one unfortunate aspect of my life, and I don't want to bore him with another.
"Last thing I heard, she was at University there. Apparently she's going out with an Austin Butler lookalike," I say, and Niall laughs, even though I'm certain he's never heard of Austin Butler.
We finish our meals and, after paying the bill, wander out into the warm summer streets. It's only about eight o' clock, but the sun is still floating high in the sky, casting a yellow glow upon the ground beneath us. Our long shadows stretch out and Niall contentedly rubs his belly, looking down and giving me a close-mouthed beam. His smile is crooked and kind and would undoubtedly put butterflies in my stomach, if there wasn't so much Nando's chicken taking up all the space.
We walk along, headed for nowhere in particular, and that's when it occurs to me. We're just kids, but we're invincible. Nothing can break us down. We're strong and we're here and we're okay. We've had good times and bad, but that doesn't change the fact that in this moment we're side by side, following the warm, friendly glow of the ever-bright sun. I reach out to Niall and loop my arm through his. Right now, despite everything else, things are heart-achingly good.
A dark figure strides towards us, and before I can contemplate what's happening, he pushes his way through our bodies, breaking us apart. We instantly turn and the stranger throws a careless glance over his shoulder. A curl of unruly hair pokes out from beneath a beanie and his gaze locks onto mine, causing him to come to a halt. Instantly, recognition washes over my body, and seemingly his too.
Before I can say a word, Niall is blurting out, "It's you!", and my head snaps up. I stare at the Irish boy in disbelief. Niall knows him too?
"Wait- you know him?" I ask, bewildered.
"Yeah! I do! I mean, sort of. I don't even know his name. Do you know him?" Niall's eyes are wide and I can tell that he's just as confused as I am; all the while the not-so-much-of-a-stranger stares at us, his dark eyebrows knotted together. He looks a lot different to how he used to.
I nod and gulp. "His name... His name's Harry."
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