❝Don't get too close, it's dark inside; it's where my demons hide.❞ ▬ Demons, Imagine Dragons.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sometimes, in life, it's important -- and necessary, really, if you want to keep from going insane -- to take a step back and simply breathe, saving a few minutes to decide whether something's really worth worrying about. A lot of the time, you'll surprise yourself: what may seem like a huge dilemma will often turn out to be irrelevant; any problem you may have now is unlikely to affect your future or general happiness in five or ten years time.
Obviously, when my father died, I knew instantly that my whole world had changed for the worse. I didn't even have to think about it; I knew immediately that, because of that deadly knife, ripping through his skin and puncturing his heart, my whole future would turn out differently to how I'd originally pictured it. For example, I no longer had visions of my father walking me down the aisle on my wedding day, ready to give me away to the man of my dreams. Instead, all I saw was darkness.
As Harry and Niall compete over who can down a pint of beer the quickest -- my bet's on the latter -- I wonder if the small factor of how Harry and I know each other is really worth fretting over. I eventually decide on no. After all, Harry hasn't even mentioned it, and I sure won't. As far as Niall's concerned, nothing ever happened.
Besides, even if Harry did bring it up, would it even make a difference to the present? It happened two whole years ago. We were different people back then. Besides, it was meaningless. I hadn't developed feelings for Harry; I was drunk and emotional, and sex makes you feel desired, if only for a short while. That's all I wanted: to feel desired and wanted and loved.
I guess, the truth is, I don't want Niall to think I have feelings for Harry. Because, really, I have feelings for him.
I watch him now as he slams his pint glass to the table, using the back of his hand to wipe excess liquid from the area surrounding his mouth. His chapped lips are curved into a grin, his eyes half-closed because he's smiling so wide, laughter pouring from his mouth as he cheers and shouts in victory. "I am the champion!" He yells in that Irish accent I've grown to love.
Seconds later, the blonde waitress I saw earlier appears at our table. At first, I think she's going to tell us -- well, Niall, specifically -- to try and be a bit more quiet. Instead, she flashes the Irish lad a grin, and says in an accent to match his, "Hi there!"
"Um, hey," Niall says, smiling.
"I couldn't help but notice your accent," the woman says, and that's when I realise that she's holding a piece of paper. "You know, we're looking for more young, Irish people to work here. Are you currently searching for a job?"
Both Harry and I turn to Niall, and he glances my way as if seeking advice. I nod, grinning, and mouth, go for it! Niall beams and turns back to the waitress. "I am, actually," he says nonchalantly.
"Well, if you're interested, here's a form you can fill out to apply for an interview." She hands him the piece of paper. "Good luck," she says, flashing us all a pearly grin and walking off, her blonde hair bouncing on her shoulders.
Niall's jaw drops. "Woah. Did that really just happen?" He asks in disbelief, staring at the form in his hands.
"I reckon she fancies you, mate," Harry says, and this annoys me somewhat.
"Nah," Niall shrugs. "She looks like she's in her late twenties."
"That wouldn't stop me," Harry replies with a wink.
I choose this moment to interject. "Well done, Niall. Really."
"All I did was speak," he laughs. He sighs, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms across his chest. "I sure love being Irish," he says, and when he momentarily closes his eyes, I wonder if he's thinking of home.
We spend the next twenty minutes simply talking. Harry and I promise we'll coach Niall on how to do well in his job interview -- well, Harry will do most of the coaching, and I'll be there for moral support, because I've never had a job interview myself and I'm not sure I'd be of much help -- and Niall ponders what he'll buy when he's rich. He says he'll save up and pay to get the abandoned house painted all nice, and even offers for Harry and I to come live with him, which, of course, sends a vivid blush across my cheeks. I wish, I think.
Eventually, we stumble out into the street, not because we've had too much alcohol -- I haven't even consumed any -- but because we're high on the dizzy feeling of contentedness that the last hour has brought upon us. We laugh and joke, tease and dance, and all is well until Harry turns back towards the pub, his hand reaching out to find a poster on the door. He lets out a long sigh and Niall and I fall silent.
"What's wrong, Harry?" I ask, looking at his fingertips, which are stretched longingly across the poster.
"Read it," he says, moving his hand so that the poster is fully visible. Niall and I step closer. The poster contains a cartoon picture of a guy with a guitar and the words, in thick black font, 'BBB 2013 -- Coming this Summer, only at TLL.'
"That's a lot of abbreviations," I mutter.
"The triple B stands for Bournemouth Band Battle, and TLL is The Lucky Leprechaun," Harry explains. "This city's most prestigious music competition is being held here in just under three weeks, and holy shit, my band isn't even ready. I'm terrified."
"Wait, you're in a band?" Niall asks.
"Yeah. We're called One Direction," Harry says. He looks at our expressions and rolls his eyes. "It makes us sound cheesier than we are."
"I've been accused of being cheesy before," Niall says instantly, looking at me, no doubt remembering what I said to him when we first met. It was only yesterday, but it feels like a lifetime ago; like I've known him for so much longer than just one day. "But it's not so bad. Being cheesy is good, sometimes." He shrugs and I smile at him, before turning to Harry.
"You know, Niall writes his own songs, and he can sing. He's amazing," I say to the curly-haired boy.
Harry raises his eyebrows. "Yeah, I remember now," he says after a pause. He directs his next words at Niall: "You had a guitar with you, didn't you? Back then. Well, if any of our members drop out, you'll be the first we come to. I mean, if that's okay with you."
Niall simply grins.
After another three-way hug and a promise to stay in touch with Harry, we part ways; Harry strides off, whistling, and Niall and I stand still for a moment, deciding what to do next. "Come on. I'll walk you home," I say eventually. I don't want this night to end, but I suppose it has to at some point -- just like how the sun has to set, and that's what it's doing right now; slowly slipping downwards, inching towards the horizon.
"No," Niall says, shaking his head. "I'll walk you home."
My first thought is that he's simply making this offer to be nice. Of course, it doesn't occur to me that he actually wants to spend more time with me. "No, it's okay. I live quite far away anyway; you really don't have to," I say, but Niall shakes his head again.
"I'm walking you home whether you like it or not," he says adamantly, and though I'm still certain he'd prefer to just go straight back to his decrepit house, rather than walk me all the way across town, I can't help but oblige. "Now, if you'd just show me the way," he suggests, and I burst into laughter.
"That way," I chuckle, pointing. Nodding once, Niall turns on his heel, and begins to walk in the correct direction.
We move in silence, at first, and my thoughts consume me once more. I begin to think about what would be different, right now, if I had succeeded in killing myself. If Niall hadn't picked up his guitar and I'd thrown myself off that cliff, smashing into the rocks below. For one, Niall wouldn't be out right now, the sun on his cheeks and summer in the air around him; he'd be curled up on his filthy mattress, his eyes squeezed shut, trying to block out the darkness around him but undoubtedly being faced with the darkness in his mind.
Next I think of my mother, and how she'd be feeling right now after completing her first day in nineteen years as a childless woman. She'd most likely be in tears, downing glass after glass of red wine, passing out on the sofa and falling helplessly to the floor. She'd wake up tomorrow, her throat dry and her heart empty, surrounded by spilt wine and a heavy sense of loneliness. Maybe she, too, would decide that life is not worth living anymore. Maybe she'd meet the same fate as her daughter.
Suddenly, I feel so unbelievably selfish that I want to rip my own hair out. How could I ever have resorted to taking my own life? After all, tonight I've been perfectly content. Did I really believe that life was so horrible, so cruel, so damn hard that it was worth quitting altogether? Or did I simply, in the sadness and fear of the moment, want the pain to simply stop?
Well, it has sure stopped now, and I guess I have Niall to thank for that. I look up at him, taking him in: his bony, freckled arms; his thick, soft hair; his loose red t-shirt and the way his hands are hidden inside the empty pockets of his jeans. Thank you, Niall, I think to myself. Thank you for existing.
He notices me looking and catches my eye; his crystal blue orbs are glinting in the fading light, his smile charming and endless. I look away, but I can feel him staring, and when he looks away too, I can't resist another glance. This goes on for a number of minutes; him catching my eye, me shyly turning my face, then looking back to find him turning his face, too.
The sun is slowly setting and the familiar blanket of night is gradually descending upon the city. The air is becoming cooler, so I pull the sleeves of my jumper down over my wrists, hugging myself tight. As we walk through the city streets, me softly directing Niall where to go, I feel an overwhelming sense of calm.
The calm before the storm, perhaps. But no. Because nothing on Earth could possibly ruin this night.
We arrive at my house and Niall pulls me into a safe and warm embrace. My head fits perfectly beneath his chin, and I rest it against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. I never want to let go; I can't remember the last time I shared such a long, wonderful hug with someone. This feels good and it feels right, our bodies fitting perfectly together like a perfect jigsaw puzzle, his arms wrapped around me, holding me close as night gently falls around us.
After what seems like hours -- though it is really just minutes -- we pull back. The world around us is dark now, streetlights on, stars twinkling overhead. I tilt my head back, trying to find constellations, and when I lower my gaze again, I find that Niall is staring at me.
"I need to tell you something," He says softly. "I mean, I need to do something." He takes a hesitant step forward and tilts his head closer; putting one hand on my back, he leans in. Then, before I can even process what's happening, he presses his lips to my cheek. Seconds later he pulls away, taking a small step backwards. His gaze never leaves mine.
I should be screaming with happiness right now. So how come I'm not?
"Wha- what was that for?" I stammer quietly, and in the awkward seconds that follow, the silence around us feels loud.
"I like you," Niall says. "And I know that we've only known each other for a day, and I know that you probably don't feel the same, and I know that I'm too damn broken to ever be loved, and that I'm new at this and this is probably way too soon. I'm a handful, I get it. But I just wanted you to know that I think we could be something. I mean, if you wanted to."
The silence that follows is uncomfortable, to say the least. And I hate myself for not grabbing him and kissing his stupid face off. I wish I could, but I'm rooted to the spot in utter disbelief. I can only bring myself to utter one syllable: "Why?"
Niall is taken aback. "Why? Why do I like you? Well, for starters, you're beautiful. You may not know it, but you are." I stare shyly at my feet as he continues: "You're funny. Like when sometimes you mutter stuff sarcastically and you think I can't hear you but I do, I do every time. And you're really smart. And, let me tell you, Anna Winters: you're the most selfless person I know."
"You must not know many people," I mumble, and Niall chuckles.
"See! That's what I'm talking about. The muttering. But you are selfless, Anna. You've done so much for me over the past day, like the Nando's and the pizza, and I just- well, I just want you to know that it means a lot to me."
Niall's words hang over me like a heavy grey cloud. I should be happy, ecstatic, even, but I can't even bring myself to smile. I guess I'm just in shock. Is he really talking to me, or some perfect, invisible girl beside me? Is this some kind of crazy dream? I've never had a boy tell me he liked me before. Never. And this terrifies me because it's all happening so fast, and it all seems too perfect, and I can never be loved because I'm too damaged, just like Niall said of himself. I remember what my mother told me, just yesterday: Don't fall for this boy, Anna. Don't even think about it. Because if you do, you're bound to get your heart broken. God knows that's what happened to me.
Relationships only ever end in two things: marriage, and a happily ever after, or heartbreak. You either stay with the person for the rest of your life, or you break up -- or worse, they die -- and you spend the rest of your days wallowing in self-pity. You build yourself up, climbing higher and higher, letting your guard down and peeling away layers, protection, and then you fall, and it's a simple fact that the greater the height you fall from, the more injured you become when you land.
I can't afford to let that happen. I can't bring myself anymore pain.
"Niall," I say, after what seems like an eternity. My voice comes out in a helpless croak; a huge lump has formed in my throat, blocking the words, making me choke on each letter, each syllable. "I think we should just stay friends," I say eventually, and I wish I could stop myself from meeting his gaze, because when I do, he looks like a puppy that's just been kicked, and it breaks my heart ten times over.
"Okay," he says after a pause. He shakes his head, using one hand to rub the back of his neck. "Wow, my first rejection," he chuckles humourlessly, obviously trying to make light of the situation.
"I'm just in a dark place at the moment," I say quickly. And I hate myself more than ever for it. "I- I'm sorry."
There's a pause. "Anna, can I please do something?" Before I can respond, he grabs one of my hands. Then, without giving me time to contemplate what he's doing and make an attempt at stopping him, he gently tugs the sleeve of my jumper up. My first instinct is to jerk my arm away. But he has already seen them. My scars, fully visible.
"I thought so," he breathes, staring at the damaged skin, the marks that may fade but will never truly disappear. Constant reminders of the pain.
"How did you..." I begin, but once again the words get caught in my throat.
"Last night. When you gave me that pizza. I thought I saw something... I wasn't sure at the time, but..." He shakes his head and meets my gaze. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Annoyed now, I shrug and pull my arm away, yanking my sleeve down. "It's not the sort of thing you tell strangers."
"You consider me to be a stranger?"
"Forty-eight hours ago, I'd never met you."
Niall sighs. "So, this is why? This is why you don't want anything to happen between us?" When I don't reply, he goes on, "before I came here, I met a lot of people. All of whom had been in bad situations. And I met people like you. People who were too frightened of getting hurt that they refused to let their guards down. They refused to let anyone in."
I bite my lip. "Niall, I wish I wasn't like this. I wish I could let you in. But I just can't. Besides, it wouldn't work out. You can't play on broken strings."
"I know," he snaps, before sighing and repeating the words in a softer, less-harsh tone. "I know. I just want you to understand that I'm here for you. Okay?"
The night feels cold and chills race up and down my spine; I find myself wrapping my arms across my chest, cradling my body to conserve warmth. "Okay," is all I say.
There's a long silence. "I think I'd better go," mutters Niall, bitterly, after a while. He turns to walk away, and my heart plummets; seconds later, he turns back, as if wanting to say something more. "Anna?"
"Yeah?" I say, looking up, a glimmer of hope igniting itself within me.
Niall takes a deep breath, his gaze not once pulling away from mine. "Opening your wrists won't set your demons free, but opening your heart just might," he says. And, with that, he turns and begins to stride down the pavement. The hope vanishes as quickly as it came.
Wait, I think. Don't go.
"Niall!" I call, surprising myself, and he turns round. "Listen," I say, taking a deep breath. "I know what I said, but we're still friends, and I can't stand the thought of you sleeping alone in that house tonight."
"What are you trying to say?" He asks.
"I'm trying to say -- ask, rather -- if you want to stay with me tonight," I blurt. My proposal hangs in the air between us, along with a long, uncomfortable silence.
"I don't know, Anna," Niall says eventually, deeply exhaling. He looks down at me, and in that moment, all the birds in the sky stop flying and the stars stop twinkling and my heart stops beating because whether or not we can remain friends all depends on this one answer. I know that if he says no, that'll be it. He'll go back to his house and I'll never be able to muster up the courage to face him again.
But he doesn't say no. "Yes. Okay." He nods as if to confirm his statement, and the stars overhead begin to twinkle again, the flicker of hope reigniting inside me.
And beneath the yellow glow of the surrounding streetlights and silver gleam of the moon, we turn to go inside, both feeling a little more disheartened than before.
END OF PART ONE.
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