❝He wants to say I love you, but keeps it to goodnight, because love will mean some falling, and she’s afraid of heights.❞ ▬ R.I.D.
CHAPTER NINE
"You have to be quiet, okay?" I hiss at Niall, carefully easing my key into the lock. We stand in front of my house, our feet planted on the tatty Welcome To Our Home doormat, which is dirty and reeks of mould and rain from the many years it's been here (my father bought it, of course). The house is nothing special; it is terraced, meaning that it's crammed between two other identical houses, and sits inside a nondescript brown picket fence with a tiny garden, too -- but I can't complain, because it's home, and it always has been.
"Why?" Niall asks.
"My mum's in."
"I guess you've haven't told her about me?"
"I have, actually, but she doesn't exactly approve of you."
Niall stares at me, his mouth open and his brow creased in confusion. "Why?"
I sigh. A cool breeze flutters around me, tickling my neck and dancing tauntingly up and down my spine. My knees begin to shake, an anxious tremble brushing my lips -- but it's not because I'm cold. In fact, it's because I'm nervous. Nervous about where mine and Niall's friendship goes from here. Nervous about what my mother will say if she catches us. Nervous about opening my bedroom, my world, my life, up to the boy I just rejected.
"Because," I say eventually, "She doesn't want me falling for anybody."
Though I'm expecting Niall to say 'why' again, he doesn't. Instead, a shadow passes across his face and, his expression darkening, he mutters, "Well, she has nothing to worry about. Doesn't look like you'll be falling for me anytime soon."
In that moment, I want to slap him. How dare he turn this around on me? How dare he say it like it's all my fault? He's the one to blame, for rushing into things. We barely know each other, and already he's made it clear that he wants something more from our friendship; what did he expect me to say, when we've only been acquainted for one measly day? Did he expect me to rush into his arms and let him shove his tongue down my throat? Well sorry, Niall, but this isn't a movie. This is real life, and in real life, relationships take time. You can't just dive in and expect everything to turn out okay.
"Let's just go inside," I murmur. I twist the key, pushing open the door; before I step across the threshold, however, I glance over my shoulder. I lock eyes with Niall. "Stay quiet," I remind him, and he wordlessly nods.
I begin to creep down the hallway, Niall tiptoeing behind me; I can hear a faint chatter coming from the television in the living room, but other than that, the house is silent. Fear is building up inside my body, my heart ramming against my ribcage because I'm painfully aware that my mother could appear at any second, from any direction, and in this hallway there's nowhere to hide. I've just reached the stairs when her voice, coming from the lounge, causes Niall and I alike to freeze in our tracks.
"Is that you, Anna?"
I gulp, trying in vain to swallow away the huge lump that has formed in my throat. "Er, yeah, Mum. It's me." l turn straight to Niall and whisper, "Go upstairs. Second room on the left." There's no time to worry about what state he may find my room in; just as he reaches the top step, Mum emerges from the living room, clutching a glass of red wine in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. She glances up the stairs and my heart practically stops. Thankfully, Niall is nowhere to be seen.
"How are you, Mum? How's your day been?" I ask quickly, forcing a smile as she thankfully turns her attention back to me.
She takes a long drag on her cigarette, emitting smoke, which makes me cough. "It was fine. Just fine," she says, a dazed look in her eye.
I remember my earlier activities. "Oh! I made you some cookies. Did you see them?"
Of course she didn't, I think bitterly. Too drunk and sad to notice anything anymore. She shakes her head, confirming my assumption.
"They're in the kitchen. Would you like me to put the kettle on?" Casting one last glance up the stairs, I eagerly lead her down the hallway, into the kitchen and further away from Niall.
"No, I'm fine with my wine, thanks."
"Well, I'm going to make some tea." I flick the kettle on before guiding Mum to the kitchen counter, lifting the plate of chocolate chunk cookies up for her to see; she nods and forces a smile, looking anything but thankful or impressed.
I examine her skinny, freckled arms, her emaciated body, and realise that she hasn't eaten anything properly in days. I stare at her, then back at the cookies, willing her to pick one up and take a bite. But instead, she simply mutters, "I'll let you know if I change my mind about the tea," and turns away.
I frown, annoyed, but quickly shake my head; I have bigger things to worry about. Like Niall. When the coast is clear, I grab two cookies -- one for him and one for myself -- and pour two steaming mugs of tea. I have no idea if Niall likes tea, but I'm sure he'll appreciate a warm beverage. I'm about to head upstairs when Mum reappears, leaning against the living room doorway. "Oh, Anna? You know what we were talking about last night?"
"About Dad?"
"Yeah. Well, I'm sorry. It's as hard for you as it is for me, and sometimes I forget that. It's just... he was my whole world. Well, so were you, but..." She drifts off, her eyes misting over. She stares at thin air as if waiting for something, or preparing herself to say something more, but quickly shakes her head as if thinking better of it. She's just about to turn away when she notices the two cups of tea, the two large cookies, which I've artfully balanced on top of each mug. "Why do you have two cups of tea? I told you I didn't want one."
"I-I know," I stammer, my breath catching in my throat. "This one's, um, for me. You know how much I love my tea. Have to have two mugs on the go -- one just isn't enough. I'm an addict, mother." I fake a teasing grin and turn on my heel, heading swiftly upstairs. Thankfully, Mum doesn't question this; she turns away, too, and I hear the living room door close behind her.
When I reach my room, I find Niall sitting on my bed. "Here; have a cookie. I made you tea, too. If you don't like it, I'll have it. I'm an addict, apparently." I chuckle uneasily, placing our mugs and cookies down on the bedside table, flopping down onto the mattress beside Niall. And that's when I notice the blade in his hand. He's staring at it, a frown fixed to his face.
Instantly, my heart begins to beat twice as fast. I sit up, tucking my hair behind one ear. "Niall, I-"
"When was the last time you did it?" He asks, looking at me.
Vivid memories strike me like lightning and I pull the sleeves of my jumper down over my hands. "It was Friday," I say quietly, staring at my fumbling fingers.
"Friday? The day before yesterday? Shit, Anna."
Silence falls upon us. "It's bad, I know," I say eventually. "But it was the day before the anniversary of my father's death and I wasn't exactly in the best of moods."
"Well, still- wait. The anniversary of your father's death was yesterday? Why didn't you tell me?"
"I don't know." I shrug as if none of this matters, my cheeks turning red with shame; why does every conversation regarding my father always make me feel as if the world is being pulled from beneath my feet?
Niall carefully returns the blade to its place on the bedside table, twisting his body towards mine and reaching out to take my hands. Despite everything that's happened tonight, I don't pull away. He puts his face close to mine until I can't look anywhere but into those gorgeous blue eyes, and whispers, his voice as soft as a kiss, "Anna, I want you to promise that you'll never do this again."
I sigh deeply, turning my face to look at my lap. I pull my hands away. "I can't, Niall. It's an addiction." He stares at me, willing me to continue. I gulp, my voice coming out in a croak. "I mean, I can go weeks without doing it, but then everything just comes back to me, hitting me like a tidal wave, and it's so overwhelming and sudden that it's all I think about."
There's a pause. "Go on," Niall urges quietly, and I realise that this is the first time I've ever spoken about it. The first time I've ever truly faced the fact that I do it.
I take a deep breath. "Then, I pick up that blade and dig it into my skin, and the pain I feel when I do so helps me forget about the other pain. It hurts, but it's a good kind of hurt, you know? The kind of hurt that reminds you you're alive." It feels good, talking about it; like every word I utter lifts a weight off my chest. I stare at my fidgeting fingers. "I just can't stop doing it, Niall. The truth is, I don't think I'm strong enough." I trail into silence, lifting my head. The sight of Niall, looking down, his lips pressed together and his expression filled with confusion, is enough to make my eyes water.
"I just don't understand," he says softly. "How can causing physical harm to yourself ever be a good thing? If you want to feel alive, go to the beach and swim in the ocean. Get drunk. Watch a sunset. Listen to some great music. There are a million ways to make yourself feel good, so why do you choose the one that puts your life in danger?"
My next words surprise him. "Because I truly hate myself, Niall."
He looks away. When he speaks, I have to strain my ears just to hear him. "You know, I used to think I hated myself, too. But I didn't. I simply hated the situation I was in."
A sigh parts my lips. I have no idea how to reply -- and it seems I wouldn't be able to, because my throat has dried up like a desert -- so I simply stand up, reaching over to pick up the blade. Then, I cross over to my window, shove it open, and hold the weapon out, until it's suspended over the bushes that line the front lawn. I look back at Niall to find him staring at me, unblinking. I drop the blade and it falls to the flowers below.
"Why did you do that?" He asks softly.
Finally, my throat allows me to speak. "Because I was just thinking about how much fun I've had tonight. How alive I felt. And I don't need to hurt myself anymore. I think, with you, I can do it. I can stop self-harming." This is a total lie, because I still don't think I'm strong enough, but I'm done with being negative. I'm done with burdening Niall with my problems. God knows he has enough of his own.
A grin spreads across his face and I can tell that he truly believes me. Satisfied, I skip back to the bed, throwing myself down next to him, causing him to chuckle. I reach over to the bedside table and grab the cookies, handing one to a smiling Niall. We eat in silence, dunking them into our tea, which Niall has never had before but decides he loves. Positive thoughts, Anna, I tell myself. Happy thoughts.
Slowly, as the minutes tick by, I open my world up to Niall. I find myself showing him things I've never showed anyone before, like my old diaries, poetry I used to write as a kid. Drawings I did in primary school. Old school reports. We tease and joke -- I have to tell Niall to shut up a few times, because he laughs so damn loudly -- and it's as if our previous conversation never happened. I guess we're both good at training ourselves to forget certain things. Or at least block them out so that we don't have to face them.
Eventually, we hear the footsteps of Mum coming upstairs, and I order Niall to duck down underneath my bed, just in case she makes a sudden appearance. Fortunately, she doesn't. I hear her bedroom door close and Niall springs to his feet.
I ask him if he wants to watch a movie and he chooses one he likes the look of -- Blades of Glory, a comedy about the antics of two hilarious figure skaters -- from my DVD shelf. As I slide the disc into my TV, I tell Niall he can get in my bed, assuring him that I'll be just fine sleeping on the floor. He, however, objects to this.
"I'm not letting you sleep on the floor," he says adamantly. He even folds his arms across his chest to prove his point. "Just get in bed, okay? There's enough room for the two of us." I follow his gaze, wrinkling my nose at the sight of the tiny single bed. Niall looks at me. "Just get in! At least while we watch the movie. You won't be able to see the TV from the floor," he says.
I roll my eyes. "Oh, fine," I say. "If you want me to so badly, I will. But when we go to sleep, I'm getting on the floor. Okay?"
Niall chuckles. "Sure."
Usually, I sleep in my underwear, but obviously that's not an option tonight. There's no way in hell I'm stripping off in front of Niall, especially after tonight's events. I suppose I could wear my dressing gown, but I might get hot in the night; besides, Niall might think it a bit weird. I bite my lip, finally deciding that I'll have to wear a pair of my old pyjamas. As I crouch down to dig around in my untouched pyjama drawer, I hear movement behind me; I glance over my shoulder, I see Niall, standing with his back to me, pulling off his t-shirt. Oh. My. God.
I've always had a fascination with boys' backs. In my opinion, their backs are the nicest part of their bodies. Lean, smooth, gorgeous -- and Niall's is no exception. You can see his shoulder blades protruding through his skin, but still, his back is freckled and... hot. I find myself staring, a tiny amount of drool forming on the corner of my lips; he bends down to pull off his jeans, and I force myself to look away, knowing that witnessing Niall taking off his trousers would most likely kill me.
I focus instead on finding a decent pair of pyjamas, trying to push the image of a naked Niall out of my head (I am a teenage girl, after all). Rummaging around in the drawer, I frown; all my pyjama bottoms seem to have babyish prints of bunnies or ducks or some other cute baby animal on them, and the matching t-shirts are no better. I eventually settle on the bunnies, and decide to wear a plain top from my wardrobe instead of the alternative, which is a giant bunny face and the embarrassing slogan 'hop into bed!'. Ugh.
Pyjamas in hand, I tell Niall I'm heading to the bathroom, keeping my eyes trained to the floor. In there, I change into the aforementioned clothes, avoiding the sight of myself in the full-length bathroom mirror. Only when I'm fully dressed do I force myself to look. My wavy hair is all tangled, my makeup smudged. Niall must have been lying when he said I was beautiful. When I brush my teeth, I turn away from the mirror. Looking into it makes everything worse.
Back in the bedroom, Niall is lying beneath the pale blue duvet cover, a blissful smile on his face, his eyes closed. "Ah, I haven't been in a proper bed in so long," he says happily as I close the door. "How do you even get up in the morning?"
"With great struggle. I have to coax myself out with the promise of breakfast," I inform him, lifting the covers to slide into bed beside him. He chuckles, his eyes opening as he looks over at me; our gazes lock together, and he's so unbelievably beautiful that I could cry. His eyes are shining and his smile makes my heart race, and in that moment, I wonder if it would really be so bad to allow myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, something could happen between us in the future.
"You know," Niall says softly, "you don't have to worry about what happened tonight. I'm perfectly happy just being friends. Although, you should know that there's just a small layer of my underwear separating you from my genitals."
"Niall!" I gasp, grabbing a nearby cushion and playfully whacking him with it. We erupt into laughter but quickly shut up when we remember Mum, asleep in the next room. I grab the TV remote, pointing it at the television and pressing play. "Let's just watch the film," I giggle, and I reach over to flick off the bedside lamp.
Darkness consumes us and lying here in the black, curled up with a half-naked boy pressed to my side, is the happiest I've been in a while.
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