❝In the dark of this place, there's the glow of your face, there's the dust on the screen, of this broken machine.❞ ▬ Ya Hey, Vampire Weekend.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The next few moments are an absolute blur. I leap upwards -- which is difficult, as I'm still sitting cross-legged on the floor -- just as Niall collapses in my direction; thankfully, I manage to catch him, but his weight causes me to stumble back onto the picnic blanket. In doing so, I bump into Liam and cause him to drop his freshly poured cup of Pepsi, which spills down his shirt in a fizzy brown mess. "Agh, fuck!" Niall shouts meanwhile, hand stretched across his eye as he steadies himself; I help him to do so by pushing him forwards, unable to hold his weight despite the fact that he's the skinniest and therefore lightest teenager I know (I've always been a bit on the weak side, I guess). Harry, ever the cool-and-collected kind of guy, absolutely loses it; he begins to curse, getting to his feet and stepping over Niall to give the guy a shove, spitting "What the hell did you do that for?" in his face.
I barely catch a glimspe of Tyler's response. I'm too focused on Niall. Luckily, he isn't bleeding; the punch was clearly aimed at his nose, but his eye was hit instead -- drunken people have shitty aim, I guess -- and now it's simply a little watery. "Are you okay?" I ask Niall as he blinks, rubbing his eye. He nods, breathless, looking up at me. From upside down, because his head is in my lap, I can see the tears in his eyes. And I don't blame him -- for all I know, he's done nothing wrong. He didn't deserve this.
After being one-hundred percent certain that he's alright, and that the punch hasn't rendered him blind in his right eye, I turn to watch as Harry yells at the attacker. Tyler ignores him; he locks his gaze on Niall, and without really thinking about what I'm doing, I get up and step between them. "Don't you dare touch him again," I say, hearing Niall quickly stumble to his feet behind me.
"What are you gonna do about it?" The boy slurs. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, utterly careless. "Dumb bitch." And with that, he puffs the smoke in my direction. It goes past my gritted teeth and fills my lungs, but I manage not to choke.
Niall steps forward, clenching his fists. "Say one more word about her, and you won't be the only one throwing punches." Surprisingly calm, he plucks the cigarette from the guy's mouth and drops it on the floor, stamping it beneath his foot. "You know, you shouldn't smoke."
The boy laughs. "You think I'm gonna take advice from you? You're a piece of shit, you know that? You stole my place in the band. It should've been me up there, not you. You can't even sing. You're worthless," he spits.
Niall stares at him, frowning. Slowly, he folds his arms across his chest, doing that familiar thing where he tucks his fingers beneath each armpit. He once told me that singing and playing guitar is the only thing he's any good at; this insult is the ultimate knock to his confidence.
But here's the thing: he doesn't seem to care. That's one of the things I've grown to love about Niall: he doesn't let the small stuff affect him. I wish I had such a carefree attitude; the rude boy's 'dumb bitch' comment has put a lump in my throat, despite everything. I guess old habits -- like being extremely insecure about the way I'm perceived -- die hard.
"Tyler," Harry interjects, "you were already out of the band. I mean, sure, I knew I had Niall as a back-up option, and so obviously he influenced my decision to kick you out, but no matter what, you were never going to perform in the competition. Never. I wouldn't allow it."
Tyler grits his teeth in a truly terrifying -- not -- scowl. "Who even is this guy? Someone you dragged off the street?"
"He's a good friend of mine," Harry informs him.
"Of all of us," Liam adds.
"Harry," Tyler begins, his voice laced with malice, "do you remember what I told you? What I said I'd do if you replaced me with him?" He doesn't even look at Niall; he keeps his eyes fixed to Harry. Clearly worried, Niall glances down at me; I fumble for his hand and lock my fingers with his, squeezing tightly in an attempt to reassure him. I think it works; his face softens and he lets go of my hand, wrapping his arm across my shoulder instead. He pulls me in close, still not keeping his eyes off Tyler.
"You know what?" Niall says. "I don't give a single shit about you and your ridiculous threats. So you can either keep wasting our time by making them, or you can piss off and leave us all alone. Understand?"
There's a long, terrifying silence. I subconsciously press my body closer to Niall's, feeling comforted by his warmth. I'm not going to lie: I'm scared. Scared for Niall, that he'll be punched again. I guess in my mind, he's still a fragile little bird -- a stick-thin boy who still needs looking after. And of course, that's stupid, because he's cared for himself for so long, and he's brave in so many ways. Especially in this moment -- he doesn't cower away or break eye contact with Tyler. He stands his ground, fists clenched and teeth gritted. This is a whole new side to him. No longer is he the boy to become worried by mere rainfall, or to run and hide away at the sight of two policemen. All of a sudden, he's fearless.
And then Tyler says something nobody quite expected: "Whatever." He shrugs, lighting up another cigarette and walking past Niall, using his shoulder to give the Irish boy a hard shove as he goes by. Clearly vexed, Niall rubs his arm, looking over his shoulder to watch Tyler leave. Just before the darkness consumes him, Tyler turns back and hisses, "This isn't the last you'll see of me, Niall," before spitting on the ground and sauntering away into the shadows.
"Wow," Harry gasps, stunned, his green eyes wide and shining in the half-light. "I was expecting him to beat you to a pulp."
Niall chuckles, shrugging timidly. "Well, here I am. Still alive and in non-pulp form." As if nothing's happened, he happily plonks himself back onto the picnic blanket, reaching over for a packet of crisps. He rips them open and crams a handful into his mouth, glancing up at us. "So, are you guys gonna keep standing there gawping at me, or are you gonna help me finish this picnic?"
Laughing, we join him on the tartan blanket, and within minutes, the thought of Tyler has vanished from our minds.
●
It doesn't take long for the boys to devour the contents of the picnic blanket, which are strewn across the blanket. I don't eat much; one sandwich is enough for me, and I know that if I overeat, I'll probably end up vomiting -- which wouldn't be a good look in front of the boy I like. Niall, however, crams crisp after sandwich after piece of cake into his mouth, clearly not considering the likelihood of imminent puking.
Afterwards, Harry and Liam leave, hugging us both goodbye and heading off into the darkness. And then, once again, Niall and I are alone. He rubs his belly, full and satisfied, as we lie back on the blanket, gazing up at the trees and the stars. "Is your eye okay?" I ask him, and he nods.
"It's fine," he replies with a smile. "Who'd have thought I'd get punched, kiss the girl I have a crush on, and win a band competition and £200, all in one evening?"
"It's sure been a crazy night," I laugh. "How are you going to spend the money?"
"I have no idea," Niall breathes. "It's a lot of money, isn't it?"
I remain silent, because I've realised with age that £200 really isn't a lot of money. It makes me sad how Niall thinks it is, reminds me of how poor and utterly naive he is.
Looking up at the inky sky, Niall goes on, "I'll probably just get it in cash, keep it somewhere safe. Use it for food and soap and all that."
"No," I whisper before I can stop myself. Niall looks at me in the grey light, willing me to go on. Sighing, I comply. "I mean, it just feels so weird. Normal teenagers don't spend their money on food. They spend it on video games and DVDs and clothes." It strikes me how unfortunate Niall is to be in the situation he's in and tears brim in my vision. "Sorry," I whisper, wiping my eyes and letting out a faint chuckle.
"Hey," Niall says softly. He fumbles for my hand and grips it tight, pulling it to his lips and gently kissing my tear-streaked fingers. "Don't cry. It's okay. I'm okay. I'm fine, alright? I know I've been in a bad place, but now I'm good. We're both good, right?"
I hate the fact that I'm crying in front of him; I tilt my face away, blushing, despising how ugly I must look in this moment. "Right," I whisper, because it's true; we're both good. We're both okay. I know we are. He grips my hand tight as if reading my thoughts, and confirms it.
"Do you want me to tell you why I live in that house?" Niall suggests all of a sudden. "Why I'm so poor?"
I'm speechless. I nod silently, knowing that this is what I've been waiting for. I've been waiting all this time for him to open up, and he finally is.
"I know I said we shouldn't make this night about our pasts," Niall begins. "But I feel like you should know. I mean, we are girlfriend and boyfriend, right? And girlfriends and boyfriends open up to each other." My insides begin to do happy somersaults at the notion of us being boyfriend and girlfriend. Is that what we are? I guess Niall's just confirmed it. I've never had a proper boyfriend before, and the idea excites me. What excites me more, however, is the promise the two words bring: that I'm Niall's, and he's mine, exclusively.
"Easy, tiger. We've only been that way for, like, a couple hours," I say, smiling. "But I guess you're right. Boyfriends and girlfriends have an obligation to share their deepest, darkest secrets, and we should definitely start with you." Those two magic words -- boyfriend and girlfriend -- leave my tongue so easily, and I love the way they taste -- sweet and delicious and exciting, like pink lemonade on a hot summer's day. I repeat them over and over in my mind and can't help but smile: Niall is my boyfriend. I am his girlfriend.
Niall props himself up on his elbows, his gaze landing upon the dark sky. "Once upon a time..."
I scoff. "What is this? Goldilocks and the Three Bears?"
"Shut up," Niall laughs, reaching over to give me a playful shove. I giggle and look up at him; the corners of his eyes are all crinkled. His blue gaze meets mine. "Do you want me to tell it or not?"
"I do. Continue."
"Thank you." Niall pauses, inhaling deeply before going on. But he doesn't begin his story. Instead, he whispers: "You know, I never thought I'd be able to tell you what I'm about to tell you. I don't like thinking about my past, let alone talking about it. I guess... I guess there's something about the stars and the moon and the fact that you make me feel things I've never felt before that makes me feel like being truthful tonight. Even if tomorrow I'll wake up and regret everything."
"What's there to regret?" I ask him quietly. "Your past is a part of you and you shouldn't be ashamed of it."
"You're right," he says. "God, you're always right." He leans over to cup my face in his hand before pressing his lips to mine, gorgeously soft yet firm at the same time. And then he pulls away. "I'm never gonna get tired of doing that. Anyway, here goes."
And then he tells me everything. At least, I think it's everything -- a few aspects he simply glosses over, and I can't help but shake the feeling that he's still hiding away parts of his past. Whether that's for my benefit or his, I'm not sure. Nevertheless, I remain quiet the whole time. And then we lie in silence, hand in hand, just breathing and thinking and holding each other beneath the cool glow of the moonlight, not being able to believe how lucky we are to have found each other.
This is his story as I know it: when Niall's mum was pregnant, his dad decided that fatherhood simply wasn't for him, and he left. Niall grew up never meeting his father, but he had a great relationship with his mum. All he knows about his dad is his first name -- Bobby -- and that he lives in Ireland.
Niall was nine when his mother was diagnosed with cancer, and eleven when she died from it. He was devastated. He was sent off to England to live with his mother's batty sister, who was the only relative fit to take care of him, despite her wackiness. He missed Ireland so much, and all the friends he had grown up with there. He tried to keep in touch but eventually, each friendship fizzled out to nothing. After one and a half years, he was entirely alone, with nobody but his mad auntie and her even madder (barking-mad, as Niall joked) dog for company.
Niall rushed through the explanation of what happened next, but as far as I'm aware, his auntie brought home a man one day, a man whom she called her boyfriend. They were together for three months, until eventually, just before Niall's thirteenth birthday, he moved in with them. That's when things got even worse. Her boyfriend was violent, and sometimes, he'd sneak into Niall's room and hit him. His auntie never knew this, as far as Niall's aware.
On his thirteenth birthday, Niall received a guitar for his birthday. He had no idea who it was from, but it came in the post, and he assumed it was from his father. But his auntie and her boyfriend wouldn't let him play it. They said it would ruin the peace, or something like that. So all he could do was stare at it, propped up all shiny and untouched in the corner of his box-like bedroom. It tore him apart, looking at that guitar.
Again, Niall glossed over the next part of his story: about a week later, his auntie had gone out with a few friends from work, and Niall was sitting on his bed, reading because she hadn't let him have a TV in his room. And her boyfriend came into his room, and sat on his bed, and started touching him. It was just on the leg, but his hand was travelling upwards and Niall knew something wasn't right, so he bolted out of the room. As Niall told me this, his face crumpled up, and he had to take a few deep breaths before continuing his tale.
He grabbed his guitar, fifty pounds off the kitchen counter, and ran. He swore to himself he'd never go back there. However, he did have to go back a few days later in the middle of the night to pack a rucksack full of food and clothes. After that, though, he never returned. He caught the first train and got the hell away from there. He ended up in London, a city full of possibility. He was positive he'd make a life for himself there, despite how young he was, but things didn't quite work out that way and he ended up living on the streets. It was okay, though, at first. He made friends with some homeless guys. People always told him to get help but he never did. He was too stubborn for that, too worried they'd send him back to his aunt. He was dumb.
"I made some bad decisions," Niall went on to say. "I did some bad things, things I can't really tell you about right now. But I had to do it to live. That was the only reason I ever did it. I promise, Anna. Please don't think bad of me."
I assumed that this meant stealing food. I didn't think anything of it -- he did what he had to do to survive, what anyone else would do in a similar situation. I couldn't blame him.
"I knew that I only had to last two years," he told me, yawning tiredly. "Two years without my auntie finding me, and then I'd be sixteen and legally allowed to keep to my own devices. So I lived every day as it came, just thinking about how soon the future would be the present and things would be better. I taught myself how to play the guitar and busked on the streets for money, moving away after I'd been in a certain place for too long. I was okay. I... I survived."
Niall then told me that things took a turn for the worse. He ran out of food, he ran out of shelter, he was cold and wet and starving, and one day, ended up curled up on the streets ready to die. This was just four months ago. "It seems like a lifetime ago," Niall commented with a soft chuckle. And then along came Harry, who picked him up and hauled him into a taxi, then onto a train, bringing him here, to Bournemouth. The next day, Niall searched for a house. He's been living in the abandoned one ever since.
And so here we are, lying beneath the stars in the middle of the park, Niall's hand holding mine and mine holding his, our hearts beating in sync. "So, that's it," Niall says after a long while. "The story of Niall Horan's twisted past."
"It sure is twisted," I say quietly. I can't quite comprehend it all; all the information I've received still hasn't quite sunk in, and I'm left feeling bewildered and confused, a feeling akin to the one you get after a long lesson at school, where all you've been fed is constant information.
Niall lets out a long yawn. "Sorry. I've kind of put a downer on this whole evening. Would you mind if we called it a night? I could honestly stay here and talk to you for hours, but I'm tired."
"Me too," I say, rubbing my eyes. I pull out my phone and check the time -- it's quarter past twelve. I have a text from my mum. I slide my thumb across the screen to unlock it.
Mum: Hi, sweetie. I hope you're having a gd time with Ni. Tell him I said hello. Stay safe. I love you.
"My mum says hello," I tell him.
"Hello, Ms Winters." Niall yawns again, rubbing his eyes like a weary little kitten. We begin to pack up the picnic blanket, folding it up and stashing it away in the basket, which Niall carries as we walk away through the park. And all of a sudden, things are normal again. It's as if our previous conversation never happened.
But as we're devoured by the shadows of the towering trees, I can't seem to shake the unnerving feeling that maybe, just maybe, we're being watched.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
author's note: so, there you have it. a lot of information about niall's past. obviously, he's still hiding stuff, and there's still a lot more to come from this fanfic. hope you guys enjoyed reading this chapter as much as i enjoyed writing it (which was a lot)! <3
dedication goes to vanessa for being the loveliest person ever and inspiring me every day. she called me her idol which was absolutely incredible, wowow. i love you. xxx
ps: you guys should know that whilst writing this, a massive-ass bug flew right into my face, but i persevered. i carried on writing and managed to not have a breakdown. are you proud of me??