I yawn and check my watch again.
10:16. The lights shut off an hour ago and our only sources of brightness have been our phones.
My mom's probably flipping a shit right now. I was supposed to call her when I left my dad's office. She's probably screaming at Dad, making an already delicate situation worse.
And what about Dad? I would expect someone to have attempted to use the elevator by now. Do they seriously use the stairs all the time? There are twelve freaking floors in this building. I wouldn't walk up that many flights of stairs even if someone told me Channing Tatum was naked and waiting for me on the top floor with a jumbo Hershey's bar.
Maybe if he was holding a box of Lindt truffles...
But I digress.
"Erin," I hear Niall mumble from a few feet away. The last few hours have been a mix of talking, iPod games, listening to music, and snacking. He's gotten bored of me, I can tell. I hate to admit it, but I'm bored of him, too. We've small-talked ourselves into a stupor and now neither of us can think of an interesting topic. We've completely avoided anything One Direction by silent agreement, but I think he might crack and bring it up very soon.
"Yeah?" I pause my game of Tiny Wings and look up and across at him.
"I gotta..." he blushes and looks back at his phone.
"What?" I ask, confused.
"I gotta...you know..." he gestures vaguely to his lower region. "What do I do?"
"Oh...there's a...um...hole over there in the corner." I point to the hole I saw earlier and he looks at me, mortified.
"I gotta piss in a hole?" he asks, obviously really uncomfortable.
"I won't look," I reassure him. I face my wall and focus really intently on Tiny Wings. C'mon you stupid bird; slide down the hill! Slide down the freaking hill!
I hear Niall get up and walk over to the corner, and then a zip that's louder than we both expected it to be.
"Can you cover your ears, too?" He sounds like a five-year-old. I put my iPod down, close my eyes and place my palms tightly over my ears.
I just love the fetal position.
A short amount of time later, I feel the nudge of his foot in my back. I remove my hands from my ears.
"Is the coast clear?" I ask while my eyes are still scrunched.
"Yeah, I'm done," Niall grumbles. I open my eyes, stand up and go straight to my plastic bags.
"What're you doing?" Niall almost pokes my shoulder but I whack his wrist away.
"No!" I exclaim sharply. I rummage a bit more and pull out a small bottle filled with hand sanitizer. "Hold out your hands, palms up, please."
Niall hesitantly obeys. I pour a small dollop of liquid onto both his hands. I stare at him.
"What?" he asks stupidly.
I mime soaping my hands. He sighs with realization and does the same. I suppress a giggle because he looks like he's plotting something maniacally evil.
After he finishes scrubbing, he lifts up his hands to his nose and sniffs. Niall makes the "Obama Not Bad" face and puts his hands back down.
"What scent is that?" he wonders.
"You mean the sand hanitizer?" I ask, not meeting his eyes.
"Yeah, is it like apple or--wait." He pauses. "Did you just say 'sand hanitizer'?"
"No, what the hell's that?" I say condescendingly.
"I don't know. I just thought I heard you say it." Niall scratches his head.
"All I said was, 'You mean the sand hanitizer?' I was just checking." I professionally hold back my smirk.
"There!" Niall shouts. "You just said it again!"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," I snicker, trying not to smile.
"How can you not hear it?" Niall's eyes widen as he says it. Man, this guy's gullible.
"I didn't hear anything. I'm just going to put the sand hanitizer away." I turn to put back the bottle.
Niall grabs my arm and swings me around.
"Holy shit!" he cries. "Do you not realize what you're saying?!"
At this point I'm in hysterics on the inside. I really love messing with people. I can barely hold back my giggles.
"I think you should get your ears checked." I release myself from his grip. "Let me just put the sand hanitizer back in the---"
"AAAGHH!" Niall turns and throws his arms up in the air. "I don't understand how you---wait a second." He pauses and then slowly revolves as his eyes meet mine.
Okay, the jig's up. I might as well accept defeat graciously.
I bow towards him. "I'd like to thank the academy!" I pretend to throw roses out to my invisible audience. Niall doesn't laugh. Shit. I try to search his face for emotion, but there is nothing there. He simply nods in my direction, backs up without breaking eye contact, and sits against his wall. I'm about to look away when I notice a tiny smirk on his face, one I would have missed had I not been paying such close attention.
That can either mean two things: either he's amused and just not saying it, or he's currently planning his revenge and I have sleep with one eye open tonight.
Double shit.
I sit down at my wall and pretend not to have noticed. I grab my iPod and bring up Doodle God and focus on it as much as I can.
I can't believe how cold this elevator's getting. I feel like it's dropped an absurd amount in the past few hours. I still haven't zipped up my jacket or put on my hood, though, because I'm saving that warmth for later, when I'm sleeping.
I look up at Niall, expecting him to be on his phone, but he's just staring at the ground by his left knee. What is he thinking about so intensely? He looks as though nothing can break his focus, and I don't want to be that nothing, so I don't bother him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Two hours later, I'm freezing my ass off. I still haven't adjusted my jacket but I think I'm going to give in soon. It's just too cold not to.
Niall and I actually haven't spoken since my joke with the hand sanitizer. He's been eerily quiet, and every time I look up from my iPod he's either staring back at me with a mischievous glint in his eye, or looking off into space.
I look up again, and this time he's staring at the ground. His face is stony and he looks upset. Would it be awkward for me to ask what's wrong? I can't tell if we know each other well enough to explain our problems. Ah, what the hell; I'll try it out. If he's embarrassed, well, he's got nowhere to hide.
"Hey." I lock my iPod and look at him. "Are you okay? You haven't r-really been doing anything for the past couple of hours." The cold is causing us both to stutter.
He breaks from his trance and blinks at me.
"I guess I'm a bit worried," he sighs gloomily. "I'm probably messing up a b-bunch of important plans, being stuck in here."
"Like what plans?" I ask warily.
"Well, our concert's in a couple of days, and I missed a meeting and six whole hours of rehearsal today. And judging by our progress in getting out of here, I won't be rehearsing tomorrow either." Niall sniffs and pulls his knees to his chest.
"They're probably out looking for you r-right now," I comfort him. "I bet they've sent the best detectives and squads on the east coast to find you. We'll be out by tomorrow morning at the latest." I smile at him through the dim light.
He smiles back, but only slightly. "That's only part of it. What if it's leaked out that I'm missing? The fans are going to be pissed."
"I don't think they'll be pissed, exactly," I comment.
"Really? What do you think they'll do?" He lets go of his knees and looks right at me.
"I'm just going to judge by what's happened before when your f-fans hear a rumor," I warn, preparing for my prediction. "First, they'll dismiss it as lies. They'll think it's probably c-conjured up by annoying fans or haters."
I pause, gathering my thoughts. Niall makes a "get on with it" motion. Impatient much?
"Once it's been c-confirmed as truth, the fandom will be split. Some will joke about it, probably make up some story involving you and, like, f-food or something. Others will think it c-conspiratorial, since they already are mad at Management for not putting enough of your voice on Up All Night. Some w-will think it has something to do with a bromance or romance. And the r-rest will be genuinely wondering where it is you've gone, having not believed others' theories." I take a deep breath. That's probably the most I've said to Niall in one shot.
"What'll happen next?" Niall asks, intrigued. I find it odd that he hasn't come to these conclusions himself yet. I mean, after years of being followed (physically and virtually), he should be able to predict his fans' actions at least somewhat.
"I'm just talking long-term, here." I hold my hands up in protest. "I don't even think anyone other than your band, f-family, friends and Management will be looking for you. I think Management will ask anyone who knows to keep it quiet, since they know that could start a riot." Heh. That rhymed. Wait, no. Shut up.
"I know that," he whines. "But the story will probably leak s-somewhere, and I want to be prepared to fix it if we get found."
"If?" I repeat incredulously. "We'll definitely be found. My dad has probably already complained about not being able to use the elevator."
Niall doesn't respond to that. He furrows his eyebrows, all trace of a smile gone.
"You sure your dad works in this building?" He says it quietly, suspiciously.
"Of course!" I am offended he would doubt my knowledge.
"I don't think you're right," Niall states calmly. "I don't think anyone w-works here."
I stare at him, mouth agape. "Even if I'm an idiot and this isn't my dad's building, people have to work here. There was uneaten food on the front desk! The lights shut off!"
"Well, I can't explain that, but all I know is that nobody has even attempted to use this lift. If people were on the upper f-floors of this place, they would have wanted to take the lift downstairs."
I fold my arms, my eyes narrowed and mouth a thin line. While I don't want to believe it, Niall's right. If anyone actually worked here, they would have noticed the elevator was broken. But how the hell could I have gotten the address wrong?
Aw, triple shit. I remember being kind of unsure of the address number. I should've asked Mom if I was right. I just didn't want to bother her, what with all she's been dealing with lately.
Damn it; I do a nice thing and fate screws me over.
On top of all this negativity, it's getting colder and colder by the minute. The night's going to be brutal, I can tell. I look at my watch yet again. 12:28. I'm still not tired, and Niall doesn't look like he is either.
"Good m-morning, Erin." Niall holds up his iPhone to me and points to the time.
"Nope, it's not morning yet," I shrug. "But g-good evening to you."
"What do you mean?" Niall lowers his phone. "After 12 it becomes morning."
"Maybe to you, but I don't call it morning until I've w-woken up." I finally zip up my jacket and put on my hood, grateful for the temporary warmth I've given myself. No service, no Wi-Fi, no heat: this place actually sucks balls.
Niall gives me a strange look, as he's been doing since we've met. It's always the same one, one that says "Why the hell am I talking to you? Oh yeah: because I have to." I know he thinks I'm weird and awkward, but I don't know how else to talk to him. Once someone gets me talking, I say whatever pops into my head. I think I'm funny, I think I'm interesting, but I'm only those things when other people allow me to be. He's given me hours of opportunities to impress him with my words, and all I've done is get a few chuckles and some creeped-out looks from the boy.
I should just shut up and stop trying. This will all be over by tomorrow and I'll just be able to fangirl from afar, no complications. I hate to admit it, but dreaming about meeting him was definitely better than the actual thing. In my fantasies, I'm more confident, more beautiful, someone worth noticing. I can manipulate my dreams into whatever I want them to be. That's not the same with reality. I'm not confident, I don't fit society's definition of beautiful. I'm only noticed because I look like that girl from that new Disney movie with the "change your fate" nonsense and whatnot. Anything special about me is discovered with time, with effort. Nobody finds me interesting right away, and Niall is no exception.
"You alright?" Niall asks, catching me off guard. I notice too late that I had broken eye contact with him. I actually have been staring at his shoe, which probably made him think I have some sort of foot fetish. I don't really want to tell him my insecure thoughts, so I avoid them.
"I'm just worried about my parents," I half-lie, since I am worried about them, but that's not why I was deep in thought. "I can't imagine what my m-mom's thinking happened to me right now."
"What about your dad?" Niall leans his chin onto his hand. "Or, like, your siblings or something?"
"My dad was probably the first person my mom contacted, since she thought I was with him," I muse. "I'm glad, at least, that I won't have to hear that conversation."
Niall nods affirmatively. He hesitates, clears his throat and twiddles his thumbs. "Are your parents, you know, together?"
I say nothing. Is he reading my freaking mind? Why the hell would he ask that to someone he barely knows? I sit there silently for a few seconds and then I remember his parents divorced when he was a child. He'd have sympathy for me, even though he might not remember that time well. I can only hope he keeps whatever I say to him confidential and doesn't tell the other boys.
Damn this is getting personal. Or should I say, pussy-nal.
I must never do that again as long as I live.
"It's c-complicated," I share, pulling my sleeves over my freezing fingers. "Why do you ask?
Niall shrugs. "Just asking. Complicated how?" In the minimal light I see him pull up his knees and put his sweatshirt over them, giving him the appearance of a lumpy blonde marshmallow.
"They've just been having...problems," I confess. "My dad moved out months ago and the only talking they've done since has been divorce related. I was actually bringing the last of the papers he needed to sign to my father, but I'm stuck in here instead."
"So an upside to this is that they're not officially divorced y-yet, I guess," Niall points out, trying to be helpful. That actually makes me happier. At least I know they won't sign the papers with their eldest daughter missing. They can be a bit petty, but they're not self-centered and their focus will be on me for days after they get me back.
After that, all bets are off.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Erin, I'm g-going to bed," Niall mumbles. I check my watch and it says 1:02. I see no reason for me to stay up either.
"Me, too." I curl up against my plastic bags and my wall and close my eyes. Maybe when we wake up someone will be axing down the elevator doors. Actually, no; that'd make me shit my pants, which, no matter how hard people try, will never be ladylike or attractive. Maybe when we wake up, we'll hear a crowd of people trying to bring up the elevator. Yes, that's a suitable alternative to soiling myself.
As I lie in ball form, I look back on the last twelve or so hours. Surprisingly, meeting Niall isn't the thing that stands out most in my mind; it's more the fact that our conversations are exceptionally ordinary, nothing like I expected them to be. After watching pretty much every interview One Direction has ever done, learning all I can about them, and reading fanfictions that have different ideas of how the boys will act, I wasn't at all prepared for what I'm currently experiencing.
"I'm freezing," Niall whispers. My eyes shoot open. "Do you have a blanket in those magical b-bags of yours?
"No," I respond sadly. "We're just going to have to s-sleep through it." As I say this, I curl into a smaller ball, hugging my knees more tightly. We say nothing for a little while.
"Erin, what's your favorite song?" Niall asks out of the blue. Thanks for the heads up on the topic of conversation. Now I have to think quickly, dammit. Luckily, my iPod is right next to my face, so I unlock it and scroll through my songs as quickly as possible.
"Take your time," he laughs. Phew. I slow down my scrolling and actually pay attention. Okay. I have 362 songs. One of them must be my favorite; I just don't know it yet. I never really think about it much. I don't like to have favorites. I guess I can just pick randomly; I'll never see him again. I press shuffle and smirk a bit at the choice.
"'Stacy's Mom' by Fountains of Wayne," I regale wistfully. "It's a thing of lyrical genius and reminds m-me much of my whimsical childhood."
There's an awkward pause, and I hear Niall burst into laughter behind me.
"I was so prepared for you to pick something by One Direction," Niall admits between chuckles. "And that was j-just unexpected!" He giggles a bit more and then it dies down. I'm smiling, too, mostly because I know I've successfully made him burst into laughter.
"But," he continues. "I really thought you'd p-pick something by us. I thought you were a directioner. Aren't you?" I hear him adjust his position and I take the opportunity to do the same. I roll onto my other side and face him because I feel weird talking to a wall. When I rotate fully, I find myself staring a few feet across the floor at him
"I'm not a directioner," I admit. "I don't particularly like that term, so I don't call myself one." This makes me sounds like a hipster, non-conformist asshole, I know, but it's how I feel. I really don't like the word "directioner".
"I thought you said you like us," Niall points out, a bit disappointed. "You sort of freaked the f-fuck out when I told you who I was and you seem to know our f-fanbase pretty well. I assumed you were, like, a big fan."
"I am a big fan," I retort. "Just in a non-obsessive, non-exclusive, possibly temporary way." I sit up and cross my arms defiantly. He sits up as well. I guess he wants to be on level ground, seeing as this could turn into an argument.
I just realized how much more this situation would be sucking if I was on my period.
Thank you, Mother Nature, for being a merciful regulator.
Niall ponders this for a second. He just looks at me, and I, being an awkward kid most of my life, can only look back. I try to mimic his expression, a dull, emotionless one with mouth slightly open. I believe I have it spot-on. His mouth curves into a smile.
"You're copying me," he points out, grin widening. I widen my grin to match his.
"You're copying me," I mimic. His smile grows, so my smile grows.
"Knock it off!" he exclaims. I repeat him.
"Stop it!"
"Stop it!"
"Seriously!"
"Seriously!"
"This isn't f-funny!"
"This isn't f-funny!"
"I'm an idiot!" Niall's smile grows, thinking he's trapped me.
"Yes you are," I agree with him and applaud. Instead of getting mad, Niall bows from his cross-legged position.
"I accept my honor as the official lift idiot, Ms. Jeffers," Niall states proudly. "I am ready to do whatever m-my superiors ask of me."
"Well, your superiors are asking you to go to s-sleep," I command. "I want to be rested for either our rescue or our escape plan, whatever that turns out to be."
Niall sighs. "You really think we'll be out of here by tomorrow?" He sounds so young and hopeful that it's hard to believe he's two years older than me. It might be the height difference that's throwing me off, or the lack thereof.
"I'm positive we will," I reassure him. "The f-fandom won't be able to survive another day w-without their precious Niall. If Management let out that you're gone, Twitter's probably blowing up right now. Imagine h-how many mentions you're going to get; it'll take a week to scroll through them all."
"Oh, do you have a Twitter?" Niall's eyes go wide. "Do you follow me?"
"Yes and yes," I laugh. "I've never tweeted you b-before, though. Never saw the point in it, since you guys get so many each day. I'd just be some more insignificant words on a page."
"Oh. Uh...What's your username? I'll f-follow you if...when we get home." Niall smiles and pulls up the Notes app on his iPhone.
I laugh at the irony of this situation. I, someone who has never tried to get Niall to follow me on Twitter, have been asked by the boy himself to tell him my username. I can't help but feel sympathy for the girls who sit by their phones and computers, endlessly tweeting to the boys in the hopes of being noticed. I promise myself that, once rescued, I will never tell anyone who I was stuck in an elevator with. I don't want any actual directioners to become depressed or jealous, since I've never attempted to meet the boys and many of these girls have dedicated their lives to them.
"Fleedo228," I say finally. "F-l-e-e-d-o."
"What the fuck is the story behind that?" Niall blurts incredulously after typing it in. I tell him that it was my Club Penguin name when I was 8 and I wanted something nostalgic for Twitter.
"I'm g-going to sleep, now," I state as I shut off my iPod light. "I'm tired as hell and much, much colder." To prove my point even more, my body shivers involuntarily. "Goodnight, Niall."
"G-good morning, Erin," he teases. I shake my head and curl back up into a ball. I hear him lie down as well and he turns off his phone light.
An immeasurable amount of time later, I'm lying in limbo between sleep and consciousness. The only barrier stopping me from reaching blissful slumber is the frigid air around me. In my delirium, I barely register distant shuffling, but in my skewed, dreamlike perception of reality, I dismiss it as thunder from the clouds above me. Lightning flashes inconsistently, and with every bolt, I become gradually warmer. As the final light flashes, I am overcome with warmth.
I sleep peacefully, surrounded by lightning.
Apparently, lightning snores.