The light streaming through the open bedroom curtains stung my eyes as I gradually gained consciousness. My brain was a foggy, thick blur that thumped painfully inside my skull, my thoughts jumbled by the remnants of the alcohol in my blood after my binge last night. I’d drained the fridge of a half empty 6 pack of beers and a bottle of wine I’d once intended to share with her, sometime when we had something to celebrate. That was never going to happen now. Never.
I rubbed my eyes until they felt raw. My mouth was like sandpaper, dry and course and I could hardly swallow. I felt like a dead man trying to crawl out of his grave, in this cold, lonely bed that felt like bricks beneath my body rather than a cushy mattress. Despite my discomfort, however, my drinking spree last night had not been in vain because today everything emotional felt numb. A vast improvement on the stabbing pain in my chest I’d had when I stumbled inside after my fatal near miss in the road on Christmas. That had been…what, a few days ago, at least? I hadn’t been keeping track of time. I’d done nothing but drink myself into oblivion while I was here. I’d cry for hours, sobbing into the empty space while I poisoned myself with anything I could find. I ignored the calls from mum, only picking up the phone in order to gabble nonsensical messages into Tamara’s answering machine. In my frustration, I’d hurled it against the wall one day and watched it smash into pieces before I wept again. When had that been? Yesterday? Two days ago? It was all a haze. Time didn’t register inside my head, not when I felt as empty as this damned house. I was hollow without her.
As the memories seeped back into my head little by little, I realised what it was that had woken me. I twisted uncomfortably, wincing in the light as my hand searched for an alarm clock on the bedside table, knocking frames and books over as I grasped wildly. I held it up right in front of my eyes squinting at the display – 10:03am. I furrowed my brow and collapsed back again, huffing and moaning at the aches in my muscles. I tried to listen, to cock my ears and concentrate, but my head was pounding and it was so difficult to focus. But I could make out rattling, shifting, moving. Noises downstairs like someone stepping about and shuffling objects. I forced myself to sit up, pulling on some dirty sweats and a zip up jumper, my body shivering against the cold air. I hadn’t even thought to turn on the heating. I’d barely even eaten all the time I’d been here; I was blocking it all out, but now I was hungover my stomach rumbled forcefully and I almost felt faint with hunger.
I took wary steps down to the hall, my bloodshot eyes peering uneasily around for the culprit of the sounds. I tried to remember if I’d bothered even locking the door. Maybe someone was burgling the place, and in my current state I couldn’t even bring myself to care. I strained my eyes painfully to see, my vision failing me and blurring with lack of use. But I could see the boy standing in the hall was no threat. I watched him as he kicked the door closed behind him, a small stack of empty cardboard boxes in front of him on the floor. He pushed a hand through his blonde hair, sighing as he surveyed the scene in front of him, thinking for a moment, probably deciding where to start. My foot creaked on the stair and his blue eyes darted to the source of the sound, narrowing when they found me. I cleared my throat awkwardly, my voice out of use and sounding husky, unhealthy.
“What are you doing?”
Niall glared at me in silence. I could see the distaste in his eyes. The hatred. “I’m here to collect Tamara’s stuff.”
He picked up a box, getting a good grip on the cardboard before approaching the stairs at a steady pace. I stood halfway up them, confused, dazed, sad most of all. My heart couldn’t cope with this, didn’t know how to react. I couldn’t muster up any response other than a miserable, pitiful plea. “No…no you can’t, you can’t take her stuff. She lives here.”
“Not anymore,” he rebutted heartlessly. His expression was like stone as he came to my level, just a step down in front of me. I put my arm out, standing across the stair in an effort to hinder him. “Get out of the way, Harry.”
“You can’t. She lives here, she belongs here…”
“She’s staying with me,” he told me coldly, “She needed somewhere seeing as you’ve been treating her like shit. She deserves more than that. Now get out of the way, she asked me to do this.”
“No,” I fought, my sore eyes stinging with tears, voice wavering pathetically. When I spoke now, it was a weak little whisper. Pathetic. “No, she’s coming back. Her stuff should be here for when she comes back…”
“She’s not coming back here,” Niall shouted into my face, shoving by my weak frame and continuing up the stairs ruthlessly. I pushed back my hair tiredly and followed, knowing deep down that he was right. Why would she come back here? What would she want with a failure like me? I was worthless. Useless. But I felt bitter even though this was all my fault. And I hated Niall. He was taking her away from me, pulling her further from my reach and I hated him for it.
He moved into the bedroom and I trailed after, realising with embarrassment how much of a state the place was in; empty food cartons and beer bottles strewn all over the floor, the duvet half pulled off the bed. It was a tip. He looked over his shoulder at me in disgust as he surveyed the place, dropping the box at the foot of the wardrobe.
“You need to get a grip Harry. Look at the state of the place!”
His voice was cold, vicious. It didn’t sound like the Niall I knew, but then again I was far from the Harry he’d once called his friend.
“Look at the state of you,” he shook his head in abhorrence. I hadn’t even seen myself in who knows how long. I glanced over into the mirror on the white vanity against the wall, my own cold, hollow gaze staring back at me. My eyes were sunken and red and bloodshot, my skin pasty like that of someone who was on their death bed. I had a dark shadow of stubble over my chin, up my cheeks. My hair was limp and greasy. I was far from the image of the gorgeous superstar boyband member today. I looked like somebody who was slowly dying.
“I just…” I mumbled, fighting for an excuse, “I miss her. So much. I don’t know what to do, Niall, I just want her back.”
I sounded fragile, wretched as my voice cracked and broke and shook with tears. He was opening drawers at random and packing her clothes into the box.
“Yeah well I warned you and did ye’ listen? No, and now she’s gone and it’s nobody’s fault but your own, Harry, and you need to fucking wake up and realise that.” He stared back at me, his eyes dark with anger, rage that ran deep inside him. “You need to stop acting like a child and take responsibility for your actions. Tamara’s heartbroken. You can’t expect anyone to pity you.”
I sniffed hard, holding back the tears that threatened to stream. It hurt to hear it put so harshly, everything that I knew deep down but didn’t want to admit. That I’d fuck up badly and now it had all fallen apart. That I’d taken so long about deciding whether or not I wanted to be a part of Tamara and my baby’s life that she’d decided for me. That it was all my fault. And I couldn’t take it back.
“I never meant for this to happen,” I apologised inadequately.
He shook his head, scoffing in revolt of my mistakes. “You were out fucking ditzy tarts while she was lying at home, pregnant, alone. You never meant for what to happen? For you to cheat, or for her to find out?”
“I still love her, Niall, I always have but I just-,”
“What?!” he roared, springing to his feet defensively and sending her t-shirts flying, “What happened, Harry? Please explain your thinking to me ‘cause I just don’t understand it.”
His blue eyes were dark with vehemence. They bore into me. It hurt. Everyone had turned against me, everyone I loved. They all hated me.
“I panicked,” I mumbled, “I panicked and I fucked up.”
“She deserves better than you,” he seethed, sinking to the floor again to gather her things carefully, “She deserves someone who can love her right and you never could, Harry.”
“I’ve always loved her!” I spat in defence, “I’m not taking this shit from you, Niall, you don’t know what we’ve been through. Send Tamara to get her own stuff-,” I went to grab the box of belongings but he pulled it out my reach, brows lowered.
“She doesn’t want to see you. She doesn’t want you in her life anymore.”
He stated it matter-of-factly, and I recoiled in pain. That hit home – that hurt the worst. Did she really hate me that much? She couldn’t even bare to see my face?
The bitterness kicked in to bury the pain of the sorrow, like a survival instinct. Blocking out the injuries with a cocky response. “She slept with Josh and I took her back.” Venom seeped from my words. They tasted sour on my lips.
“That was different and you know it,” Niall argued, “You two weren’t even together then.”
“Oh right, okay then,” I spat, clenching my fists and I stood awkwardly in my own room, “She’s been talking to you, hasn’t she? Twisting things. Little bitch.”
I didn’t mean that. It just came out in my bitter anger at everything, at life, at the twists of fate that had destroyed me. He didn’t answer anyway. He kept his head down, packing pyjamas, and the fury in my blood switched to an underhanded, childish wave of resentment.
“I’m going to take an overdose.”
Niall didn’t even look up. “Don’t be so fucking immature, Harry.”
“I will,” I pushed, asserting it even though I knew full well I never could. I never would. I just wanted to make a point, to push forth the issue of my own feeling of entitlement to pity. I felt like I should be a victim, I wanted to be. I hated being the villain and this was my response. “I have nothing left to live for.”
“You have your baby, for God’s sake, Harry. Don’t you even dare be so selfish.”
I knew he was right, fucking right all the time, that was Niall. I wanted to kick him, hit him because I was so frustrated, so fucking tired and sick and done with everything, even him. I hated it all. Everything. I wanted to die. In God’s honest truth, I wished I could just drop dead right now and leave it all behind. I deserved it. I hated myself, the person I’d become. I deserved nothing less than death. I deserved torture and every kind of pain the world had to offer.
But I couldn’t. I could never take my own life, because whether or not Tamara had left me, she was still carrying my flesh and blood. I couldn’t leave this world knowing my little one would live on without me. I couldn’t die knowing I wouldn’t be here to protect them, to love them, to even see them just once. I was living for them alone. For my baby.
But Tamara had gone and taken my child with her. If she didn’t want me in her life, didn’t that mean my baby’s life too?
“What makes you think,” I moped, shaking my head with sick disappointment, “that Tamara will let me see my baby when she doesn’t even want me in her life, Niall?” I challenged him with that one. He didn’t look round but there was a long silence and I could tell he knew I was right. I was right when I said I had nothing to live for. It was my own fault but it still stood true.
“She doesn’t want you there,” he spoke after what felt like hours of stillness. He wasn’t even moving clothes, just sitting. “When the baby is born. She says she doesn’t want you there.”
A lump formed in my throat. I tried to swallow past it, but it was impossible. I gasped, a stupid shuddering noise and a tear rolled down my cheek, leaving my lips tasting salty. I was more right than even I knew. My baby wouldn’t be a part of my life, not at all. I would be lucky if I ever got to meet it.
“Niall,” I choked out, falling to the floor with my back against the wall, my head in my hands as I racked with sobs. I didn’t know why I was saying his name but I couldn’t say anything else. “Niall, please. Please…”
“I’ll text you, Harry,” he said firmly, standing up with the box he’d filled and making his way to the door. I tried to gulp back the tears and glanced up at him, towering over me.
“W-what?”
“I’ll text you. When she goes into labour. You should be there.”
His words took a moment to sink in, but I felt a slight warmth in my heart. Something new. Almost like a smile. “Th-thank you, Niall.”
He simply nodded, stepping back away from me like I was a bad smell as I hauled myself up from the floor. “S’ok.”
“She’ll be due anyday,” I noted to myself, “what date is it?”
Niall looked at me over the top of the filled box, and that was the first time I saw any form of it in his eyes that day. Pity. “Harry, it’s the 3rd of January.”
My eyes widened in surprise – New Year had come and gone with me completely out of it. It had been ten days since I’d came here from Cheshire that night when she’d left. And I’d wiled it away drunk and disorientated.
“Oh,” I murmured. He nodded in a sad way. “Well, Happy New Year then Niall.”
He licked his lips, lowering his pitiful eyes to the ground. “Yeah, Harry. Happy New Year.”