Things had been getting better. For the first time in about as long as he could remember, he felt hope for the future. He went out to do the shopping with his Dad just to spend time with him, he sat with Papa in the living room in the evenings and watched movies with him. He and Louis had been getting on well, his brother having been in a better mood recently what with his last few weeks of having to wear the boot approaching.
He and Holly spoke often. She made him feel all warm inside and he felt like he could be honest with her.
Overall, it seemed as if things were looking up. His flashbacks and panic attacks were few and far between, and he slept easier at night.
He knew his parents had noticed it too. He saw the way they looked at each other with glassy eyes whenever he laughed, the way they would smile and ruffle his hair whenever he came down the stairs in a good mood in the mornings.
He should have known it wouldn't last. The darkness never stayed at bay for long, he was no stranger to the way it would creep back in without him even knowing it until he was deep in its grasp again.
This time, he didn't even feel it until it was suffocating him - drowning in it all, filling his lungs, grappling it's way up from his abdomen to his throat so he couldn't breathe.
It crept in like the silent killer it was. First, the hours spent tossing and turning at night, unable to drift off until the early hours. The next days and weeks gradually growing more and more sleep deprived; unable to keep his eyes open when he was meant to be doing schoolwork in the living room, easily irritated by the smallest of things, too tired to even speak some days. Then came the thoughts; the exhaustion in his body seeping up into his mind, inner voice growing careless and sinister. From there it was a spiral.
It was being too consumed by the threats inside of his own head to spend time with his family in the evenings. It was laying in bed for hours on end with no motivation to do anything else. It was the panic attacks that started without warning and left him wishing to disappear, then the disappearing into a flashback and begging to come back.
And suddenly, it was like the past few weeks since Christmas hadn't even happened. Like all of that happiness and hope and recovery had melted away into a headspace just as bad as the one that had left him fighting for his life in the hospital with bandages around his wrists and scars left for life.
And his parents had been so hopeful, he just couldn't let them down again. In fact, he refused to.
And so every thought that entered his mind went down into his journal; that black, leather bound book that he'd had for his bee a year now. The book that carried everything inside of his soul in words and drawings and torn pages from the hours where he had pressed down on the pen too hard in his desperation to get everything out before it ate him alive.
And one evening, that journal went in his rucksack and he left. He didn't really think through exactly what he was doing, he tried to tell himself he was just taking a walk to clear his head but he knew that wasn't the case. His mind was beyond being cleared.
But he told himself it was just a walk nonetheless. A walk with no jacket despite the icy weather outside, a walk without telling his parents that he was even leaving despite the fact that they were still hesitant to even leave him in his room alone. A walk.
A walk that lead him to the bridge in town that towered over the river.
His body wracked with shivers, long sleeved t-shirt too thin to offer even the slightest inclination of warmth, the light pattering of rain dampening his hair as he reached out with fingers too cold to even bend and rested them on the sharp concrete of the bridge wall. Beneath the darkening evening sky, the water below look abyssal. Like a void of blackness except for the odd reflection of a streetlamp.
The streets were relatively empty. The cars that passed by never slowed.
Nobody cared about some shivering kid on the sidewalk, staring down at the water below. Leaning over the edge of the wall, concrete digging into his hip bones and ribs. Leaning further and further, wondering how it might feel to fall and fall and fall until the water below. Wondering how it might feel to be fully encompassed by that freezing liquid, to sink further into its depths, to have his lungs drowned in the stuff until everything disappeared.
Nobody cared for a long time, and so he kept on wondering.
Until one passerby approached him. He flinched slightly and pushed himself back from the edge when he felt the warm hand of a stranger rest on his shoulder, turning to face the bearer of the touch in fear. It was fully dark now, moonlight clouded over so that the artificial lighting was the only thing holding back the pitch-darkness.
The woman had concerned brown eyes and honey-coloured hair, a burgundy wooden hat pulled down to cover her ears and a fluffy jacket pulled right around her body.
"Christ, you're just a kid," she says softly, glancing around. "Are you out alone? Do you need to borrow a phone?" She asks with a gentle voice, her hand staying firmly on his arm.
Instead of recoiling in panic, he allowed himself to be grounded by the contact in a way he knew he would be unable to had the stranger been a man. He teared up a little at the care radiating from the woman, but couldn't find it in himself to offer up an answer.
"You must be freezing," she muttered, more to herself than to anybody else. Then she seemed to register his discomfort, because she offered him a small smile. "I'm Jess, by the way. I work in that building, just over there, in one of the offices," she said, pointing towards a tall block of offices in the near distance. He followed the gesture then turned back to her.
He sniffed, lifting a hand to swipe at his running nose as another shiver wracked through his small frame as the rain grew a little heavier. "M'Niall," he murmured in return, voice barely audible over the howling of the wind.
And he didn't know how he got there, how it got to this all over again. How he could feel so ready to try again what he had before and hurt his family like that all over again.
It didn't make him want to go home though. The bridge was still enticing. The water below was still beckoning him.
Jess smiled again, peering at him with that same concern in her eyes. "Your parents aren't out here with you? It's pretty late," she said, and Niall just shook his head. She pressed her lips together, glancing around helplessly and even though it was an innocent enough action, it only made him feel like more of a burden. "You wanna tell me what you were doing leaning over the bridge like that?" she adds quietly.
He glances up in surprise, chewing on his lip and blinking rapidly. Thankfully, the rain was heavy enough to cover any tears that did escape. He was shivering harder than ever but he couldn't feel the cold anymore.
He gave a small shake of his head and she gave a stout nod.
"Alright. That's okay. Do you have anyone I can call for you? Parents or - or a friend?"
He had parents. Siblings. Friends.
It felt like a huge extra weight on his shoulder then, and he was sure his tears were falling thick and fast at this point but he just couldn't tell with the rain so heavy. He couldn't do this to them again. He couldn't cause them so much pain.
Whether he deserved it or not, he had people who cared about him - and he cared about them too much in return to hurt them.
He nodded, folding his arms around himself as he continued to shiver. "My - my big brother. Harry," he whispered, and Jess smiled softly at him.
"Okay," she said, rummaging through her handbag until she finally fished out her phone. Niall recited the number to her and she held the device to her ear before she began to speak. "Hi, is this Harry speaking?"
The conversation went on for a little bit until Jess held the phone towards him. He took it with frozen fingers, holding it up until his brother's voice flooded into his ear and he instantly let out a sob at the realisation that he would never have heard that voice again had he done what he had been thinking of doing.
"Hey, dude. Hey. It's okay, I'm coming to get you right now, alright? Do you mind if I bring Ash?" Harry asked, voice filled with worry and care.
Niall shook his head quickly. "J-just you. Please," he cried, feeling childish for the demand but Harry never complained.
"Okay bud. That's okay, I'm just grabbing some towels, alright? Lady says you're not wearing a jacket," he said softly. "Do you need me to call Dad and Papa? They're worried about you."
"No! No, Haz, I - I just want you to come," he cried, desperation seeping into his tone. The thought of his parents expressions, their disappointment, was enough to make him want to hang up on the call.
Harry was quick to abide though, the sound of an engine starting in the background. "Alright, I'm coming Nialler. I'll be five minutes, okay? Um, why don't you give the phone back to the lady," he said, and Niall glanced up at Jess before holding the phone out to her.
The woman smiled softly at him and took the phone back, speaking to Harry for a few more seconds before she hung up and turned back to Niall.
"I'm gonna stay with you until he gets here," she told him, and he swallowed, feeling guilty.
"You don't have to, you probably want to g-go home," he trailed off, teeth clattering.
Jess just shook her head, taking off her jacket so that she was only wearing a lightweight blazer. She hooked the jacket over his shoulders and he relished in the warmth that it provided, jolting a little beneath the heavy rain.
"Trust me, I'm happy to hang out with you here for a little. All I have waiting for me at my apartment is a shower that doesn't work and a bed with a busted mattress. But I'm moving in with my sister next week and starting a new job in her town. Things get better," she said, peering at him softly. "I don't know your story kid, but life can suck one minute and be incredible the next. It's part of the adventure...so you have to make sure you're around to see it."
Niall chewed on his bottom lip, looking down at the puddles forming on the wet pavement below.
He wanted things to get better. They had been better for a while, or at least they had seemed to be. He wanted to be around to see those incredible parts, but he was just so afraid that things would get worse before they got better - or that they would get worse and then not get better at all.
Headlights illuminated them both then, and Niall recognised the car pulling over to be Ashton's, his brother sitting behind the wheel. As soon as it stopped completely, Harry was hurrying out and over to them, taking Niall by the shoulders and scanning over him in concern.
Niall stepped back, shrugging off Jess's jacket and handing it back to her. He ducked his head whilst Harry thanked her, looking up as his brother began guiding him toward the vehicle and catching her eye.
She smiled warmly at him, giving a small wave. "You look after yourself, kid," she called out, before he was shut away into the car and they were driving away.
The moment they stopped at a traffic light, Harry turned to the back seat and tugged a large and fluffy towel back with him, quickly wrapping it around Niall's shoulders, who sank into the warmth gratefully, still shuddering a little.
"Ash's sorting you out some warm clothes, you need to get out of those clothes. Dad and Papa'll kill me if you get hypothermia," he said, attempting a joke that didn't match his quiet volume as he turned his attention back to the road.
Niall just held the towel around himself, trying not to focus on the fact that he couldn't feel his fingers or toes. His head fell back against the seat and he turned his head to look out of the window, watching the lights blur into each other as they drove.
"Don't make me go home tonight," he whispered, not turning to look at his brother.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his brother glance at him in confusion and concern before he looked back to the road.
"Why? Did something happen?" He asked, and Niall just shrugged, keeping his gaze fixed on the outside of the car, sniffling.
By the time they pulled up in front of Harry's apartment, Niall had stopped shivering and was begin to feel as though his skin was burning instead at the sudden change in temperature. Harry bundled him inside and into his apartment on the third floor before he could even begin to process what was going on.
Ashton had the same sympathetic smile plastered on as soon as they were in the the living room area. Niall still had that towel wrapped around his shoulders, Harry's arm around his shoulders.
"I, uh, put some clothes on the bed in our room," he said, glancing up at Harry as though he didn't quite know whether or not it was okay for Niall to get dressed alone.
Niall shifted from one foot to the other, feeling like a burden yet again. He directed his gaze to the floor and scuffed his shoes. "I'll go get changed," he mumbled, brushing past them both and towards their room.
He heard a small sigh behind him before Harry called out, "keep the door unlocked, okay?"
Niall didn't bother answering, shutting the door and trying to ignore the hushed murmurs from his brother and his brother's boyfriend as he changed into the top-big hoodie and joggers that had been left out for him. He caught sight of himself in the mirror by the door on his way out; skin pale except for the bright red of his nose and cheeks, the slight tinge of blue framing his lips.
His hair was still damp and he couldn't seem to stop shivering entirely, but as he stared at himself, he couldn't help but remember all those times that he had stared at himself in the mirror after Richard; stared and tried to figure out what was wrong about him, what had made Richard choose him.
He had never figured it out.
He probably never would.
He left his rucksack by the couch on his way back into the living area, standing awkwardly in place when both Harry and Ash turned to look at him from the hall.
Ash smiled and turned towards the kitchen. "I'll make you something warm to drink," he offered, leaving Harry and Niall alone.
Harry led him over to the couch, tugging a blanket from the back cushion and chucking it over his lap once they were sitting down. Niall tugged his legs up into his chest, realising suddenly just how tired he was. He had walked for hours before even getting to the bridge, and that paired with being so cold had used up more energy than he had to begin with.
"Dad and Papa are really worried. They called me hours ago asking if you'd been around...you know they've called the police already?" He said, and Niall felt his heart speed up again.
"Sorry I caused so much trouble," he muttered, keeping his gaze down as Harry sighed and moved closer to him but not putting an arm around him yet.
"That isn't what I meant, Nialler. Just...what happened? You've been doing so well."
Niall looked up at that, jaw clenched. "M' not better. Everyone acts like I am but it doesn't change anything just 'cause I smile or laugh or talk more," he said, volume picking up along with his emotions, a lump forming in his throat to pair with the tears in his eyes. "It doesn't change what - what Richard did, or what I did. I'm not better, Haz. M'not," he choked out, tears finally spilling.
Harry completely softened then, wrapping his arms around his smallest brother and pulling him into his side on the couch. Niall sank into the embrace, still trying to blink away his tears.
"I know. I know, and you don't have to be. Trust me, Ni, I know it doesn't just go away. But you know you can't just run off without telling dads. You have to talk to them, or me, or somebody," he said gently, before he swallowed audibly. "Why'd you go to the bridge?" He asked in a quiet voice.
Niall shrugged, tucking himself further into his older brother's side.
The silence sat there for a while. There was movement in the kitchen where Ash was, the soft thrum of music from the apartment either above or below.
Then Harry broke the quiet with a small voice. "Well, I'm glad you're here. I'm always glad you're here, alive, breathing. So maybe don't change that, yeah? Like, ever. You're not allowed to die, not until you're at least ninety-four," he said, tone growing lighter towards the end.
And Niall managed a laugh. It came out quite sad sounding, more of a sniffled huff than a laugh. But the thought was there, and he felt a little relieved that Jess had found him on that bridge. He wished he'd thanked her properly.
The mood sobered again then, Harry pulling back to look at him properly. "I don't know what you went through with Richard, what - what something like that does to anyone...but I know you're not a victim, Nialler. You're a survivor, and I'm really proud to be your brother," he said, voice genuine.
Niall wiped at his eyes quickly, heart thrumming heavily against his ribs at his brother's words. He didn't give an answer, couldn't bring himself to speak. Instead, he leaned against Harry and closed his eyes, trusting his brother enough to allow himself to fall asleep.
He wasn't better.
But he wasn't a victim either.
He understood that now.
.
Dad and Papa came early the next morning, blasting in in a hurricane of worried expressions and tight hugs and checking for injuries. Niall let Harry do all the talking, the basic run through of the previous night, of getting the call from Jess and picking Niall up from the bridge.
The men didn't look disappointed liked he'd been afraid of. Instead, they looked almost heartbroken.
Somehow that was worse.
"We're not mad at you," Papa said softly, perched on the coffee table opposite the couch, reaching out to take both of Niall'a hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over his knuckles. The man looked hurt, his voice only confirming that when he spoke again. "I just...you seemed so much better lately, and me and your Dad shouldn't have let our guard down. We should have been making sure you were okay, but Cal said you were still participating in sessions and -"
"I'm not better," he interrupted in a quiet voice. His parents both exchanged glances, Harry giving his shoulder a squeeze beside him. "And it's not your fault. I went to the bridge and I - I wanted to do it but I didn't. And then Harry brought me back here and I was glad. I was glad to be alive still," he said, rubbing at his eyes quickly.
His Dad's face softened further, his own tears going uncovered. Papa's hands tightened around his further.
"I'm not better, but I really do want to be," he murmured, pulling his hands away from his father's grip to reach towards his backpack, pulling out his journal and handing it to the men.
They all looked at him in surprise; because his journal was his everything. All the things he he spent the past year being too afraid to say aloud. All the things Richard had done that had made him feel worthless, all the things he had thought about himself and done to himself that had made him feel worth even less. All the nightmares and panic attacks and flashbacks. The anger and pain and fear. He was giving it to them.
Because he couldn't keep it inside anymore. He couldn't let it continue to eat him alive.
"I don't wanna be the victim anymore."
EDITED 29.12.21