28 | Nauseous
Nauseous
Niall
I'M UNDERWATER.
Well, barely.
The showerhead in here sucks, though I stand under it nonetheless. It’s doing its job of sobering me up, almost a little too well. Each passing second feels like a suckerpunch to the groin, reminding me just how badly I’ve fucked up.
I lean my forehead against the tile, watching the water as it runs a translucent pink (finally) down to the drain. I was alone but I felt entirely exposed, like I was on display at a museum.
To the left you’ll see Niall Patrick Blue; the lad who couldn’t keep his lips off a girl or his fists off a stranger. Pinnacle of disappointment. No flash photography, please and thank you.
I may feel sober, but I’m anything but. The first thing I did when I came in here was finish off the last of the mini bottles I brought with me in the bag, having intended to save a few for the party later. Out the window with that plan I guess.
The creak of the door makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
“Indecent,” I call out, expecting O’Shea to tell me to grab a towel. Or maybe it’s a Guard, who would be perfectly content with hauling me off to the clinker in the nude.
“Oh—uhm, sorry.”
That’s not Coach.
My spine stiffens and I straighten up, acutely aware of how pathetic I must look to her—though at least she probably has a nice view of my ass.
Or maybe not... when I glance at her over my shoulder, turning off the water, she’s turned to face the door. Her considerateness brings a small smile to my lips.
“One sec,” I say, grabbing my briefs and my joggers, pulling them on quickly over wet thighs before giving her the okay to turn around again.
“What’re you doin’ here, Molly?”
“I came to check on you,” she says softly, fidgeting with her fingers. “Claire’s really worried, JJ took her out to the bus I think. The boys are...they’re worried, Niall. I’m worried.”
Sober Niall who stood under the water five seconds ago curls up in the fetal position, begging the drunkard to take over. I step closer to her, my tongue feeling heavy as I speak. “You can just say you wanted to see me in the nip, Mol. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”
She doesn’t smile at my joke—a shame, I thought it was pretty funny—but she steps closer to me too, unafraid. “You can’t do that, Niall.”
“Make jokes? Are you the fun police, Miss Lockhart?” I hold my wrists out to her. “Take me away, then.”
“No—be serious. This is serious. You can’t let every prick with a loud mouth goad you into throwing punches. Who knows what kind of trouble you’re in now.”
My laugh is humorless. “Oh, I know what kind. Deep shit, Mol. Deep.”
Her eyes—those sweet blue eyes, a colour I’ve only ever seen in her and her little sister—bore into me, begging to be let into the eye of the storm.
That’s what that colour is, I think. The eye of the hurricane.
“You’re better than this, Niall. Everyone knows that—”
“Except they’re wrong,” I cut her off, voice suddenly sharp and in no more mood for joking. “Because I’m not. I’m really not. And I know you’re gonna say not to let it get to me, but...”
She doesn’t interrupt me. She waits.
“I can’t not let it get to me. Everything is always getting to me.”
“Like that guy out there?” she guesses quietly. “Or that Stephen guy in the cafeteria the other day.”
I move closer, mere inches of space between her and my bare, dripping chest. I remind myself the last time we were this close I ruined everything. “Them. The lads. The fucking voices in my head... you.”
Confusion flickers across her features. “Me?”
“You’re the worst of them all, Molly,” I whisper, leaning closer. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for blowing you off the way I did. I didn’t want to make things weird. I didn’t want to lose you, because you’re the greatest thing I’ve ever found. But I can’t get rid of you. You just won’t leave my mind.”
“Niall—”
“I’m so fucking sorry,” I barrel on, needing to let all the word vomit out while I still had the jewels.
“I thought if I just ignored you, that the feeling would go away. I thought I could go back to the way it was before, wanting you without having you. But trying to forget you... it’s like trying to forget how to breathe. ”
Everything feels slightly surreal. The room’s blurring at the edges. But she’s crystal clear, the rosy touch to her cheeks and the slight part of her lips.
“So I’m just asking for a do-over, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispers, surprising me. My heart feels like it just might beat right out of my chest.
And then I kissed her.
I keep my hands suspended in the air, deciding to work my way up to touching her and letting my lips do the heavy lifting. Her hands are flattened against my chest.
For the first second, she kisses me back and it’s beautiful.
Her hands press firmer against my chest, until it occurs to me—she’s pushing me away. I pull away, watching her touch her tongue to her lip and taking in her confused face.
“What? What’s wrong?” I ask.
“You... you taste like alcohol.”