Trust Me (A One Direction Fan Fiction)

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Riley POV

A promise. What is it? In a dictionary, it is a declaration that one will do or refrain from doing something specified. To society, it is an unbreakable vow. To me? It is a bond meant to be broken. A string has its capacity to how much it can hold or attach until it breaks. All strings ever tied to me have been broken off on the other end. It took so long to see the truth behind each word and to sense lies behind words of “truth”.

The truth; words so simple to write or say. But when it comes to terms of admitting “the truth”, why do so many retaliate and shrink away? The idea of revealing the very details that make you who you are is frightening. It doesn’t matter who you tell either. No matter how far I push myself, I could never tell Jeremy the truth about what happened in the last two years. A burden for him to carry on his shoulders? Never would I do that to him. I owe him much greater actions than that.

It was a cold December night; I took a break from my constant life of writing and decided to take a brisk walk and grab some coffee in the shopping mall not far from my home. After reaching the coffee shop, I noticed a live show was going on inside. From outside in the chill wind, I had debated whether or not to enter. Neither of my parents were home, and I felt my fingers aching to type on additions to the latest piece of work my mind had been set to. My skin decided for me, for as my skin covered with goose bumps, my hand reached for the door handle. Warm air met with my freezing body, and the familiar scent of peppermint had filled my nostrils with its sweet fragrance.

A man sat in the back of the shop, strumming away at a beautiful black guitar. It was acoustic; much to my preference at the time. To this day, I still haven’t identified the song he was playing. All I knew was that it was beautiful. It made me come to an abrupt stop where I stood and forget why I was there in the first place. The man had noticed my stare towards his beautiful instrument just as he was ending his song. The small audience there was had erupted in a strong applause, but my hands never did make contact with each other. My mind was in awe, and all I wanted to do was play the instrument that man held in his hands.

I had felt my eyes fall a little as I noticed he put the guitar and was starting to make his was over to where I stood. He was older, about 26 years old, it appeared. He looked at me confused, but it wasn’t until he reached me that he put the pieces together.

“You play?” His voice revealed abuse of smoke and alcohol to the vocal cords. Nonetheless, I nodded in eagerness, as I had a clue as to what he was about to aim his next question to.

“Would you like to play something right now? I wouldn’t mind a break right now.” He didn’t have to ask twice, for my feet started to jog up to the small stage. My hands reached for the guitar just as I took a seat on the shiny brown stool. From a short distance I heard a low chuckle and a shuffling of chairs. I felt no need for an introduction; I was sat there to perform; not to talk. My fingers instantly had set themselves in the correct placements on the strings. “Fix You” by Coldplay was the first song I ever learned how to play. Everything felt better when I did. I always told myself I never failed to play flawlessly, though my mother always said I needed much more work to achieve perfection. The audience applauded after I was done; and I remember sporting the worst grin in the world. Today though, am I ashamed of that grin. That grin caused damage. Damage that killed someone. Damage that killed my mother.