Left Alone To Cry.

Chapter 9: Hope while it lasts

NIALL'S POV

I'm sitting at the kitchen table, rubbing my hands together. It has always been a reflex when I'm stressed out. I rub and rub again my hands together until I find the best decision.

I rub, pinch and squeeze my hands and even crack my knuckles, losing myself in my deep thoughts.

As I crack my pinkie, I keep asking myself if I should go back on my Twitter and read the comments people are saying about my "disappearance".

In the park two days ago, I saw that girl crying because she went to my mother's house. She told me everybody on Twitter was crying...

In a way, I really want to go. I want to feel this warm feeling climbing up my chest and stop making me feel alone. I spend my days looking at the white paint on my walls, staring at the clock and watching the time pass. I want to see what people say about me. It's my placebo. I'm going to feel like I'm surrounded by people who love and need me... when actually I'll be sitting alone in front of my laptop, in the silence of my empty wooden house.

And on the other hand, I don't want to go. If I read the comments, I know I won't be able to stop myself from replying them. I want to socialize, I want to talk to my fans. I want to cheer them up and tell them I'm alright. I want to shout it to the world. I could even make a Twitcam, to make them feel better and know they'll be happy will make myself happy. But I can't do this and I know if I let myself into all those worried people, I'll succumb the temptation.

I crack my thumbs and I finally make my decision.

I'll clash both.

I get up and run to my bedroom. I take my laptop and open it. I take a deep breathe as I log into Twitter.

As soon as I'm connected, I go into my mentions. They're filled with millions and millions of tweets.

I read them, one by one.

"Niall where are you! Come back!"

"Nialler no you can't be missing! It's impossible!"

"Babe the boys can't do it without you! We need you!"

The tears stream down my face as I continue reading them, hiding my hands under the table to stop myself from replying.

"Tweet us you're alive, please Niall!"

"What happened to Niall?! I'm so worried I hope he's alright!"

"Niall come back :("

I look at the trending topics and there's my name. It's the most popular trend. "Niall". The five letters of my name going through everybody's mouth, filling everybody's mind and being typed on everybody's keyboard.

I watch to the sky. I said I'd clash both of my ideas. Now that I read the tweets, I have to stop myself.

I go into the settings and stare at the "delete your account" button. 

My mouse is floating on it, my finger too scared to even dare to click. 

I wipe away my tears and clench my teeth. I go fast, I click on it.

Then there's that little window opening and asking me "do you really want to delete your account?"

I bite my lip. What will the fans think? I can't let them down! But I can't keep on torturing myself...

I think and think over again. I start to rub my hands and crack my knuckles. I think as fast as I can. What can I do?! What should I do?!

Suddenly, a bell rings in my head. My eyes get dry and a smirk crosses my mouth.

Finally, I know what to do.

"Do you really want to delete your account?" 

I click "no". It's the setting page again. I close the laptop and get up.

I feel new. There's a glow in my eyes. What is that glow in my eyes? That glow, well it’s hope. It pierces my eyes like arrows, it fills up my brain like adrenaline and makes my chest pump like victory.

Hope. 

I finally found what to do. I have a path in front of me, a new road. I can continue. 

Management is like the mean king inside the kingdom. He has all the power on the poor little peasants, controlling them like some puppet dolls and making them suffer of the worst pain.

But at the end, the king always ends up being killed. By who? The peasant who was brave enough to keep his head up high in front of the royalty and confront the king.

He was tired of his misery. He took his strength and fought back.

That's what I'm going to do. Fight back. My mum told me I should. I just didn't want to believe her that I was able, but now I understand. I can do it.

I'm not going to fight physically and directly. 

I'm going to play with them. They're going to be the pieces of my chess game. I'll manipulate them, and make them come to me. 

I'll do this discretely, they won't even know it's me. I'll be putting proves just to confuse them, and at every round of my game, they'll be closer to me.

I nod at myself.

"It's going to be a hard game." I whisper. "But I'm going to win it."

I smile widely. It's been a long time, very long time I smiled. It feels so good. I had forgotten about how good it was to smile.

"Don't worry boys, I'm coming."