Daytona Baby [N.H]

53

Olivia Campbell

I closed my eyes but sleep never came. I could blame my fucked up sleep schedule or my aching body, but as much as those contribute, I'd be withholding the truth: Niall is on the other side of the door when he belongs in this bed with me.

It's frustrating to finally have him here after all this time. But the distance between us seems infinite despite being in the same city, in the same apartment, just one room away. If only I had the strength to push him away like he so cruelly did to me. But I can't. As much as I hate to admit it, I've been miserable in his absence. Maybe that's a red flag, that I can't handle life on my own. Or perhaps it's just that I found the person I want to spend my life with and I won't settle for anything less.

We still have shit to unpack. I have things I need to say; things I need to hear. Niall never came looking but he stumbled across me anyway, and he seems determined not to let me slip from his grasp again. I'll take it as a premature sign that he wants to fix this. Maybe that's wishful thinking on my part.

Regardless of how the situation unfolds, I'm ready to face him. There's finally hope for us. And in the chance that it's only a mirage, I'll accept the closure and return to wandering the empty desert alone.

I pray it doesn't come to that.

I rolled onto my back and sighed into the dark. It's useless trying to sleep when my mind is racing at two hundred miles an hour. I'm usually just getting off work around this time, popping a couple sleeping pills so I don't wake up until the evening. Even on my few days off once in a while I'd replicate the same schedule without leaving my bed. Now I can barely lie still, knowing what's to come the second I leave this room.

A small part of me wanted to crawl out of bed, gather the few things I've accumulated over the months here and walk out the door, leaving Niall to an empty apartment when he woke up in the morning. I wanted him to feel the ache in his chest, the punch in his gut so strong he'd feel like he couldn't breathe. I wanted him to feel like I have been for months. This was my brain talking. My heart, on the other hand, sunk at the thought of him feeling even a fraction of the hurt I've been carrying day in and day out. My heart wanted nothing more than to be in bed with him, curled up under his arm, breathing in his cologne. I wanted him in the purest form. I loved him more than life itself and that's why it's impossible to lay here replaying his words in my head.

"Did you look for me?"

"I wanted to. But you hate me. So I never tried."

Bullshit.

He doesn't get to use that as an excuse.

When I met him, I knew he didn't take me seriously. I knew he wanted nothing more than an easy lay and a good time.

But I wanted him. So I tried anyway.

Perhaps it was anger that took me to his guest room or maybe it was simply defeat. I'm tired of letting him hide things from me. I had always respected his boundaries, never letting my curiosity get the best of me knowing it would only create tension. It doesn't matter anymore. The tension is already so thick you would have to cut it with a chainsaw.

There was so much I wanted to say, but as I sat on the edge of the bed watching him sleep with his brows furrowed, I couldn't bring myself to wake him.

For all I know it could've been hours of me sitting there. Any concept of time slipped away from me. I tried to memorize the parts of him that had started to fade with time: his chiseled jaw with a five o'clock shadow, his eyebrow with the tiny scar at the very end, his eyelashes, how they're so naturally long and how I had always been jealous of them.