Addiction ~ A Niall Horan Fan-fiction

Chapter 9: A Secret Relationship

Authors Note: Please be warned that there is some graphic material regarding self-harm.

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I had just finished the six bottles I’d previously bought from the corner shop. I was now delving into a bottle of Captain Morgan’s Spice. Strangely, I was feeling the effects from the 6 pack of beer – but that may have just been down to me not eating throughout the day. It seemed to have slipped my mind.

My logical thinking had gone to the wind and instead I was sat there babbling to myself, in a deep conversation. I was debating whether Niall liked me or not, different things looping around my brain. I couldn’t find a good enough reason in my drunken state as to why not.

I felt my eyelids flutter before reopening them several seconds later. My body was splayed across the brown, tattered sofa. Both arms were roughly placed on my lower stomach, with my head firmly placed on the sofa.

The magazine that I had beforehand bought from the same corner shop, was placed tidily on the coffee table in front of me. I reached my unsteady hand forward to grab it and pull it back towards my lap. I flicked carelessly through the pages, before I found what I had been searching for. The headline on the page read: ‘’Niall Horan – finally settled down?”

My eyes were far too blurry from the alcohol to attempt to read what the story was, instead I decided to study the pictures.

The first picture was extremely out of focus. It was Niall, beside a bright-red haired girl that I recognised. They were both outside a club, that part I could make out. It took me several minutes to figure out where I knew her from. She was the same girl from the party that I’d gone to last week at Harry and Louis’ house.

The second picture was much clearer. It was Niall and the same bright-red haired girl laughing together, but now her grubby, orange hand was placed confidently on his bum. How could they think that meant anything? It meant nothing at all, or maybe I only wanted it to mean nothing.

There was still one more picture, this picture really was a shock to my system. I had grazed my eyes over the picture and knew what I was about to see. I felt my stomach take a drop before I looked at the picture intently. The picture had the same participants, but instead they were both pushed up against the side of the club. Niall’s hands were placed seductively on her waist, whilst her grubby fingers were scraped through his blonde hair. Their mouths were pressed diligently together.  The picture looked more like something that should be left in the bedroom, but instead was on public display. It was like they were trying to tell someone something.

That’s when it clicked, they were trying to tell someone something. It all made sense to me then. It must have been why he had suddenly become so awkward earlier. He had a girlfriend. I hadn’t felt so stupid in such a long time, there I was bending over backwards for this guy in an attempt to make him like me. I had been trying my hardest and for what? Nothing. He didn’t even man up to tell me, but instead he went through a different route to tell me. How selfish was he? He had been playing around with me, while later on he probably went and showed off his girlfriend. Damien had been right. Why hadn’t I listened to him? Instead, I had run away from what he had said, when the truth had been in front of me the whole time.

There was suddenly a whirlwind of tears streaming down my face. I screamed at myself for being so stupid. Of course no worldwide famous star would fall for you. Who did I think I was? I really was nothing. I was nothing compared to the girls they could have, models, rich girls, girls who shared the exact same lifestyles, knew what they were going through. Niall clearly had nothing in common with me, nothing but our roots.

Unexpectadly, my head became dizzy, I didn't know whether it was the alcohol or the thoughts my brain possessed.  Before long I was thinking about my past and everything I missed. Nothing good ever came from these thoughts. Different thoughts were zooming around my brain, all of which were making me angrier.

Why did Matthew have to die? If he was around none of this would have happened. We would both be settled down in a London home together living with a good, happy life. We would both have our nice jobs and maybe be able to afford a bit of luxury, but instead here I was in a scummy apartment that I was barely able to afford. I was struggling to get by day by day, all that kept me going was this alcohol. Alcohol had always been my friend, always been there for me when I needed it.

Now I was stuck in a dead end job, going nowhere in life. Yet, I still thought I could make a career out of being an artist. Fat chance of that happening, when did anything like that ever happen to anybody? I might as well top myself now.

I had no friends, no life, nothing going for me, a dead boyfriend and I was a pathetic alcoholic. The only friend I had made since moving here had used me for his own pleasure. He had stringed me along and clearly, had not even cared about me one bit.

Something clicked in my brain and I knew what would help me. Something that always made me feel relief. I hadn’t done it since Matthew had died, but I still knew where to find what I needed. I’d probably regret this later on, but right now I needed it.

I pulled myself off the sofa and dragged myself towards the bathroom, with my alcohol in hand. I fell in towards the bathroom, with a thump on the floor – managing to still keep the alcohol safe. I pushed myself up and began searching in the glass cabinet for what I needed.

I had always kept it, it was something I needed to rely on. The thought of it some days when I was at my lowest, knowing it was there safely made me feel so much better. I pulled it out of the paper it was wrapped carefully in. It was shining brightly, like it was awaiting me.

I took a swig of Captain Morgan’s Spice before gripping tightly on the blade. I brought the blade up to my thigh and gently dragged the blade along, the first cut was barely a scratch. As I moved along down my thigh, the cuts became deeper. The blood on my leg began to clump together from each cut and was gradually beginning to soak into my dress. I placed the blade back on the glass shelf and pulled myself up onto the toilet seat. I grabbed the blade with my blood soaked hand and brought the blade to my right arm. First I grazed line by line, inches apart, then cut deeper in between. I felt relief from doing this, but it still was not enough. I couldn’t help myself but keep going over line after line, each line became deeper and deeper. I knew I was cutting too deep, the scars would never fade away from cuts this deep.

I didn’t know how long I was doing it before I noticed a stream of blood trickling onto the floor of the bathroom. That’s when I noticed I’d cut deeper than I’d ever cut before, deep enough for this to be the end. I hadn’t meant it to go this far. I began to panic. My head felt woozy, I felt my body shake and lean forward. To stop myself from falling, I grabbed the glass cabinet, but instead of stopping me, I dragged it onto the floor with me. I fell head first onto the floor and the glass cabinet came crashing behind me. I heard it smash all around me and began to get scared. I knew I was about to faint from the loss of blood, so I did the only thing I could think of.

I pulled my mobile from my dress pocket and brought it up to my face. I dialled the only number I knew that would help me. It rang and rang, before I heard a voice.  I mustered up enough of my energy and called into the phone, but all that came out was a squeak of “help”.

My head slumped forward and my head went blank.