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EIGHTEEN ________
Noelle
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"That's not right." I exhaled down at the screen. "He's in Los Angeles?"
It hadn't even been two weeks. Yeah, two weeks without speaking with Niall Horan.
I know what you're thinking, oh, that night wasn't that big of deal. Obviously, it wasn't; I was drunk and so was he and maybe, I must've miscommunicated his surroundings, but we both felt guilty, which led to giving each other space and not talking. Well, as which what I thought.
I was use to not speaking with Niall for days and weeks. It really depended on his schedule and the timezones. I never really relied on constant texts or calls from him, ever. I tried being respectful as possible, especially, since technically, I was not his girlfriend, but social media began to be my radar for him; which was probably the worst way to keep updates.
"What's not right?" My father spoke, walking from the kitchen to the living room sofa.
I swallowed at his questioning and let out a nervous laugh.
Clearly, I wasn't going to vent to my own father about the incidents between Niall and I. It wasn't because it felt awkward, but I also didn't want to twist the story knowing that I haven't even spoke to Niall myself.
Locking my phone, I shrugged. "Nothing really. Media is just really weird with Niall's life updates. Mixed signals, you know."
My father laid against the couch, hands extending side to side as he gave a nod.
"Hm, celebrity tee? Tea? Is that how you guys call it now?" He chuckled.
"Yeah, I—wait, how do you know that?" I furrowed my brows at my father's modern language.
Shrugging, he took hold of the control. "Eh, been watching E news lately on the television. Got nothing better to do. My chest has been hurting lately again, so I can't really be active like before." He explained, patting himself.
