My Oceans Were Lakes

1

Very important: this story contains a lot of triggers. Please read with caution and I'm sorry if this affects anyone's headspace. I wrote how I felt or how I thought Niall should feel and it gets dark. Thank you for reading. (and if not obvious while reading, the italics are Niall's/other's thoughts. Also, I decided to rewrite some of this so it's less cringey considering I wrote it when I was 12-13)

***

"Niall mate, c'mon, we're going to get food!" Zayn shouts, pounding on my hotel door.

"Be there in a second," I yell back as I slip on a light hoodie. I can't let them know, even if it means telling lies. 

Lies are meant to be told, to hide the truth, to protect people. Telling people about problems isn't a very common way to solve them, and that sure as hell isn't how I'm going to solve mine. Lying has become second nature to me, an all too familiar feeling to rely on. Lying won't cheat on me, lying won't leave me. 

The process of walking out of my hotel room and into the hallway is blurred, fuzzy around the edges. I don't remember it, but I guess I don't really need to. It's just a simple action really, walking, just like inhaling and exhaling.

"Why are you wearing a hoodie?" Zayn asks as soon as I shut the door.

Because I don't want you to be disappointed,

 I don't say that of course. I just mutter a, "I'm a bit cold," as I put my all-to-familiar fake smile on. It comes naturally and easily as we make our journey to the car, and then the restaurant.

***

"Took you two long enough! Ni, we ordered you fettuccine," Harry says as soon as we sit in the booth. I make sure to sit on the end.

"Hey, what'd you do to your hand, Ni?" Liam asks, glancing at the red cut on the outside of my hand. I panic slightly inside, taking a deep breath and letting the lie flow out as natural as the air.

"I was making breakfast and I accidentally cut it," Liam nods in understanding. I'm so well at lying now, they can't even tell anymore.

They bring our food and everyone start scarfing down their food, so I force the vile food down my throat. I try to eat almost everything, asking for a box once I decide I've eaten enough. Sick, disgusting, failure.

"Be right back lads, I have to go to the bathroom," I say as I stand up and walk as calmly as I can to the bathroom. As soon as I'm in, I lock the door and shove my finger down my throat, feeling it all emptying into the bowl. A regular occurrence in my day, finding something to eat and then getting rid of it. Another action I perform, turning around and sliding down the wall, is lost in my memories as I think over what has been happening to me.

 I sigh, squeezing my eyes shut before taking the small object out of my pocket. 

It seems silly to depend on something so small, something that fits in between two fingers. Yet it is always so far from silly, no matter what it's being used for. There are many reasons to have this in my pocket, and I try to distinguish one from another.

By time I'm done, I have eight somewhat deep straight red lines going across my left thigh. I smile slightly, looking at my beautiful art. It's not nearly as flawless as Zayn's doodles, but art is still beautiful when only in red.

I wash the blood off my leg and press toilet paper against it, pulling my underwear and pants up. It's going to hurt like a bitch to pull the paper off later, but no one can know about any of this. It would just destroy what I've tried so hard to keep. The boys are the only thing stopping me.

After sticking gum in my mouth I slowly walk out of the bathroom, sitting back down in the booth. 

"Ni, you don't look very well. Let's go back to the hotel, yeah?" Liam says softly and I look up to see four worried pairs of eyes. I nod and we all stand, walking out of the restaurant. As we walk across the car park, I stumble a bit, losing my balance as the dizziness returns. I fall onto the sidewalk, closing my eyes and holding my head.

"Are you okay? What's happened?" Liam asks as I feel him bend down beside me.

I open my eyes just to get dizzier, which I didn't believe would be possible. I reclose them and hold my head tighter, feeling my thigh stinging under the toilet paper. The dizzy feeling slowly and painfully passes, leaving me trying to stand up.

It's such a weird feeling, to physically experience the spinning happening to the Earth.

"Let us help you," Harry says as he and Liam support me from either sides of my body. We all walk slowly to the cars, me riding with Liam and Harry this time. Liam's driving and Harry sits in the backseat next to me.

"Ni, are you sure you're okay? Not just being ill, but you've kind of distanced yourself from us lately," Harry says in a quiet voice. He glances at Liam, returning his gaze to me after a few short seconds.

"I'm fine, just haven't been feeling well lately," I reply softly. I fight the succumming urge to spill everything, wanting to just have more than one person know about everything.

"Okay. Do you want me to invite Alyssa over to your room?" he asks. Alyssa, my girlfriend of four months. 

"Sure," I mutter out.

The rest of the car ride is silent and we soon pull up outside of the hotel. We quietly ride the lift up to our level and all the lads head to my room that I have to myself. Alyssa was staying on the floor above us, with Paul and the rest of management on this mini tour.

"Oh Nialler, come 'ere," Alyssa breathes out as we walk in. She wraps me in a warm hug and then sets me down next to her on the couch. They start talking about what I might be ill with as I just sit there. I quickly get up and walk into the kitchen, throwing away my left overs.

"I'm going to bed," I announce as I walk through the living room into my bedroom. I close and lock the door before laying down on my bed in silence. I just stare up at the ceiling as I think.

What would they do if they woke up tomorrow and they found me laying on the floor, dead? Would they care?

They probably wouldn't care. Someone as fucked up as you doesn't deserve to be cared for. Stupid, depressed, lazy, fat, disaster. Their lives would be better without you messing them up. Give up.

I wish I could feel things differently. I'm either always numb or hating myself with such a passion that my thighs sting when the day is through. My mind is a monster.