Deranged [n.h]

Chapter Twelve

I wake up to the smell of pancakes being made in the kitchen outside the door. The feeling is so nostalgic to me, and brings back old memories. I haven't eaten pancakes since she passed. I remember her '"secret" recipe she had for making them so delicious. I would know it would be a good day if I woke up to her infamous pancakes sizzling in a frying pan.

Before I got out of bed, I stopped to look in a smaller mirror by Nialls door to make sure I looked O.K. I didn't know why I was doing it though. I didn't want to impress him, did I? No, I didn't. He is strictly a stranger... who I had just spent the night at. Nothing more. Right? Ugh, I need to stop questioning myself and just get out there.

When I open the door, he is just finishing the last pancake, sliding it onto a plate. When he notices me, he nearly jumps.

"Geez, you scared me Margaret." He held his hand to his chest. "I didn't know you were up." He puts the frying pan in the sink and carefully washes it. Being honest to myself, he looks so good today: Black shirt, black jeans, and his hair is almost slicked up. He looks pretty good with his hair out of his face.

"Yeah, I just woke up." I reply, swinging my arms back and fourth as I awkwardly stand around his kitchen. Should I sit down?

"Take he seat," he answers my thoughts.

"Thanks," I saw under my breath, making my way to his rather small table and chairs.

Once I sit, he joins me, and begins to dig right in. I've never actually had a meal with Niall, so I honestly do not know what to expect. He begins to fill his plate with 3 pancakes, and 2 pieces of bacon. I, on the other hand grab one pancake, and no bacon. I'm never really hungry in the morning.

He chows down on his meal, without even looking up at me. I guess you could say the boy likes food.

"Is that all you're eating?" he questions me, mouthful of bacon.

"Yeah," I quietly say,. "I'm never really that hungry in the morning."

"Seriously?" he says, almost like I had just insulted him.

"No, no, no. You're a growing girl. Skipping breakfast is close to suicide!" he plops another pancake on my plate along with 2 pieces of bacon.

"A 'growing girl'? Niall, I'm practically as old as you are." I crossed my arms.

"Do ya even know how old I am?" he asks, making a good point. I honestly don't know that much about him.

"No, I guess you're right."

"I'm twenty one. And you're...?"

"Fifteen." I say, and he drops his fork.

"I'm joking I'm joking! You should have seen your face!" I laughing, clapping my hands.

"I was gonna say, you bein' here is probably illegal. Gosh I hate you." He covered his face, obviously embarrassed. "How old are ya, really?"

"Eighteen, nineteen in January."

"Ah, I see. January is just around the corner, ya?"

"Like, a month and a half, yep." I reply.

"Yep." He mimics.

"What?" I ask.

"Just funny how you Americans say it, yep."

"Well its funnier whenever you say there or that. It sounds like 'tere' or 'tat'. I don't get you Irishmen." He laughs at my comment. "Speaking of America, why are you even here?" I ask.

"What, you want me to go back to Ireland?" he replies, laughing. I love his laugh...

"No, no. you know what I mean."

"Well," he takes a deep breath and crosses his arms. "I moved here when I was in high school, sophomore year I think. I moved with my mum, dad, and brother for my dads work..." he zoned off. I don't think he gave me the full story...

"So do you go to college here now?" I ask.

He's not listening to me. I know this because his full attention is focused on something behind me. The RIP card is back on the table of photos he has, taped back together piece by piece. Did his mom or dad die? What about his brother?

"Hello, Niall?" I wave my hand in front of his eyes.

"Sorry, just zoned out I guess." He looks down, shaking his head. "What did you ask?" he wipes the remaining crumbs off the side of his mouth and grabs his bottom lip in between his finger and thumb. Oh.

"I, uh," I try to find the words, obviously distracted by him. "Never mind." I say, getting up from the table, taking my plate with me to the sink. Niall follows behind.

As I wash the food off my plate, I feel a warmth behind me. Like, right behind me. I take a deep breath.

Suddenly, I feel a cold hand on my waist.

"I can wash that for ya," his voice just above a whisper.

I drop the plate in the sink and turn out of his touch. I don't know why I did it, I mean I was enjoying Niall right behind me with his hand on my waist, but I felt something in my gut telling me to back away. He cocks his head to the side a little bit, obviously confused about what I had just done.

I stand in the middle of the kitchen, rubbing the palm of my hand up and down my leg in a nervous matter. Why am I like this? I've never been hit on by a guy before. this is all so new.

Once he finishes the dishes, he turns around to me, placing his hands behind him on the sink.

"So, uhm," I try to start a conversation. He just purses his lips, looking everywhere but me. "I guess I'll just go now..." I also look anywhere but him.

Suddenly his eyes shoot into mine. "What? Why?" he asks.

"Uh, what?"

"I thought you were going to stay, to tell me what's been going on. I'm not going to believe its nothing. You were obviously extremely upset last night."

"Its just my dad, being my dad." I simply answer, because it is. But it's actually not.

"A-huh, okay." He sarcastically replies.

"Why should I even tell you? It's none of your business anyway." I cross my arms.

"Because I gave you my home, my bed? Because I took you in?" he crosses his arms too.

He is actually right. Damnit.

I can't think of anything to say so I raise my hands, scoffing.

"Yeah, that's right. I'm right. You're wrong. You're being bitchy to me." He licks his lip.

"Excuse me?" I question.

"You know what? Maybe you should just go." He says, shocking me.

"Okay. Fine. Sounds good." I say, walking over to the door. He follows me.

"Sounds great actually, now I don't get a pig like you hogging my bed." He stops in his tracks, covering his mouth.

Oh. So now I'm the pig when forty-five minutes ago he was stuffing his face at the breakfast table?

"Thanks." I say, biting my lip trying not to cry.

"Marg," he starts but I wave him off with my hand.

"Whatever. Sorry I'm such a pig." Now I'm crying. He doesn't even try to stop me as I open his door and walk out. I hear the door slam after me, and hear him start yelling at himself. I hope he knows his crap trailer isn't soundproof.