Moments- A Liam Payne Fan Fiction

Two

I laid my head on the cool concrete wall backstage, closing my eyes and trying to bring the image of Cora back behind my eyelids. To see her smile just for another second, to watch her eyes light up in a laugh. Niall’s hand was still on my shoulder, and I could hear Harry and the other boys telling the crowd they were sorry for the delay but I’d probably just gone off to the toilet.

“Earth to Liam, are you ill?” Niall sounded a little worried, but I couldn’t answer him yet. I knew my voice would shake, that I wouldn’t be able to make the syllables sound proper through the thickness in my throat, so I just shook my head slowly. He seemed skeptical, and as he opened his mouth to voice those thoughts, another one piped in instead.

“Liam, what’s goin’ on man?” Zayn’s velvety voice reached us before he did, brow furrowed with worry.

I cleared my throat, shaking my head, “Nothing guys, I’m fine.” My voice sounded stronger than I thought it would, and I was thankful for that, “I just, I can’t finish that song.”

“Well, that’s fine.” Niall said with a shrug and a slight smile, “We’ll just start a different song. Maybe let Louis go ahead and sing Valerie.”

“Niall, I don’t think I can finish this concert,” I replied quietly, looking away as he and Zayn shared a look of concern.

“What do you mean?” Zayn asked, looking back at me with a look in his eye like he wanted me to say I was kidding so he could smile and curse at me for worrying him.

“Harry’s out there distracting them with bad puns, it’s only a matter of time before they start throwing things at him,” Louis smiled a little, but the impish smile faded from his face as soon as he approached us, “Why the long faces? Come on lads, we’ve got a show to put on for these lovely girls.”

“Liam’s not going back out there,” Zayn replied, keeping his eyes trained on me, “Says he can’t finish the concert.”

Louis looked at me, bewildered, “Liam, what do you mean you can’t finish? We’ve only just started, you can’t quit. Our fans ha-“

“It kills me that I’m not going to be able to finish for them.” I interrupted, looking him straight in the eye, “But I’m not myself, and I know that going on like this would be worse than not going on at all. They deserve more from me than this,”

“Just seeing you is enough for them,” Niall replied, “They wait ages and beg for months, and you’re just going to leave? It’s not like you’re going to be out there alone, you’ve got us. We’re here for you man, we’re brothers.”

I looked at all three of them, at the encouragement on their faces. I knew they were there for me, that if I ever needed anything they’d be the ones to help me out. But I couldn’t do this, and as I shook my head, the way their faces fell told me they knew I’d made up my mind.

“I’m sorry,” I said finally, turning and hurrying out of the venue before they could stop me or I changed my mind.

I didn’t know I was going to the cemetery until I was almost at the entrance gate. It was quiet, the crinkle of the paper bag in my hand and the scuff of my shoes against the pavement sounding like gun shots in the serene night. I kept my eyes forward as I walked. I didn’t have to look around for the name or the plot number; I knew exactly where I was going. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d walked this path to see her, and that genuinely scared me. What if she thought I was forgetting about her?

All of my self-pitying thoughts vanished when I reached that little marker in the grass. Her parents had been here recently, the fresh daisies decorating the stone evidence of that. I felt my heart wrench, hating myself for not keeping in touch with the people who’d been like parents to me too.  With a little sigh, I slowly lowered myself in front of the headstone and took the glass bottle from the bag I’d brought with me. I opened it, and took a gulp of the beer. As the bitter liquid washed down my throat, I let my fingers trace the engraved letters of her name and the dates of her birth and death. It was strange to me, that a life could be summed up to only two dates. People walking by would never know how old Cora was when she’d ridden a two wheeler for the first time, or the day she’d climbed higher than I did in the tree in my backyard and called me a wimp for three days about it. No one would know about these dates because in the grand scheme of things, they didn’t matter.