Being Brooklyn

Chapter 14

Hi my Rosies,

I know, I really suck right now for leaving you on a cliffhanger and not uploading. I'm really really sorry. There's just a lot going on right now, and I haven't found the time to work on my stories.

I promise I will be uploading a lot more, more frequently. And thank you for the 2,347 reads. Like ermahgod. I'm dying.

I hope you guys understood the "Backstage" stuff. If you didn't there will be a normal Author's Note coming up, explaining some more.

Don't judge, but I'm really out of the whole writing thing, so this chapter might stink.

Thank you so much for the reads, I really appreciate it. So without further delay,

CHAPTER 14 OF BEING BROOKLYN.

*Niall's POV*

"I don't care. I don't have a damn clue as to where she went. Maybe Harry knows, since he's suddenly so close to her." I stated scornfully.

"It wasn't my fault she left." Harry stated, crossing his arms over his chest and staring out the window, watching as blurred trees flew past his eyes.

I glared at his back, "Yes. Yes it was."

"No. No it really wasn't." He responded his stare entirely blank as he gazed at the buildings soaring past his view.

"Yes. It. Was. Your. Fault." I said through clenched teeth. How dare he say it wasn't his fault? If he wasn't alive we wouldn't be searching for Brooklyn. Brooklyn wouldn't be missing. If only I could get my hands around his...

"Okay. Okay. Lads, let's not fight." Liam said sternly, interrupting my murderous thoughts, probably for the better.

I turned my back to all of the boys and glared out my window, hoping that we would arrive at the airport shortly.

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"Okay, guys. We're here." Paul shook my shoulder gently.

I reached up and rubbed my eyes groggily. Where were we going again? Oh right, we didn't even know.

"Get your arse out of the van, otherwise we'll never find her." Harry said while still glaring at me.

*Brooklyn's POV*

I flopped face first into my old mattress. It was exactly that. Old. But it felt like home and was comforting, even though I was breathing in dust. I flipped over so that I stared at my poster clad walls. I sighed, remembering my fangirl days, when I had plastered the walls with my favorite bands and artists only to find out that they split up when they all grew old and tired of each other. I glanced at the corner, where a ratty old skate board sat. I remembered that phase, when I thought I could be a skater. Part of it still stuck around and occasionally appeared. Those were the days where I felt right at home in Huntington Beach, home to all surfers.

I hopped up, and ran to my suitcase, still lying on the ground where I had dropped it. I opened it up and grabbed a loose pink tanktop with "California. Surf City." written across the front and dark denim short shorts from the top of the pile. I quickly changed into them and pulled on my worn pair of black Converse. I pulled my phone out of my tote and slipped the studded iPhone into my back pocket then snatched the rusty board from the shadows of the corner as well as my favorite snapback from my desk, placing it backwards on my head as I headed out the front door.