Taken Away

Chapter 4

They say that when you’re waiting for something, time slows down. For me, I think time decided to take trip to Walmart, get distracted for hours in the kid’s section, eat every sub variation available in Subway, and then transform into the slowest possible moving animal that ever existed on earth as it continued on its journey, gradually ticking down towards 8:00 pm.

The entire day consisted of me playing with Joel, cooking lunch, painting, showering, wrapping presents, and applying for the main art school Ireland, which would start again on January 7th. Yet even with a busy schedule, my entire mind was filled with nervous havoc as I unconsciously watched the short arm approach the eight. During the massive expanse of time between when I woke up and 7:00 pm, I figured out two things.

1. Niall Horan, an extremely famous, incredibly rich, and intensely sought over boy, was coming to my house in an hour.

2. I have nothing planned out to say to him. I mean, what am I supposed to say? “Hey, why didn’t you tell me you were famous? I am very mad at you.”

2. He wanted to be friends.

2. My house is extremely messy.

2. Niall Horan is coming to my house. In forty-nine minutes.

Okay, so maybe it’s not just two things, but when you’re nervous, you tend to think in run-on a lot. Or at least I do.

After fifteen minutes pass, I decide that huddling deep within the blankets of my bed won’t help make me any less anxious. My parents and Joel left an hour ago for the hospital, and they won’t be back till near 10:00. That’s plenty of time for Niall to come and go.

~

Thirty minutes till 8:00. Why is the house so messy again?

Holy crap. Fifteen minutes. I should really try to clean.

Okay my room looks slightly better now.

Why am I panicking?

Five minutes. Hold on, where’s my paper? (I know, I’m pretty lame.) Hopefully I don’t look like an idiot reading off a piece of paper.

IT’S EIGHT O’ CLOCK!

Hm. 8:05. Should have figured he’d be a little late.

Maybe I should try listening to some of their music.

Okay, what the heck is this?

Oh wait, this is actually catchy.

Okay I’m tired. Too much bouncing around.

WHERE THE CRAP IS NIALL?

It’s 8:27. I don’t think he’s coming.

8:40. He’s definitely not coming.

I’m so stupid. I’m an idiot.

9:00. I’m an idiot.

~

My fist tightly clenches the already worn piece of line paper, my knuckles turning white and the paper itself trembling slightly as I stare at the clock. He’s not coming. He stood me up. Anger rekindles inside me, and I try to pretend I don’t care. I glare down at the slanted handwriting and on impulse tear it apart, creating a chasm straight down the middle. My fingers pull the paper into a million fluttering little pieces, my eyes brimming with tears. I’m so stupid for thinking Niall would actually come. Why did I even want him to? I have nothing to say, and it’d be a waste of time. Before any tears can spill, I quickly wipe my eyes, and stand up from the couch.

“Are you sure he’s not really just late? Like, maybe he got lost.” Jesse asks, disbelief dripping from her words.

I shake my head, while simultaneously stuffing cherry cordial ice cream into my mouth. “It’s freaking 9:10. He’s not coming.” I want to call him a jerk, an idiot, a haughty famous person who thinks they’re too good for “commoners”, but I know that I can’t and that he doesn’t deserve that. With the few encounters I’ve had with him, it was obvious fame hadn’t changed him, and that he was still a normal, quirky, lovable guy. “You know, I’m just going to consider myself lucky to have bumped into him two times.”