Restart My Heart

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ Nɪɴᴇᴛᴇᴇɴ

The guitar was placed in Niall’s hands once again, resting easily against his crisscrossed legs on the bed. A pluck or a few chords would sound out here and there. Not much more would play as he couldn't remember much. He knew they were there though, evidence imprinted on his calloused fingers and scratched pick, but the skills he once had we're in there trapped behind the lock of a sort of storage cabinet up in his head. For the time being, he just pinched and clasped onto the once creeping out the cracks. Every time he would take a longer pause to try and pick the lock, Louis or Zayn would peek in his head.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm alright." he would say because it was the truth. He was perfectly alright.

So he strummed away almost absent-mindedly, only stopping to stretch a thought to catch a slipping melody. Everything else was nice and simple, clear and not drawn out. The atmosphere was light-hearted, not seeping with some heavy sort of feeling. And his well-being was just as calm too. He could only best compare it to a buzz, a numbness, but it was unlike anything else he’d experience lately. The feeling wasn’t a kind that he’d hold onto from turning his blood into alcohol, but it wasn’t a kind that he’d achieve from a short burst of joy either. It lingered and swept across him from head to toe, soaking his mind still. He finally wasn’t in a state of feeling so low he ought to be feet underground or so high the only direction he could go was down, down, down.

The waves had leveled out after such a long, tormenting storm at sea, leaving him to relish in the shimmering ocean and the cool, relieving breeze. He felt as normal as he could possibly be, messing around aimlessly on that guitar of his, easy thoughts rolling around and a surrounding like clear waters. He guessed he met that standard of a regular state of mind at last after comparing his past highs and lows, taking in that he could feel at moderate amounts like everyone else, just like the rest of the boys. And when he needed to come up from the water because of a thought varying too high or too low, pausing from playing to grasp a falling note, he’d still see an iridescent sunset of hope, the boys with soft tides in their eyes through his doorway view.

A grin would curve itself where drops of water formed and stay right in the middle, not a great smile that’d cower, not a frown that could only turn to straight, not too high, not too low.

He dripped placidity, and he never knew it’d feel so good.

He couldn’t help himself wonder why though. Why was everything so easy? He kind of knew he shouldn’t ask, just let it be and glide on through it all, which he did mostly, but on and off, over and over again, a thought that sunk too low would be one repeating ‘why, why, why?’

He didn’t blame himself though; it was perfectly reasonable after the pieces he put together the other day, and he was wondering the same exact thing yesterday afternoon. It didn’t make much sense to him either day, always finding something to swat the question away. To fully understand, he knew he had to pull up eventually. Not even the most normal-minded people could stay underwater without drowning.

He stopped, setting the pick down on the covers beside him and swung an arm over the strings to cease the ringing. Silence filled his ears a moment before the questions pierced through, and he cringed. Goosebumps formed from pulling up out of the sea and onto the shore. Even the sun burned and blinded his eyes.

‘The sooner it’s done and over with, the better.’ one prick reminded himself, so he shielded one hand over his forehead and plopped himself down on into the warm sand.  

‘The dream, the dream!’

He pursed his lips, and immediately another burst in.

‘It was more than just a dream, wasn’t it?’