Niall Horan punk AU
They say that high school changes people into the person they said they’d never become.
I remember sitting in my middle school science class, disagreeing with the teacher that said it, turning to my best friend and boyfriend, Niall, who agreed with me wholeheartedly. “I’ll never change” He promised, slipping his hand under the lab table to hold mine, making sure the teacher didn’t see. “We’ll never change. In high school, we’ll be the couple everyone is envious of.” I also remember giggling as he gave my hand a squeeze, his crooked and braced smile causing me to blush. “Swear to me you won’t change” I whispered. “I won’t! Cross my heart!” He whispered back.
Niall broke that promise.
We had managed to last through middle school, and when we hit Freshman year, things started to get… different. Once he got rid of his braces, he joined a group of kids who smoked, drank, and went to parties nonstop, their meaningless tattoos that remained permanent on their bodies were trophies after drunken nights of unwise decision making. Niall wasn’t that type of guy.
“It’s fine babe” He assured me one night over winter break. “I’m not going to end up like them. You know how much I hate tattoos” His merry laughter enlightened me on the other end, giving me hope that what he was saying was true. “I promise babe, I’m not going to turn into one of them. You have my word”
Another promise broken.
One party at the end of winter break and I found him on my doorstep at three in the morning, puking his guts up and reeking of vodka, less than a week after that promise. But I tended to him anyways, smuggling him into my room and nursing him through his hangover, praying this would be the last time, and that he learned his lesson.
Which of course, he didn’t.
He started partying more and more, calling me at two or three in the morning, his drunken slurs and shouting becoming almost routinely. I’d answer the phone, say ‘hey’ and then sit there and listen to his drunk self, whether he be ranting and raving, giving me pep talks, or just being a straight up horny,testosterone enraged teenager and would reveal his fantasies about me. That’s when I would put my phone face down on the bedside table, wondering what on earth happened to my happy, innocent Niall Horan, and why this alcoholic pig decide to take his place, out of all people.
Spring break my Freshman year was the worst week of my life.
Every. Single. Night. I got a drunken phone call from him, to the point I stopped answering them completely, putting my phone on silent, and slept for the whole night for the first time in months.
Tuesday of spring break I got a ride over to his house by my best friend’s older brother, and knocked on the door, wanting to have a face-to-face talk about what the heck was going on with my boyfriend.
What happened next was what made that week so terrible.
My boyfriend opened the door, shirtless and wearing basketball shorts that hung low on his hips, hickey marks scattered on his neck and chest, that wasn’t caused by me.
