Love Isn't Flowers (Larry Stylinson/Niam Horayne)

Chapter 13~ Pack Your Sh*t

A/N If you ever need anyone to talk to, I'm here.!

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--* THURSDAY *-- 

I woke up crying in Liam's arms.

My parents were getting a divorce which meant; separate houses, two different holidays, splitting birthdays.

It mentally and physically crushed me.

"We can stay home today if you like. We can just cuddle and watch movies." Liam's voice interrupted my thoughts.

I didn't even know he was awake.

"Is you're mom e-even okay with that?" I hiccuped.

"I talked to her already, love." 

"Yeah, I would love to."

"Good." 

He got up and started to gather some movies. He handed the movies to me.

"Pick the ones you want to watch while I gather some junk food. I love you." He kissed my nose.

"I love you too." I said as I went through the movies.

I decided on funny movies. 

They could at least try to make me laugh, right?

Step Brothers, Big Daddy, and Cat in the Hat. (The one with Mike Myers) 

I set the movies out and waited for Liam to return.

He returned in five minutes with arms filled with multiple kinds of candy and some popcorn.

He sat down all the stuff on the bed and grabbed the first movie.

He put Step Bothers in the DVD player and laid down with me.

His arms wrapped around my waist as I stuffed my face with junk food.

The movie began and I snuggled into Liam's chest.

I didn't even bother watching the movie, only listening to Liam's steady heartbeat.

I didn't fall asleep. 

Too many things ran through my mind.

I grabbed my phone and turned it on to find multiple messages from my mum and none from my dad.

It started with just little texts such as 'Ni, you need to answer the phone.' or 'You can't just run.'.

Then they got meaner by the second with labeling nalmes.

'Come home now you worthless piece of shit.'

'It's your fault we're getting a divorce. You should've just stayed in the closet.' 

I knew what was going on. And I was afraid.

See, when my mother and father first started having arguments was when I was only 12.

They would scream and yell.

My dad would leave but not without slamming the door shut as hard as he could

My mom would drink and drink and drink until she was drunk out of her wits and then take it out on me.

But now I was eighteen and it was happenning again.

I continued reading the messages but the last one caught my eye.

'Pack your shit. We're moving.'

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OOOHHH.

Oh yeah and enjoy.