Fragile Heart (Niam)

Chapter Five: Two Months

Hopefully you like it. I tried but I do not know if it you'll like it.

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Two months. Two months since I met Niall and his weird happy father. Two months since I basically sexually assaulted the poor blonde. Two things started to become regular occurrences within that time frame as well. Firstly, Niall made it his life mission to steer clear from me. And I completely understand; if I had a demon teenager feel me up the first day we met I would want to stay away for as long as possible. Even with that added reasoning, the emptiness inside of me doesn't leave.

Initially, it was easy for Niall to neglect my presence. For the first month, the only times we saw each other were during mass and if his eyes made contact with any part of me, he would immediately turn the other way and go through the entire mass with a blank stare. I would always try to start a conversation but he would give a polite smile and walk away or be completely preoccupied with some of the other patrons in the congregation. That definitely didn't help with the burning feeling in the pit of my stomach. During the start of the second month, however, my negligent angel situation got exponentially harder. School went back in session and on the first day I bumped into him in the hallways. To say I was shocked was an understatement; I thought he was two years younger than me. Before I could even get a word out, he curtly walked away. So in two institutions that allegedly promote the social bonding between people, I could only watch the blonde from afar.

That cheeky petite beautiful bastard must've caught me staring as I make my way into church or across the hall on multiple occasions, because what he started to do pissed me off to no end. He somehow befriended some juniors on the football team because before, during and after school I would always see him with at least one of those idiots. During the breakfasts after mass, he would start having conversations with the other teenage boys and while I know that he is unethically oblivious, I could see the dark twinges in the other boys' eyes when Niall has his back turned. This whole situation only fueled the ember that was once anger into an internal firestorm of wrath. There was only one way to extinguish some of the flames: murder.

In those two months, my kill score definitely went up. Me killing someone was the only thing that kept me somewhat grounded. There was just something so satisfactory with ending a life when you have so much anger built up in your body. As the nights of bloodshed continued, I noticed that my targets started harboring some similarities. My targets were always male and their ages ran the gamut, but my most recent ones were all young adults in their early twenties or late teens. Maybe I was looking too far into it when I noticed that all the guys held some resemblance of me - either tall, brunette, or burly. One day, I asked my father about it and without looking he repeated the same ironic comment, "The Big Man Upstairs is just smart."

Which leads me to the second regular occurrence: banging my head against any hard surface during my free time. Surprisingly, it helps a lot. The numb pain on my forehead constantly reminds me of how much I screwed up with the person I am convinced is my ultimate assignment, my flower. Ironically, that is the only thing that I retained and cherished from any of my father's lectures. I shake my head trying to get rid of the cacophony of thoughts invading my demeanor. I should work out, I think. That usually clears my mind.

I take off my shirt and lay on my back. Taking a few deep breaths, I start my crunches while punching the air every time I come up. After that, my body turns into a machine: constant repetitions of crunches, jumping jacks, push ups, and planks. I'm on the third minute of my plank during my sixth repetition when I hear a knock on the door.

"Come in!" I yell, not bothering to take a break from my regimen. I hear the door open and I roll my eyes when I hear the quiet chuckle from my father.