Depression (Niall Horan Love Story)

Chapter 6

We sat at a table, Niall staring at me, intently. "What," I aked him, after taking a sip of my coffee. "Nothing," he said, his gaze increasing. I shivered under it. "Are you okay," he asked me. I simply nodded my head, not being sure if I was or not.

"Are you sure? I mean, you didn't sleep last night, but you are wide awake." He looked at me, his gaze overwhelming. I felt fine, just wasn't able to sleep. "I slept at the concert," I pointed out.

"That concert was four hours, and you hardly slept the night before, right?" I couldn't deny that, but how did he know? "How did you know," I asked him, my left eyebrow cocked up. "I couldn't sleep because you were tossing and turning all night."

I simply nodded my head, taking another drink from my half empty coffee cup. He was looking at me, I could feel his stare. Yet, I kept my eyes trained on the table, as if it was more fascinating.

Though, it was rather boring. It was a plain dark brown, with the occasion light brown swirl. I looked up "stop staring at me." He looked down for a minute, so this time I looked at him.

His blonde hair, dyed, easily able to tell from his dark brown roots. He was buff, you could tell, even through his clothes. He looked back up at me.

Our eyes locked, it was as if time had stopped. If only it was possible, right? I was the first to break the stare.

I was never one good with contact. If I even felt remotely touched I would tell everyone not to touch me. "I'm going to the bathroom," he said, before standing up out of his chair and going.

I decided to think. I thought about what everyone else must be doing right now. Sleeping? Hanging out? Having fun? Probably not missing me at all. Hell, I haven't talked to my mom in two days.

I guess I was kind of depressing myself. I just don't feel like myself anymore. I haven't checked my Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, anything in weeks.

I wasn't even looking forward to the movie night all of us had. I slowly tugged up the sleeve of my sweater. I gently rubbed the three, straight lines that went across my wrist.

They would most likely scar, but a war against myself right? I finished my coffee and got up to throw my cup away. When I sat down at the table Niall was back, sipping on his coffee. "Ready to go," he asked me.

I nodded my head, and we were back out the door. I felt like he knew something. I just didn't know what. Was he putting the puzzle pieces together?

Figuring out he can't get my "period" blood on his shirt if he was laying on my arm? I really am no okay? Just knowing something is wrong?

I glanced over to him as we got into the cab. He looked up from my arm. I, then, realized I had never pulled my sleeve back down. I rushed to pull it down, but he had already grabbed my arm in his hand.

"Why?" He asked as he ran his finger over the three, red, puffy lines that go along my pale skin. "Why not," I asked back.

"How could you do something so horrible to yourself? How could you put yourself through that pain?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Make me understand."

I took in a deep breath "fear. Judgment. Having to be perfect to get anyone attention. Knowing that even when you try your hardest you may not succeed. The overwhelming sensation of taking something sharp enough to give you the opportunity to control your own pain, that you almost feel butterflies in your stomach. Like your tears don't have to fall from your eyes, but from your wrist in a red, gooey liquid," I paused, only to look up at him. His eyes brimming with tears. "To have a burning sensation, followed by a sting. But, all the while it is releasing. Releasing pain. Not physical pain, emotional pain. You know that maybe if you cut wrong, just once you won't have to deal with it anymore. Yet, none of it is the reason I do it. I do it for an un-describable feeling. I have no words, just relief. It makes me know that maybe one day I will have the courage to tell someone my meaning behind it. Even if I don't know it myself."

I looked up at him, he had tears running down his cheeks, and his fingers were caressing my arm. He slowly, softly and very gently placed kisses up my arm. "I want you, when we get home, to cut my arm. Anytime you cut yourself, don't let it be your skin, let it be mine. Look me in the eyes and do it as many times as you would yourself."

I shook my head "I can't do that to you, you don't deserve it," he took my hand in his. Cupping his rather large ones around it, and blowing warm air into his hands. Making mine rather warm. "Neither do you."

I looked around us. We were in a cab, this man can hear everything we are saying. Everything we are doing. Hell, he can see us. Yet, we continued our special moment. "You are the only person to know so much about me. Actually, you are the only person who has cared enough to take interest in getting to know me. I'm pretty sure you know me better then myself."

"We might just have to change that. Let you get to know yourself a little better on this tour, wont we?"

I smiled and nodded, his eyes looked straight through me. Like he knew exactly what I was thinking and it wasn't even necessary for me to not say it aloud. How can he do this to me? "I was being honest, you don't deserve it either," he said rubbing his hand on my thigh.