Taking Chances (Niall Horan Punk Fan-Fiction)

Chapter Eleven: "Carly Welsh"

I awoke, my eyes fluttering open gently as the blinding light seeped through the tightly closed curtains. They weren't all that dark, so it didn't help when I folded my forearm over my eyes to shield the light from my burning eyes.

I groaned in discomfort, plopping my head back down on the white pillow. It wasn't until my phone began blaring throughout the room that my eyes opened wide - unwillingly - and I glared through the blindingly white light.

I knew Niall was still fast asleep, but I didn't want to wake him. He had to awaken me again last night when I woke screaming, sweating, and gripping the sheets until my knuckles turned ghostly white. Not only had I broke into my frantic hollering from the horrid nightmares at one in the morning, but it took me until three to finally fall back into slumber. And not without Niall holding my chalking body against his chest.

Suffice to say, Niall didn't get much sleep and I wouldn't want to ruin any chance of him making up for it. So with that being said, I quickly pin-pointed where Katy Perry shouted across the room. I jumped up, as carefully as I could without waking Niall, and dove toward the phone, just getting to it when it went silent.

For a moment I was angry - I woke up and practically threw my life in the phone's hands and it just shuts off? What if I woke Niall? What if-

"Mm."

I glanced up, my eyes fixed on Niall's now sleepy face. He rubbed his eyes with his palm and tried to wake himself up so he could see everything around him, although he was still too tired to realize the light was still oh so blinding.

I decided he would be fine without me, so I turned back to my phone and tried to see who had called.

Missed Call From Aunt Judie

I almost choked on the air and my eyes went wide as I stared at the name. The woman who swore on her husbands grave that she would never put her life before her sisters, nor her children. The woman who blamed me for every bad thing that happened in her life. The woman who said I was the child of the devil, and that I deserved to rot in Hell like the rest of my family.

Why on Earth would she call me? What did she want? Did she want to call me up ten years later and give me crap about how it's still my fault my parents are gone? Rather than blame it on him? She was on his side about everything. She craved his attention. She wanted him. But with me, I was the epitome of Hell. I needed to die, and rot like the Earth beneath our feet. She hated me, with all of her might.

I continued to stare at the phone with wide eyes, confused and lost. What was it? Why did she call?

I kept asking myself why, but not what. Not where, not how, not who. Just why. And I realized that I would never get an answer if I didn't react to it properly.

I clicked on her missed call and held the phone to my ear, nervously wiggling my fingers. What would she say? What did she want? Did something happen to someone? Did it concern me?

Of course it concerns you, idiot, I thought, mentally smacking myself for being so clueless.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when a hand slithered on the small of my back, goosebumps arising and my skin tingling. I felt my nerves springing to life at the touch, and I turned around with a start to see Niall staring down at me with those beautifully tired blue eyes.

"What's going on?" he asked, his voice husky and dangerously low. I almost lost my sense as I realized everything they said about boys' morning voices being extremely sexy. I could feel my lungs gasping for air when his voice echoed in my brain over and over.