Lay Down In My Arms - Niall Horan Fanfiction (Trilogy to If I'm Louder)

Chapter 9 - She Hates Me

**I hate it when a guy doesn't get the door

even though I told him yesterday and the day before

I hate it when a guy doesn't get the tab

And I have to pull my money out and that looks bad

Where are the hopes, where are the dreams

My Cinderella story scene

When do you think they'll finally see**

I sung along to the music blaring through the speakers of the iPod dock. Shaking my ass as I cook.

I felt good today. Last day of my period, I didn't have bad cramps. I wasn't bleeding heavily. I didn't have a headache. However, I was having cravings but hey, I'm always like that.

I tip my head back, letting my voice pick up. "That you're not not not gonna get any better

You won't won't won't you won't get rid of me never

Like it or not, even though she's a lot like me

We're not the same

And yeah yeah yeah I'm a lot to handle

You don't know trouble, I'm a hell of a scandal

Me, I'm a scene, I'm a drama queen

I'm the best damn thing that your eyes have ever seen!"

A loud laugh appeared behind me causing to smirk and look at Niall who just got back from rehearsals.

"Alright, alright

Yeah," I walk over to jab a finger in his chest, shouting the lyrics, "I hate it when a guy doesn't understand

Why a certain time of month I don't wanna hold his hand

I hate it when they go out, and we stay in

And they come home smelling like their ex girlfriends," I scowl, crossing my arms and glaring at him before I drop it and do some ridiculous dance to make his face turn red as he laughed even harder, "I found my hopes, I found my dreams

My Cinderella story scene

Now everybody's gonna s-" I stop, pouting as he flicked the music off.

"Stop, stop! I can barely breathe!" he laughed, wiping tears from his eyes. He clung to the counter. His face was beet red as he gasps for air. His eyes shut tightly. He laid his torso over it, letting out another laugh.

I pout, blushing. What's so funny?

Once he FINALLY stopped laughing, he looked at me catching his breath. "What the hell? You were fucking dropping it like it's hot!"

"Drop it like it's hooot. Drop it like it's hooooooot!" I sing. He grinned a blinding grin from ear to ear. "I like to sing while I do things. You know that," I told him, walking back to my pot of boiling oil.

"That still doesn't explain the dance," he pointed out. I grin to myself.

"Doesn't explain how puberty turned you from a baby penguin to a fucking- fucking.... GREEK GOD! But I don't question!" I poke my tongue out before dipping a bowl of pickles into the canola oil.

He chuckles and strides over beside me. "Whatcha making?"

"Fried pickles."

He wrinkled his nose. "What?!"

"You've never had a fried pickle?" I spoke.

"Americans are weird as hell," he mutters. "Make me a few."