Deception

Chapter 28

She dipped in and out of love with him, not depending on him but rather on herself. At her most confident moments, she didn't need anyone. She liked him then. But at nights when her mirror gave out distorted images and voices called her names, Niall would call and tell her she's beautiful until she believed it. That's what love was. She loved him, but only when she looked at herself first.

48 days before

I don't remember falling asleep and I don't think I had. Niall's grip hadn't faltered all through the night, or what had been left of it. He held me closer than he ever had, repeatedly confessing his love for me until those were the only words I could hear. My throat was dry and my vision blurred when I snapped into a state of consciousness, focusing on the spotless porcelain bathroom fixtures.

I had only stared at my toes all night, curling and uncurling them as I mulled over the probability of a pedicure to keep my mind off of what it really wanted to think. I didn't dare close my eyes throughout the night. He had tried to get me to sleep, rocking me like a child. His arms were locked around my waist, his lips pressed to my shoulder. Even with the frigidity of his body, I'd never felt warmer and more protected than I did.

He fell asleep kissing me and swearing that I was perfect. It had taken close to an hour to calm me down, or what I thought was an hour, for it could easily be two or three with my jumbled perception of reality in my state of consciousness.

You are wonderfully lovely, Anna, I swear to you. Everything about you is.

I'd practically thrown a tantrum over that sentence. Why couldn't I believe it? Why? He hadn't asked what was wrong, or even told me to stop at any point during the night. He held me there for what I believed had been ten minutes just rocking me, using the rest of the time to try to convince me of everything he thought I was.

You're beautiful and brilliant and you're hilarious and talented and caring and downright wonderful, Anna.

I remember vehemently shaking my head, refusing to believe anything he said. He didn't stop, he didn't until he fell asleep and that hadn't happened until I completely stopped crying. He only found a way to steady me and lock my gaze with his and continue.

You have so many people who love you and care for you but I promise you this: none of them love you half as much as I do.

There had been a time when he moved me in front of the mirror I had grown to hate in the first half hour I had spent on the floor alone. I considered breaking it to pieces but I had a feeling his parents wouldn't appreciate that. He pointed out each part of my body straight down to every fingertip and freckle and toe and named reason upon reason why they were absolutely perfect. He'd eventually wiped the blood from my chin and shirt and offered me tissue after tissue to dry my eyes.

He'd stopped speaking in complete sentences after a while, only meeting my pathetic cries with a round of kisses and an occasional "darling" or "baby." But he had called me "angel" for most of the night. Angel. I almost laughed when he first said it. How could I, of all people, be anything close to an angel?

His hands had repeatedly raked his hair back as he told himself it was all his fault. I shook my head, trying to assure him it was not. I hated myself for this. How could I be so stupid? How could I not think he would come looking for me after half an hour? I resisted the urge to thrash around as another wave of pure anger and self-hatred crashed into me.

How on Earth could I be so selfish and weak, more so to dare to drag him into this? Calling him when I felt like this was one thing, a terrible thing nevertheless, but throwing a tantrum at his house? I pushed myself out of his arms and out of the bathroom in time for me to collapse to the floor again in a fit of tears. I fought myself to stay silent, to not wake him up again. I'd taken hours of his night already, crying into his shirt like a helpless child. I refused to do it again.