Treacherous

Chapter Fifty-Seven

*~*~* Niall's POV *~*~*

My eyes are blank and void as I stare at the white walls. I feel detached, my mind elsewhere as I keep my eyes on that wall. It's an empty canvas, something that I surprisingly haven't ruined yet. The door clicks open but I don't turn towards the sound. The person who entered decides to stand in front of me, waving a hand in front of my face to get me to come back. If I do that the pain will take over again and those people will hold me down again due to my insanity.

My name is called by a sweet voice. It's not the sweet voice I was hoping to hear, but it's still nice enough to pull me from my little daze. When I see the petite woman standing in front of me I respond to her, finding it rude to ignore someone as polite-looking as her.

She's short and frail, her cheeks stained and her eyes bright. I look at her chapped lips to find her smiling at me, waving her fingers at me a little. I just look back at her. Her lips turn down into a frown and I feel slightly guilty, but not enough to react.

"How are you doing?" she asks. I simply stare some more, my eyes narrowing as if to say 'really?'.

"Amie wanted me to talk to you about Dave." Her voice is low, cautious. She seems almost afraid to speak.

"Who's Dave?" Hearing Amie's name makes me pay more attention. Yet whatever this is about is probably not something I want to hear.

"My husband." She sniffles, twisting and turning the ring on the left ring finger. "I wanted you to know that it's okay."

My jumbled mind fits the pieces together, my hands tightening into fists. The emotional impact it takes on me is disturbing, the hurt and hatred I feel coursing through me like a familiar drug.

"I killed him, didn't I?" The hatred in my voice is undeniable.

"You didn't. He was just taken somewhere better."

"Yeah. Away from you and your kids." My head is throbbing, my knuckles turning white as they grip the rails of the bed. I turn away from her to look at a tray of food next to my bed as my eyes start to burn. Tears are running down my face, the frustration and stress controlling me.

"Please get out," I beg, my voice cracking.

"No, I won't. Not until you understand that you did nothing wrong."

"I crashed into your f*cking car and killed your husband. You can't tell me that's good."

"Did I ever say it was good? No. I said it was okay."

"That's the same thing." My chest is heaving up and down, a mixture of anger, pain, and something else overtaking me and my sense of sight. Red outlines my vision as I look back at this woman with tunnel vision. It takes a second before I can focus on her.

She tries to contradict me but I interrupt her. "It's the same f*cking thing. Now, leave," I growl.

"I told you I'm not leaving." She continues to stand at the foot of my bed, her hands resting on one of the pillows my foot is propped up on.

"Just do it."

She ignores my comment and says, "If that's a sensitive topic we could also talk about you and Amie."

"Don't," I warn, glaring at her. The headache is worse than ever, the heartache moving to replace it.

"You love her but won't show it. Why is that?" Her eyes are simply curious, not malicious and deceiving.

"I just can't." There's going to come a time when I can't use that answer anymore. As of now, I'll use it as much as I can.

"And why can't you?"

"It's a secret," I whisper, my words hushed. The anger has disappeared, the pain completely taking over as I begin to shake. Amie cries too much, and I always seem to be the cause.

"She's got secrets, too, you know. Not very pretty ones."

"No, she tells me everything."

She raises an eyebrow. "Just like you tell her everything?"

I duck my head, ashamed to meet her eyes.

"I saw something the other day," she continues. "Amie always seems to be pulling her sleeves down nowadays, yes?" I nod, remembering how the sleeves of her shirt had been stretched out.

"She was washing her hands the other day to play with the kids and I saw why she seems to have that little habit."

"What was it?" I ask, eager to hear an answer for once in a damn long time.

"Scars. There were scars on her wrists. I only saw two, but that doesn't mean anything." I feel dizzy, my head swirling with possibility of me hurting her that much. Surely I hadn't. But she was always crying whenever I saw her. If she wasn't when I first saw her, she was by the time we were through talking.

The anger takes over, my mind blurring and the next thing I know, the woman is gone and that tray of food has been smashed against the wall. That plain white wall that I had failed to ruin until now.

XxXxX

I finally updated! I know that it's really short and definitely really crappy, but I did write it!

I am so, so, so sorry, you guys! I think it's been months since I last updated.. Gosh, I'm sorry, but I'm going to try to get back into this!

I've actually been working on a new fan fiction with @1DirectionerLillay and that's why I haven't been writing this one. We put together a joint account and would love if you checked it out! I happen to prefer that one over Treacherous.. But our joint account is @NezzaLillay and the fan fiction I'd love you guys to read is called We All Have Our Sad Stories!

Thank you so much, you guys! Please comment and vote for my motivation! 😄💕

LOVES,

~Nezza xx