d.u.i » niall horan a.u (on hold atm)

n i n e

We entered the building to an eruption of complete chaos in the office. People were dialing numbers, printing papers, sending reports, they were doing everything in their power to stop something that to me was still unknown. 

There were loud, abrupt sounds coming from down the hallway aswell as screams from what seemed like a couple of men. My mom quickly led Dylan and I into my fathers office, which was probably the only thing I didn't miss about the place, and shut the door to leave us in the room as the only two people who haven't completely lost their sanity. 

"Sissy, what's going on?" Dylan asked as his hands played hopscotch against the freshly cleaned glass of the windows that lined the wall behind my dad's desk. I shrugged, pulling his hands away from the glass just to get another one of his glares. 

"I don't know, what were Mommy and Daddy talking about on the phone earlier?" 

He ignored my question and ran to the opposite corner of the room, which held a basket equipped with his favorite toys and stuffed animals. He sat cross legged in front of the woven basket and first pulled out a raccoon, and then a goat.

"'Lyssa, play with me." He ordered, grasping the animals tight in his small fist. I allowed his knuckles to turn an obvious white out of anger before answering his demand.

"Only if you tell me what Mom said."

"How would I know? I'm three." He smiled. "Duh."

The kid was too smart for his age. However, he was probably telling the truth. He probably couldn't hear my mom over the thoughts racing through his mind about either dinosaurs or race cars, anything a typical three year old boy would think about. He was the type that could only focus on something that he wanted to focus on, and my mom's conversation with my dad over the phone is surely not appealing to his train of thought. 

I sighed and shifted my body over to the thin, rectangular window installed on the door of the office, observing as much as I could of the now abandoned lobby.

It was quiet, only a couple of stray papers scattered along the concrete floors. The lights were dimmed, which was odd being compared to it's usual brightness and liveliness. I could hear loud voices from down the hallway, yet unfortunately the cement walls muffled them almost completely. Soon, Landon appeared through the window, his eyes curiously scanning the papers that lay on the floor before rushing past the room Dylan and I were held captive, and to where everything eventful was taking place-

down the fucking hallway.

"Put the ambulance on call." I could barely hear Landon say.

With his words, I saw my mom's tall, lean figure walk quickly past the window my face was pressed firmly up against, her pace quick and determined. She was rushed to grab the white telephone that was wired to the wall with her crimson-colored blood-splotched hands, punching a couple of numbers in before holding the phone close to her ear. She was too far away for my ears to catch exactly what she was saying, however if she was calling the ambulance, it must be something serious or severly life threatening, considering we have our own staff of nurses employed.

We haven't had to have an ambulance on call since I was about four, it's mind boggling that I remember the horrible scenario.

It was when the arrests were on break, but it was back when they hadn't installed the basketball courts yet, those are still fairly knew to the instituion. They were out back with the choice of breaking rocks, or running a well guarded track. Two inmates decided to go at it when debree from one of the rocks that they had been hammering had come up and hit one of them in the chin. They were brutally trying to commit murder on one another. Faces were in the cement, rocks were bludgeoned into eachothers skulls, it was a horrifing incident to have to witness. It was years before they allowed me back to visit, because they didn't want to take the chance of me having to encounter something like that again. 

I was snapped out of my thoughts at the sight of him, Niall. He wasn't in the same orange attire as he usually was, except his bottoms, his bottoms were the same. His shirt had been stripped from him, only to show his blood spotted, ripped, white undershirt. His face was covering in what looked like scratch marks, and his hands were beaten a nearly solid purple. There was a cut in his bottom lip, the blood coming from the small wound spreading it's way across his upperlip as well with each movement of his mouth. One of his eyes were swollen shut, and his other eye that had the luxury of staying open, looked tired. He obeyed my fathers commands and leaned against the wall, his cheek pressed firmly against the concrete wall. 

He was put into the same sterling silver cuffs as the night of his arrest, the night where we first laid eyes on eachother. It hurt to see him this injured, although I remember my mom's words from earlier today, which must mean Niall wasn't close to being the victim of the incident, yet rather the cause of it. 

 "If this is about him, he isn't as nice as he claims to be."

And it obviously was about him. 

They checked the back pockets of his baggy pants, the waist band of his fitted white boxer shorts making a slight appearance over the top of the trousers. My dad turned him around, grabbing his small flashlight from his back pocket and using his thumb and index finger to spread one of Niall's eyes open, examining them for any signs of drug of alcohol abuse before checking the other. He shook his head and looked to Landon. "He's sober."

"Of course I'm sober." Niall snapped, his face still emotionally drained. 

"Keep quiet, you just keep adding more and more evidence and shit against you for your trial dates in court, this bullshit tonight just another thing added to the top of the list." 

Trial dates? Court? If he goes to court, he'll immediately get sent to the state prison for over twelve months, as a result of the d.u.i, not including the incident that just took place, plus the list of small things he was charged for the night of the arrest. If he goes to court, I won't see him again. He'll forget about me. He'll be alone in the prison with brand new people, mean people, surprisingly meaner than my dad.

Why did the prick have to drink and drive anyways? I've never been able to sit and have a conversation with him about it. What party was he at? What club? What friend decided to talk him into drinking? He's only twenty, he's not a legal drinker yet, which is just another thing added to his list of charges. 

I must take into consideration though, that if he had never been a drunken idiot, we would have never met. 

Niall rolled his neck slightly in annoyance before turning his head toward the window that my face was still plastered against. His blonde locks covered his scratched forehead, however you could still see the light pink, puffy markings. Our eyes met for a split second before he looked away, just to look back again in realization that it was me. His eye that was still in somewhat good condition instantly drained some of its misery, fortunately to make room for a bit happiness. 

He lipped the words "Hi" after a long staring competition, his lips forming into a small smile and his eyebrowns perking up some. He looked genuinely happy to see me. I wanted to burst through the door and hold him close to me, and to tell him everything would be okay, even though he needed much more than that right now. He mouthed another set of words that looked as if he said "I'm gonna win", referring to our secret staring contest taking place. He was such a kid.

And he was right. My eyes were the first to break the long-held staring game, my stupid action causing me to look up at him being taken back down the dark hallway, into who knows what room. He could be getting sent to a brutal punishment, or he could be thrown back into his cold cell for him to fend for himself and his wounds on his own. It ached me to even think that. I knew what they couldn't see. I knew that deep down inside, his personality fit his name. Niall. It's not a name of a criminal.

"Where's he going?" Landon asked someone that wasn't in my range of sight. 

"Cell 21."

Cell 21. The cell that was also equipped with the camera that I was forbidden of watching.

Camera 21. The camera of the cell that held captive the mad, the dysfunctional, the psychotic.  Characteristics that he shouldn't be affiliated with.

x x x x x || A/N || x x x x x

kind of a short chapter, i'm sorry. remember camera 21? if you don't, it's introduced in the first chapter. i told you it'd get interesting. please vote, comment, and share!