The D i r e c t i o n e r s Initiative [Ziall Horlik]

Chapter 4 - And You are folded on My Bed

Restless. It should’ve been added to my long list of understatements in my life, because it definitely was right now. The flight had made me restless, not even bothered by sleep, even once. I was torn in the middle of anxiety and excitement that I never got a shut eye, constantly staring at the photo of five normal boys – or at least used to be normal. The flight stewardess, Julie-something had been kind enough to offer sleeping pills and tea which I politely refused, though was very kind (and very British) of her. My entire body felt sore after the several-hours long flight and when I thought I had it over with, Uncle Si ushered me to meet this brusque of a man named Paul, stating he was the band’s official security officer and driver and that he was going to drive me to where the boys are. I wasn’t really ecstatic in meeting new strangers who claim to be close to me before ‘this’ happened but when I reached out my hand for a shake, Paul had shrugged  and laughed at the gesture while pulling me into a literal bone-crushing hug, and that’s the thing, it was so familiar, so real, that it almost felt like – home.

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Riding in a black car, I was afraid of what I felt after hugging Paul, that I shut out him (Paul) at a blink of an eye, giving only two syllable words or a curt nod in whatever he said, until he dropped the small talk. Uncle Si, with his “poshness” provided me with a small device that allows me to “surf” the Internet, whatever that means. Paul was kind enough to teach me the basic maneuvers with this silly and tiny contraption that I was able to search about myself – yes, looking up to who I really was.

NIALL HORAN

A faint gasp escape my lips as I read the words that flashed on the screen, the results of my search, the many things about myself that I don’t remember, or may have even forgotten intentionally. Old pictures of me smiling, with the familiar four boys, with Uncle Si and some strangers who might friends or fans were also displayed, but one thing was clear, in all of those pictures, I seemed, no, looked happy.

I frowned.

I wasn’t very eager to feed on new information until I had swallowed the first ones.

My name is Niall Horan. My birthday is September 13, 1993 which (as I did remember my math, I’m now 24 years old). I was born in Mullingar, which is found in Ireland.

Those facts are evenly and carefully digested by my aching head, which also reminds me, to take some pain-relievers in the later hours of this day.  But there are also things that are very hard to “swallow” like,

I am the youngest son of a Maura and Bobby Horan, who somewhere along the way took divorce. I have an older brother named Greg. And he is already married with a son but I on the other hand never had a girlfriend.

It was sort of entertaining to note that these “facts” about my life are circulating on the internet that it wasn’t that hard to know. But at the same time, scary, that the public may know these things about me or even more than I am capable to know. A sense of familiarity to them that, at any moment, anyone could claim me as their son, brother, or husband for that matter and I would believe them in a blink of an eye.

As obvious as it is, I am currently in a state of paranoia that all I did was, turn off the device and pushed my head back to its rest, and relaxing my tense body, on the passenger seat. All I remember was the faint Paul’s faint (not too faint for me) sighs and the name Liam, before closing my eyes shut and getting my so deserved rest.

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“Were here” Paul’s deep voice, stirs me from my short nap and making me sit up, and regretting what I did, feeling dizzy after my rather snappy movement. Paul chuckles and I groan, reaching out to the back of my neck that feels absolutely sore right this moment.