Hot Mess | N.H. (discontinued)

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Hot Mess:
c h a p t e r  :  f o u r  [ 4 ]

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"With publicity comes humiliation." -Tama Janowitz

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Niall

Although it can get very chilly here in Mullingar, I have never experienced so much warmness here in my hometown before. Probably because my mother has here frail arms wrapped around me in a tight, bone-crushing hug for the first time in about seven months.

"Oh, my little Nialler!" my mum cries into my chest; I have seemed to gain a few more inches on my mother from the last time I saw her. "I've missed you so much!"

I chuckle lightheartedly and tighten my grip around her. "I've missed ya', too, mummy," I reply genuinely. It never really hit me how much I've missed my family until now.

"You've got a dad, too, y'know," I hear my father say, almost sounding jealous. Chuckling, I swipe a kiss on my mum's cheek before pulling away and embracing my dad into a hug. He's never really been much of a hugger, but you can sure as hell mark him down for a softy now.

After exchanging a few more hugs and a few more tears shedding from my mother, I decide to head to my room and unpack—I'm probably going to be here for a while. As I walk through the small hallway, I notice that the barren, white wall that I had seen a few months ago had been littered with pictures of me. From photos with my family to photoshoots with the boys, it's like a never-ending streak down the hall.

One picture catches my eye, and I stop in my tracks. It's one of the boys and me during our first performance on the X-Factor. That's the day where the first load of votes from our fans came bounding in and One Direction was advanced up. I remember thinking how that would be the start of something big, but it never crossed my mind that I would have to sacrifice something big, too, in order for that too happen.

Feeling the anger starting to boil up inside of me, I storm away from the picture. It brings back all of the hate that has been building up inside of me that I was trying to contain, but I realize it'll eventually all have to come out at some point.

With that, I run into my old room, the door slamming extra louder than usual and locking it. I let my bag slide off my shoulder and fling it across my room, hitting the side of my bed with a thud. Huffing in anger, my hands find their way to my hair, clutching the brown roots of my blonde hair and pulling on it, making it stick out in every direction.

My eyes avert to the lamp across the room sitting on my nightstand. Unclenching my hands from my disheveled hair, I stomp my way over to it. Without thinking, my hands wrap around the base of it and I end up flinging it towards the wall. I can faintly hear the muffled shriek of my mum downstairs, but ignore it. I watch as the shards of shattered glass fall down into millions of pieces in front of me, and I can't help but think of how the writer of the damn article did the same thing to me.

And that is exactly what I plan on doing to E. Sholes—whoever he may be—too.

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Emery

The first thing I see is as I turn around are the big words, 'Mullingar Park Hotel', scribbled across in neat writing on a sign hung above the entrance of a large hotel. The hotel itself looks magnificent, to say the least. Its building is spread out to look more like a huge mansion, freshly-watered green grass and colorful sprouting flowers littered around it. Through the glass of the windows and doors you can clearly see the beautiful, big chandelier hanging lowly from the ceiling. Overall, the place is more than amazing.