Something New 2 - Niall Horan

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n i a l l

I didn't want to wake up. Believe me. It was tearing me apart that the love of my life was right in the next room, within touching distance, within kissing distance, but yet so goddamn far away. My resolve was weakening, crumbling and wasting away every time I saw her. Instead I wanted to wither away as a flower without water.

Cara had had a hair appointment here in the past few days, cutting it far shorter than I was accustomed to and dying the tips a beautiful blue. She was stunning before, but fuck did the change suit her. She was gorgeous and it absolutely killed me inside that I couldn't tell her that.

What killed me more is that she hurt me like that on purpose.

If she and I were still on civil speaking terms, I would have offered to dye it for her - I was not new to the hair-dying world. But we weren't, and I didn't - she probably would have refused anyways, not wanting to be a burden and such.

But now she is a burden, on my mind and heart. My walls were tumbling and I was trying my best to keep them up; I was not going to surrender and let her get away with it.

I took into consideration the possibility of me being ridiculous, too confident and snobby - but I couldn't accept it. I was right and she was wrong. I also took into consideration that maybe I was simply an arrogant arsehole. But that would be preposterous. I am entitled to being hurt.

Swinging my legs out from under my crisp white duvet, fresh from the wash just yesterday - Mum works too hard, I would be content with the sheets that were on my bed last time I had slept in my bedroom - I rubbed at the slight stubble on my chin. Should I shave it? I was exceptionally against doing so but Mum would throw a fit. She never says it, but I know that it makes me look too much like my father.

So I end up moving to my old ensuite, staring into my old mirror and feeling utterly glad that I left some razors and shaving cream here. I took a splash of water to my entire face before lathering the cream onto a particular section of my face and wetting the blade.

Everything here reminds me of things I would stuff away and hide forever if I could. The sleepless, fight-filled nights; the teenage years, when I would stumble in drunk at 4 o'clock a.m.; how worried Mum was - and how I didn't give a shit. It always comes back to haunt me. Choices of mine and choices of others, they all hurt. I can't decide whether I'd keep them or change them, either, if I had the option, because so many things would be different for better and for worse if I did.

"Fuck!" I swore, rinsing the blade and staring at the now-red area just under my jaw. I'm a grown man, I can't believe that I had just cut myself shaving. Shows me for sharing my feelings like a girl. I'm not a girl.

A few more profanities escaped my snarled mouth as I hurried to finish trimming my stubble to the root, cautious to avoid any more slip-ups. My reminiscing had just cost me my manliness for a few days until this stupid cut heals.

Fuck me, I hate this. I hate this stupid house, and this bedroom, and, right now, even this goddamn razor. I hate everything. Fuck.

I splashed myself further awake with cupped hands full of icy water. Running a toothbrush around my mouth for a few minutes and fluffing out my hair, I tilted my head and examined my reflection in the mirror to make sure I was acceptable. I wanted to prove to Mum how much I'd changed - for the better. She does not need to know the demons ripping me apart from inside out. My bright top blended near seamlessly into the matching bathroom wall, the white walls and white light creating a clean, cold feel in the room.

Before exiting to my boyish bedroom, still with a few video game posters on the walls and a blue to black plaid blanket, not to mention a (surprisingly clean) beige carpet, I moved a few stray hairs from my face.