walls between us ↠ h.s

Chapter 1 <<Under Construction>>

The second I step foot in the house, I immediately regret my evidently impulse agreement to come to this party. My reasonable side is shouting at me, pulling at her hair, urging me to get the hell out of here and spend my night somewhere where there isn't a sea of sweaty teenage bodies grinding up against one another to a shitty club-remix of some over-played radio song. My other half, the deluded side, is brushing it off, telling me to stay, just for the hell of it. The smell of alcohol and pot lingers strongly in the air, clouding up my senses and I begin to wonder why Niall, out of all places, picked here to for us to 'get to know each other better'. And I don't mean that in a sketchy way, he sincerely wants to get to know me. My interests, sports I may or may not play, people I say I hate but secretly want to be friends with. The lot of it.

As I cling to Niall's firm grip, I'm careful to avoid anyone with a spill-able drink, which, for the record, is an incredibly difficult task for what it's worth. You can't really avoid anyone here. You don't have any options in a place like this. You're forced to be uncomfortably close to nearly everyone you pass by, and that's never been one of my favorite past-times.

This is definitely not the way I'd like to be spending my Saturday off of school and this certainly can't be the 'small party' Niall had described in his invite. 

The music thumps in my ears, making it hard to hear anything but that damned music, and, unfortunately, the screechy voices of girls making a failed attempt at singing along to the words.

Niall squeezes my hand as if he can feel the anxiety that's quickly welling up inside me, making me feel suffocated, and no, it's not only from the fact that my precious oxygen is being stolen by the unskilled and highly intoxicated dancers before me. It gives me little to no reassurance, his little hand squeeze or whatever it was, but it was a nice gesture, even if he's the one who got me stuck in this hellhole.

Several minutes pass by and I can feel beads of sweat begin to form on my forehead from the heat in the house. I badly wish to wipe it off with the sleeve of my shirt, but I'm restricted from doing so. I can barely make room to walk, and my steps are more like small, non-existent shuffles. I start to wish that we had went to a party that was held in a smaller house, considering this place is huge and there has to be a couple hundred people here consuming what seems like every inch of the floor space and suitable breathing air.

I find myself being led into a kitchen as I continue to grasp Niall's hand for both support and safety. Niall stops, seemingly tentative as he observes the area in which we are currently standing in. Marble counters sit atop of generic wooden cabinets, the surface littered with halfway-filled red solo cups, potato chips, and what I presume to be some kind of mix-drink vodka in a large glass pitcher. Somehow, the entire setup still manages to look somewhat elegant.

"This'll have to do, I guess." Niall breaks up my thoughts, letting my hand fall to my side. "There's virtually no other places to stand, you know, without getting trampled." He seems deflated.

"No, no, it's fine." I try to restore his confidence by using my most convincing tone, trying to ignore the fact that I'm beyond irritated at the situation I've been placed in.

"Are you sure?" Niall asks, widening his eyes in anticipation for my already evident answer.

"I'm sure," I reply, not really wanting to continue this going-nowhere conversation.

"Hey Delaney?"

"Yeah?"

"Is it alright if I go find a beer or something? Are you okay with being alone for a sec?" Niall seems timid as he searches my face for signs of worry.

"Of course I am, Niall. Don't worry, I'm fine." I ensure him, giving him a small, credible smile.

"Alright, great. I'll meet you back here in a few," Niall says, patting my hand hesitantly before heading off in a random direction in search of his preferred beverage. He's meshed up into the sea of people before I can even blink.

Not having Niall with me instantly sets me on edge, and I feel exceedingly out of place as I scan the cluster of intoxicated under-age drinkers before me. This is an all-time low, even for me, a person who's all too familiar with this particular scene. That makes me all the more uncomfortable, knowing that I'm standing in a house of hundreds of kids whose only legitimate life goals are to get wasted before 4 o'clock in the afternoon.

My wandering eyes jump from person to person before landing on a timid looking lone boy who sits crouched under the same counter top as I am leaning on, maybe 5 feet away from me. His fingers drum rhythmically on the wood floors, and I find myself staring at them fixedly, both in confusion and my general uncontrollable curiosity.

"You know, my eyes are up here." The boy speaks, not even sending a glance my way, catching me completely off guard.

"What?" My eyes snap up, ehm, down to him, and I get a good look at the boy. He sports a plain dim gray t-shirt, sleeves cuffed slightly at the ends, accompanied by dark jeans and a thin, tan belt. His hair is light brown, styled untidily, giving him a laid back look to his easily intimidating demeanor. Well, as intimidating as a boy whose knees are tucked up to his chin and his free arm wrapped around his legs can be.

"I said, 'my eyes are up here'. But I guess you could say my eyes are down here, you know, since I'm down here and you're up there." The boy says, waving a careless hand toward me.

I open my mouth to speak, but no words seem to come to my mind that seem suitable to say in this current situation.

"I'm guessing you're probably wondering what I'm doing down here,"

You bet.

"Either that or you think I'm highly attractive, and that's the reason why you're staring at me. In that case, I won't object." He's smiling now, clasping both of his large hands together. His face is almost exploding with a kind of resemblance to triumph, and I don't understand why.

"I just looking for something to look at." I fumble. My words come out different than I had intended them to be. I made it sound like I was watching him.

Great.

I feel my usual confidence evaporating rapidly beneath me and I try desperately to regain it from its already damaged state.

"Well, I'm a pretty pleasant sight, if I do say so myself." He pauses, placing a hand on his chin as if pondering his next line. "I give you consent."

I cannot believe what I'm hearing.

"Consent? To look at you?" I want to feel angry at him, annoyed for his ever present narcissistic orientation, but for some bizarre, corrupt reason, I can't find it in me.

"I'm Liam Payne," He throws the direction of the conversation right out the window.

"What?" I want to hurl myself off a cliff and burst out in fits of laughter all at once. It's an unnerving feeling.

"You say 'what' a lot." Liam observes, ignoring the incredibly baffled expression that permeates my face.

I search my mind for clever comebacks. "And you're confusing,"

Shit. That sounded lame.

"Thanks," Liam says, brushing a hand over his shoulder. "I try."

"So are you here with anyone?" I try to make polite conversation.

"Woah!" He holds his hands up, taking a large step away from me. "So straight-forward. If you wanted to date me, you could've just said so." 

"Are you able to be serious for 5 minutes? Or is that too much to ask?" I say jokingly, hoping he'll understand the humor to my question. 

"What can I say, I'm a man of jocularity."

"Jocularity?" I repeat.

"I learned it the other day in english class, don't ask. Basically, I like my jokes. I like to make people laugh."

I backtrack. "Aside from the jokes, what are you doing down there exactly?" 

"That, my newly made acquaintance, is a very good question."