Downfall [Punk Niall Horan]

66

***Warning : physical and mental abuse is mentioned in this chapter, along with depression.They're all very serious issues, and if it's happening to you or you feel alone then you need to find someone who can help or just talk to. All of my love. Enjoy the chapter. xx ****

I had removed my pocketknife a few minutes ago from my pocket that Niall had convinced me to carry after everything that happened to us, reminding me that we can never be too careful. It felt cold in my hand, but I wielded it in front of me as I took a protective position over Harry's unconscious body. She had already done enough to him, he didn't need her here right now or ever for that matter. She wasn't his mother, and apparently my father wasn't my father.

I stared at Naomi Owens with calculating eyes, looking for any hint of a lie in her eyes or facial expression. I had been shamed once into believing stuff that she told me, but it was absolutely never going to happen again. Maybe I shouldn't even deem her with the last name Owens anymore. For all I knew her name might not even be Naomi at this point. But also at this point I didn't even care, not even in the slightest. I just wanted to know why the hell Harry was alone up her with her in this abandoned room, and why I didn't see any nurses.

"You better start fucking talking, or so help me god..," I trailed off jerking the small pocketknife in her direction. She staggered a step backwards, an inch closer to the huge window behind her. If I could push her hard enough...

My thought was cut off by her speaking again, her voice sending coils of hatred through my veins. "Oh, come on, Tylie. Haven't you ever wondered why Jim tried so hard to get you killed for seemingly no reason? You were a perfect child after all, I'm sorry I never told you that. You were the best thing I could've hoped for in a daughter," she whispered quietly, her voice cracking pathetically. I scoffed and rolled my eyes, that was such bullshit she was trying to feed to me.

"Ding-dong, you're wrong. Quit with the bullshit flatteries, you had your chance to be a mother to me but you didn't. Get on with your point before I get Niall to come up here," I threatened, taking a seat on Harry's hospital bed by his knee. "Oh, I don't think he will be showing up anytime soon. I had one of my men inject him with a sedative. Did you honestly think he wouldn't have found you now or come for you if that wasn't the case?" She said casually like it was so normal to sedate an innocent person

"What the fuck?!" I screamed, coming towards her with the pocket knife again. I had half the fucking mind to push her through the damn window and watch her fall like I watched my father fall. "Don't worry, he's safe, and so is everyone else. They're being held in a room by my guards. Everyone is safe, I just had to get you two alone," she whispered quietly, her voice cracking. "What the hell did you do to them?!" I screamed, thrusting the knife in her direction again. She raised her hand in surrender, "I have no intent to hurt anyone. I just came to speak the truth finally, though it may be meaningless now. I also came to see my baby granddaughter."

A sharp intake of breath shot into my lungs, and my muscles coiled into taught strips. Yet I didn't feel the pang of fear that I should feel for someone as despicable as her coming to see my baby daughter. I felt nothing, and it was absolutely infuriating. Why was I like this? I felt my eyebrows furrow deeply on my forehead, and the arm that was extended with the pocketknife dropped a little as I tried to rack my brain for a reason as to why I felt so disconnected from everything.

"You don't care about her, do you? You don't even feel the same about Niall anymore, I could tell by the way you said his name earlier like you were so unsure of whether you even wanted him up here or not, despite yours and Harry's safety," My mother inquired, taking a daring step in my direction while looking at me with peering eyes. I just stared at her with cold and blank eyes, unmoving and feeling terribly cold inside. I didn't have to say anything, the truth was written all over my face. I was always a horrible liar when it came to emotions, and though I hated to admit it, mothers seemed like they had a built in daughter-reader.