Keep Me From Falling Apart [Niall Horan]

Chapter One

“Can you give me one reason?” 

Yes.

“I know you have reasons. Everyone does.” 

I could give you a million, but you would argue every one.

“You can trust me,” she said leaning forward in her chair.

For the first time in the past 45 minutes, I finally looked up.

Mrs. Canin had dark brown hair, soft green eyes, and a kind smile. But that was no reason to trust her. Kindness is never a reason to trust someone.

“I don’t trust anyone,” I said quietly.

“We both know that is not true,” she said softly.

I silently stared at her.

“I know you trust someone,” she said giving me another kind smile.

I do.

I shook my head.

“You want to tell me who it is?” She asked.

Yes.

I shook my head again.

We sat in silence for a few minutes. I stared at my feet, unmoving. Canin watched me, carefully scribbling things in her book.

“Everyone has someone they trust. They trust them with everything. Every memory, every secret, every emotion. Anything and everything,” she said.

I didn’t even breathe. I had barely said three sentences since this woman got here. I didn’t plan on talking to her now.

“You want to know who I trust?” She asked.

The normal me would’ve already hit this woman upside the head with my food tray, but I’d been given my meds right before she got here, so I was calm.

I thought these things went the other way around. I talk, she listens. Not here. She was doing all the talking, because I wasn’t going to tell her one thing.

“My husband. His names Eric. We’ve been married for six years. I trust him with everything and he trusts me,” she said while doodling on her notepad.

I found it fasinating the things she had come up with. She’d told me about a dog she had when she was younger, her favorite candies that her Grandma used to give her, her best friend. Meanwhile, I sat still and silent, wishing she would leave already.

I already had nurses checking on me hourly, the last thing I wanted was a pyhchiatrist coming around every week and staying for an hour.

Even when I get back home, she’s going to come by.

“So who do you trust, Michaela?” She asked politely.

Not you.

“I can guess it’s probably not you’re Mother,” she said scribblling something else in her book.

I had barely said anything to this woman. What could she possibly be writing down?

“It’s probably not your Stepfather either. Right?” She asked.

Right.

“You have no sibblings,” she said.

Correct.

You sure are smart!

“Any friends?” She asked.

I wasn’t sure how to answer that one. 

Of course, I have a friend back here, at home. Only one. But I hadn’t been able to speak to anyone since last week. I’d been cut off. I’d only seen my Mom, Adam, and Canin.