A Touch of Cinnamon ✓

e i g h t e e n | the truth will set you free

The clip from Niall's nightmare a few chapters back is included in here, and expanded upon. So if it feels familiar, that's why.

I have a wedding to go to tonight and I honestly just want to sleep.

Enjoy.

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NH

"It all started when I was twelve..."

~~~

"Niall! Come here!" Niall hears his father's stern voice ringing through the house. He's small for a twelve year old, smaller than the rest in his class at school. He gets teased for it sometimes, but he loves himself and he has fun, so there's nothing for him to be sad about.

Plus, he's always been really good at making people laugh. His logic is, the more he makes people laugh, the less time they have to spend picking on him.

He rushes out of his bedroom, where he was reading a book, and makes his way into the lounge where he finds his parents sitting on the sofa, both looking at him.

"Yeah?" He asks, standing in front of them. His gut twists, something about this not seeming right.

"You will speak to us with more respect than that, Niall James," His mother snaps, Niall immediately standing up a little taller.

"Yes ma'am, I'm sorry," He drops his gaze so he isn't looking directly at them. He already doesn't like this.

"You will look at us when speaking!" His father snaps this time, Niall forcing his gaze onto his father's. He keeps his lips clamped shut, not wanting to risk getting yelled at again, "What is this?" His dad holds up the journal Niall has recently begun writing in, though he's not entirely sure how they managed to get their hands on it - he's been doing his best to keep it as private as possible. There's a lot of personal stuff in there he'd rather they not know.

"M-My journal, sir," He stammers, unsure of where they're going with this, but the sinking feeling in his gut tells him that he already knows.

His father opens the book to a page that seems to have been marked, and Niall knows in that moment that they've read it. He knows exactly what they're about to confront him with.

His father begins to read, his voice laced with contempt.

"Dear journal, I'm still not sure why I keep writing to you as though I'm actually speaking to you, but that's just how I am.

"When I go to school, the kids aren't very nice all the time. But I make them laugh, so they don't hate me. As much as I like being here, I can't wait to get out of this small town. I want to live in the big city, maybe Dublin, and be free. I want to write and see my books in stores and have people be inspired by me the way I'm inspired by the ones I look up to.

"I wonder if they'd be inspired by me if they knew what goes on in my mind? Would they even like me?

"And then there's Ethan, this boy at school. He's got really nice brown hair, and really pretty green eyes. I could look at his eyes all day if I wouldn't get in trouble for it. And he's so nice. He's always laughing at my jokes, and he never makes fun of me for being smaller than everyone else. Will I ever be as big as them?

"I don't know. But Ethan. He's so nice. I wonder if he thinks I'm nice, too? I wonder if he thinks about me like I think about him? I don't know how normal this is, because most of the boys in my class talk about the girls, especially Jeanette because she's got really pretty blond hair and all the boys like her. But I don't. Why don't I like her? Aren't I supposed to like her? Like, how mum and da like each other. Why don't I like her Journal? Why do I like Ethan?"