Like Dreamers Do (Niall Horan Fan-Fiction)

Chapter 1

My whole body was numb as my grandad pulled into what was going to be my home from now on. With its old fashioned window panes, fraying edges and billowing flowerpots hanging from the ceiling, it was a far cry from my old home back in Australia. In fact, everything here was different. I had never been to London before, my grandad had always come to Australia if he wanted to visit us, and I hadn’t counted on how cold it was here. The atmosphere was strange too. He lived in the middle of London, the streets a lot busier than I assumed. 

I hadn’t said a word the whole trip. My grandad didn’t comment on this. He might have thought that I was simply listening to my music, but in reality I had my headphones in but nothing was playing. 

The car stopped in the unfamiliar driveway with a jolt, the old vehicle clearly not used to this amount of travel. My grandad picked up his frail body from out of the car and opened the boot to get my luggage, a sad glint in his eye that I knew was only because of me. He obviously wasn’t used to moping teenage girls. 

I slowly opened the car door, very wary of my new surroundings. The stones crunched beneath my feet as I intercepted my grandad and took my suitcase off him, marching ahead of him to the front door. Despite the old look about it, it was a beautiful house. It reminded me of something in an old 1950’s movie with its balcony and sofas out the front. 

He slowly came up the stairs behind me, fumbling in his pocket for his house keys. He turned to me, giving me a small smile with that empty glint still occupying his eyes. 

“So is this what you were expecting?” He asked, his voice old and tired. I kept my eyes to the ground.

“Not really.” I mumbled, following him inside as he got the door open. 

The house was even more unexpected. There were pictures of my grandma everywhere, even though my grandad had stopped speaking about her since she had passed a few years ago. There was a framed photograph of my mother in her youth sitting on the mantelpiece in the sitting room, a striking woman who so closely resembled me. As my grandad went into the kitchen to make me a cup of tea, I turned the photograph around so I wouldn’t have to look at it. 

There was no television in this room, nor was there any sign of technology. The whole place smelt slightly musty and old, giving me a dreary feel. It made me strangely nostalgic and I wasn’t sure why. 

I sat myself down in one of the old armchairs by the fireplace and ran my hands through my hair. If someone had told me a month ago that I would be here, I wouldn’t have believed them. I hadn’t seen my grandad in over a year, but now circumstances had changed and I didn’t have a choice. This was my home now.

My grandad came in moments later with two steaming cups of tea. He sat himself down in the couch opposite me placing the mugs on the coffee table in front of us. There was a brief silence in which we both contemplated the situation we were in. 

“It’s not much. Your grandma and I never really believed in material possessions. I hope its okay though.” My grandad said quietly, and I instantly felt like crying at his gesture. He had let me into his home, something that obviously wasn’t convenient for him.

“It’s perfect.” I muttered, taking a sip of the hot peppermint tea. There was a comfortable silence then, the two of us drinking our tea, keeping our thoughts to ourselves. 

After about ten minutes, I picked myself up and grasped my suitcase. I had only brought one with me. A lot of my things I had to throw away since they gave me so many painful memories. 

“Your room is upstairs, first door on the right. I hope it will suit you alright.” My grandad didn’t linger. He finished his tea much before I did, but he didn’t follow me. He simply sat there, smiling sadly up at me, as if he was still unable to believe the whole situation. 

I could tell that was what he thought, because I felt the same.

I made my way up the old staircase and into the room that was to be called my own. 

Again, it wasn’t what I was expecting. I thought it would resemble the rest of the house, old and worn. But this room looked newer and more modern than my bedroom in Australia. 

I was touched that my grandad had chosen to buy me technological things, since the rest of the house didn’t seem to have them. 

There was a television set perched on the wall opposite the singular bed covered with clean, purple sheets. There was a desk in the corner of the room, a full length mirror and a wardrobe occupying the space, giving it a very homey feel. But what really stole my attention was the computer perched on the middle of the desk. 

My grandad had always been horrible with technology and he clearly hadn’t shut down the computer properly after he drove to pick me up from the airport. My hands were shaking when I looked at the screen, my thoughts turning to mush as I went numb all over. 

It was only a simple newspaper article from two weeks ago, but it meant everything to me. My breathing became more and more jagged as I read on, until finally I was crying silently to myself, a hand clasped over my mouth in fear.

‘A teenage girl in Australia is the only survivor after a serial killer stabbed and murdered her mother and father while they slept in their Sydney home. The eighteen year old was thought to have snuck outside her bedroom window as she heard the commotion but was unavailable for comment this morning. Neighbours say they heard a scream come from the friendly household around 3:20 am in the morning and police arrived to the scene soon after to pronounce the mother and father dead. The girl (who cannot be named due to legal reasons) has since moved from the household. Perhaps the most chilling part is what police found in the kitchen left behind by the escaped murderer. A simple note saying ‘I’ll be back.’ Police are frantically searching for the mystery murderer and meanwhile concerns have been raised for the daughters safety.’

There, plastered in the middle of the article was a simple picture of the eighteen year old girl whose life had been ripped apart by a mystery killer who was still on the loose.

That girl was me.

(A/N: Please tell me how you like it! Twitter;Zayn_Malik018 Kik:ZaynsWifeyxx -Zayn_Malik018)

-October 25,2012