Addiction ~ A Niall Horan Fan-fiction

Chapter 2: Working Troubles

I made my way into work the next day, still groggy from travelling the previous day. Yesterday still lingered on my mind, meeting a famous boy band and actually having a conversation with one of them was crazy. Things like that didn’t happen to small town girls like me. I didn’t have any friends in London, so something like that was new to me. It was hard when you worked with a lot of older people. I wasn’t the type to leave my house and socialise with people I didn’t know.

I had taken the train to get to where I work, it was an awful journey but everybody has to pay bills. The trains were always packed with business men and women trying to get to and fro. Most were too in a rush to notice anyone else, nattering on their mobiles or holding their briefcases tightly, in fear of a train robber who may come and steal their notes. Highly unlikely, but try tell them that. 

I took care of different people everyday. Today, I was visiting Mr. Peter. He was a grumpy old man, who had lost his wife a few years ago and was abruptly placed into a programme where he was watched over. All I had to do was make sure he had taken all his medication and give him an already made dinner, that was brought fresh to him everyday. I also tidied up after him, then was free to leave.

After I got to the small village, where the old peoples homes were, I opened the door with my key.

“Just me, Mr Peter. Isobel.” I warned. 

We had to do this with everyone we took care of, in case we frightened them. I heard him grunt and I then made my way into the kitchen.

He was stood in there looking out in to the garden. He began to moan about the “bloody pigeons” who were “ruining his land”. I could tell that somewhere along a long he had been a farmer or some sort. Concerned greatly about the look of his land.

I looked at the table to see the tablet for “Saturday” still had not been taken.

“Mr. Peter, you need to take your medicine. I’ll make sure your dinner is hot.” I pointed out.

“I said I didn’t want them the last time!” He sneered, shooting me an angry glance.

“I know, but they’ll make you feel better.” I promised.

I turned around as I began to put the dish into the microwave. I knew that Mr. Peter had an awful temper and I was worried that if I faced him, the anger in his face would make me cry.

“I said I don’t want them!” He shouted.

With that, I felt a large thump into my back, it made a loud cracking noise as it hit my spine. I was caught off guard and felt myself fall forward. I couldn’t catch myself in time. I could see what was going to happen as I felt my face thud into the side of the counter. I hit my face and I felt the corner of the counter begin to cut into my cheek. I felt myself slump forward on to the cold tiles.

I heard the grumpy man scoff. I was shocked. I abruptly got up, grabbed my bag and ran from his house. I was petrified that if I didn’t leave, he may do something even worse. It had all happened so quickly. I knew I needed a drink, my whole body was shaking, as I fled from the scene. I let my hand touch my cheek. I felt the loose bits of skins come into contact with my hand and felt my warm tears fall down my now bloodied face. I knew there was going to be a lot of bruising. 

* * *

After buying myself a lot of alcohol to ease the pain, I proceeded to sit at home and wallow in my sorrows. I was sat in my sitting room slash kitchen, gulping down my chilled white wine. I was already on the last glass as I cuddled into my fluffy cream quilt that lay across my battered, old sofa. A large gulp I had just had was whirling pleasantly around my mouth, when my phone began to buzz rapidly on the glass coffee table. I paused the Damien Rice CD playing in the background. As I clicked answer to the number, I did not know who it was. Not many people had the number that I used in England, only family and my work, other than that I was clueless.