Love Ridden

It’s been a few weeks since I finally met the girl I’d heard so much about. A few weeks since I spent an entire night watching Niall flirt and listening to her giggle. A few weeks since I spent the early morning hours praying to the porcelain gods.

You see, it turns out that even an overload of cheap liquor can’t make your heartache go away. It only suspends it for a little bit. Just hides it away in a tiny little cubby hole, or on the top shelf of an old bookcase, somewhere that you put things that you don't want or need. And then when it’s had enough of being forgotten it makes you retch it all back up. You can try and leave it, all the images in your mind of his lips on hers. You can watch them swirl down the drain.

If only they could stay there.

It’s been a few weeks since I had the worst hangover of my life. A few weeks since I sat in my lounge watching the news and wishing that she didn’t exist. Hearing every new story and wondering if maybe this one was about her. Maybe this car crash, maybe that robbery, anything that would mean that she wasn’t actually in Niall’s arms right now.

Yes, I know. I’m a terrible person. But in my defense, love makes you think crazy things.
It’s been a few weeks since that morning when my doorbell rang unexpectedly, but then was followed by the sound of it opening and the heavy footfalls that I knew too well. I didn’t even need to turn to know that he was there.

It’s been a few weeks since I asked, “What are you doing here, Niall?” My hand held to my head, trying to calm the pounding that was there. “It’s awfully early for you, no?”

It’s been a few weeks since he set a brown paper bag down in front of me and then set himself on the couch next to me. I could feel the cold from his short walk lingering on his clothes. I could smell the mixture of his shampoo and the London air. I inhaled it, memorizing it for later, a smell that I would recall late at night as I lay sleepless in bed. One of the many I had stored away.

It’s been a few weeks since I felt him laugh at my question. “It's a bit early compared to my usual standards, true. But seeing as I witnessed the amount of cheap whiskey you swallowed last night, I figured I might be needed.” I watched him lean forward and empty the bag. Orange juice, pastries, and medicine. My knight in white t-shirt and jeans. He stood and walked into my kitchen where I could hear him fill a glass of water for me. I started to open the bottle of pills, but his fingers plucked it from my grasp when he returned. He shook out two and held both the water and pills out to me. I took them like an obedient child and emptied the glass. My throat felt like I had been lost in the desert for a month and the water felt like an oasis.

It’s been a few weeks since I set the glass down and thought of asking what I both did and didn’t want to know most in the world. “Where’s…” I couldn’t even bring myself to say her name. “…your lady?”

It’s been a few weeks since he answered me so nonchalantly. “Oh, I took her home last night.” He had no idea of the effort it took for me to even form those words. He just raised an arm and waited for me to tuck myself into him, a ritual that had become my favorite. It allowed me to trick myself into believing that this was more than what it actually was. “I knew ya were gonna need me this morning so I tried to tuck in early.” He rubbed my arm up and down. “Turns out I was right.”

It’s been a few weeks since I spent the day lying on my couch being cuddled by Niall. I tried not to think anything of the touching. It had always been this way. When we first met each other, everyone had wondered if we were together. The number of times one of us had to explain that it just wasn’t like that was numerous.

I’d always heard that guys couldn’t be just friends with girls. That it was impossible. Well, Niall here didn’t seem to have a problem being just friends with me.

I guess he was the exception to the rule.

Granted, I have never admitted anything to him. And in the beginning, we were just friends. But then I found myself thinking about him more and more. And not just any little thoughts. Thoughts that you shouldn’t think about your best friend.

I wondered what he looked like right before he kissed.

I wondered what his mouth would taste like. Would it taste of the gum he kept in his pocket or would it have a faint taste of the beer he'd just had?

I’ve imagined so many times the sound of my name leaving his lips in a moan instead of a laugh. I’ve imagined exactly what I would do if he ever saw me as something more.

It’s been a few weeks since I became just the best friend again.

Notes