❝All of my life, it's been heartbreak weather
Thinking to myself it won't get better
It can be so lonely in this city
But it feels different when you're with me❞
***
Where Béatrice Lange meets Niall Horan at a club and brings the sunshine back into...
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Sometime during the night the moon fell and the sun rose, my bedroom growing lighter and lighter with each passing minute. My gaze still lingers on the plainness of my ceiling, my body still is the same position it has been for many hours now. My puffy eyes sting with every involuntary blink, and there's no doubt in my mind that they're bloodshot.
The birds began to sing not too long ago, indicating the start of a new day. Their songs are hopeful and full of cheer, happening to be the exact opposite of how I'm feeling. Unable to escape their melodies, I find myself forgetting about everything for a few moments. The sweet songs blocking all of my thoughts from my mind, filling it with a feeling of bliss. But then, I get dragged back to reality.
My mistakes haunt my body, mind, and soul. My damp cheeks and sinking feeling in my stomach serve as a reminder of what happened only a few hours ago.
The smell of fresh coffee wafts into my room from the kitchen downstairs. The smell alone is almost nauseating, despite the fact that I usually enjoy having a cuppa each morning. To me, fresh coffee means the start of a new day. But what happens when you're not ready to face a new day?
If the pungent smell of coffee throughout the house wasn't already enough of a sign that my mother was awake, the fact that it was at least five degrees cooler downstairs was. Almost all the windows and the garden door are already open, letting in the chilled morning breeze. Mum always has the windows open, with the exception of the late autumn and winter months.
Mum stood against the counter wearing her fuzzy pink bathrobe and matching slippers I had gotten her for her birthday years ago. She held her coffee much, taking small sips while looking out the window at the garden.
The old wooden floor creaks as I pass through the doorway to the kitchen.
"Goodness, child!" Mum gasps, "You look like you've been up all night."
"I have been." I admit.
"Were you talking to Niall?" She asks, her voice full of cheer.
My heart sinks at the mention of his name. It takes everything in me to keep my emotions intact.
Mum is instantly at my side, "Béatice? What happened?"
That statement alone is enough to open the floodgates.
I've always felt super strange crying in front of my parents, well at least once I was older I did. This is no exception. Whenever I cry in front of Mum, she always tries to comfort me, which isn't really what I want. I've always been one to suffer in silence per se.
Rule #1 of being around someone who is upset: Don't ask what's wrong.
Mum ushers me out of the kitchen and into the living room, lightly tugging me by my arm. I plop down on my usual spot on the couch, while she sits in her arm chair.
"B, tell me what's wrong?" She speaks softly, and I can tell it's taking everything in her not to come comfort me.
I don't want to say it. Please don't make me say it.
