HANNAH’S P.O.V.


Once we’re driving away from the hospital, Niall’s expression only grows harder. He hasn’t spoken to me or acknowledged me since he talked to Allie’s sister and it honestly has me extremely worried. What could she have said?

“Niall-“

He immediately interrupts me, “Please, Hannah. We’ll talk when we get there. I’m just-“

He stops mid-sentence and doesn’t bother to continue, sighing deeply instead.

I nod, pretending to understand his dilemma. I fiddle with my phone in my lap, watching out the window at the fields and pastures we pass.

After a few more seconds of disappointing silence, Niall surprises me by reaching over and gathering my hand in his. He quickly brings the back of my hand to his lips and kisses it briefly, before resting our intertwined fingers in his lap. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out with no further explanation.

I nod again, this time sympathetically, as I squeeze his hand assuringly.

Truth be told, I’m not aware of many details of his past, but I do know enough to understand why it’s difficult for him to even be in his hometown, let alone because of an emergency.
I don’t say anything, nor do I question him, because I know that the timing is bad. I can’t help but to let my mind wander, though. Niall was devastated before we got to the hospital, but nothing compared to how he was after he spoke to Allie’s sister. What could she have said?

Niall turns the van down a rocky dirt road, lush trees covering either side, and I get an eerie feeling. The pathway is overgrown, but the stones sunken into the earth appear to have at one time, led to a manicured yard.

Niall still doesn’t say anything; but, as we pull up to an empty stone house, the silence almost becomes even quieter.

I swallow thickly as I take in the vines overtaking the cottage. It’s hard to believe that it’s only been abandoned for a fairly short period of time when it looks like it’s been empty far longer than Niall or I have been alive.

There’s so much I want to say, so much I want to ask; but, instead I hold back like I know I have to. He’ll explain everything in his own time; or he won’t, but either way, it’s up to him.

He parks the car to the right of the front door. There’s another car parked there, hidden by a protectant cover, so I can’t see what it is. The general feel of the entire yard is just depressing.
“I hate to ask you this, Hannah, especially after everything you’ve done already,” my heart races when he speaks because it’s so unexpected, “but, is there any way I could have a moment in there alone?”

I let out a breath that I didn’t realize I had been holding and nod quickly, reaching over and brushing my thumb lightly against his cheek, “Of course. Take as long as you need.”
He nods, mostly to himself and mumbles a “thank you” quickly before opening the door and ducking out, leaving the keys in the car with me.

I breathe deeply as I watch him walk up to the porch so slowly that it’s giving me anxiety. He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and fumbles through it for a moment. He pulls out a key and shakily brings it to the doorknob. He stops abruptly, leaning forward so that his head is resting on the small faded red door. The moment seems so personal that I tell myself to look away and focus on something else; only, I can’t help but to watch with caution, hoping deep down that he’s alright.
Or, at least, that he will be.

He turns the key and opens the door swiftly, shutting it behind him just as hastily. I sit back in my seat, reclining the chair just a bit. I don’t know how long he’ll be, but I’m starting to grow tired and if it’s a while, a nap wouldn’t hurt.

That’s wishful thinking, though, because the second he disappears behind that door, my mind races a mile a minute.

Is he sad? Is he angry? Is he nostalgic? Is he hurt?

I’m sure he’s really a mixture of all four; but, that’s what scares me. If he’s sad, angry, nostalgic, and hurt, then god knows what damage he could do.

I sit patiently (not really) for about twenty minutes until my anxiety gets the best of me and I hesitantly take the keys from the ignition, worried as to what I’ll find when I go inside the house from Niall’s past.


NIALL’S P.O.V.


God, I’m so fucked.

The second I open the door to my childhood home, memories rush back a hundred times harder than I could have possibly imagined.

I close my eyes as I shut the door behind me and I swear I can still smell my mum’s perfume lingering near the staircase. Every time her and dad went out when I was very little, her perfume filled the house the entire time they were gone. It was always a reminder, whether I cared to pay attention to it or not; a reminder that even though I’d be sleeping when she came home, I would wake up to the smell of her coffee the next morning, along with a plate of waffles and bacon. It’s crazy when I think of it now; the trouble she went through to make things seem okay to me and Greg. Surely, she never slept well after a night out with my drunk dad; but, you’d never know because she was always present and smiling.

I step forward and trace my fingertips along the banister, feeling the dust latch to the ridges in my skin immediately. The familiarity of the wood brings back memories, though. From the time I was little, I would run down these stairs as fast as my legs would allow, and grip the end, where the railing curled, and jump down, swinging on the post.

I didn’t even have to look where I was walking on those stairs; they were just second nature.

I passed the stairs, heading toward the living room where only one couch remained. There were two, but I suppose Ali has the other at her sister’s house. We tried to get as much furniture out so it could be put to good use. Dad has no clue, though, and if he ever get’s out of the clinic, I’ll have to hunt down every last piece we got rid of, so that he doesn’t freak out.
I chuckle when I see the now ancient gaming system sitting in front of the telly, covered in dust and unplugged from the wall. It’s depressing to see the items we used so often collecting dust and becoming useless.

Still, if I close my eyes, I can see it like it was; like it should be.

I pass by the kitchen, peeking in at mum’s appliances. Her cookbooks line the shelf above the stove, just like before.

I pass by the music room, trying to pretend it isn’t there. I can’t bear that quite yet.

Next, I approach the back door, staring blankly through the half-opened curtains at the large backyard I made so many memories in; mostly with mum and Greg. I feel my eyes filling with hot, burning tears and I bring my hand to cover my mouth as I choke them back.

I open the glass door and take a tentative step outside; but, I can’t bring myself to go any further, so I just sit on the doorstep, elbows on my knees and head held between my shoulders.

I can hear the crickets, and when I look up, the sun is starting to go down.

Our yard is still illuminated, though, and I gaze at the old rickety playground, and the rotting football goals, overgrown with weeds.

I remember mum teaching me how to play footie. Her and I were out here, kicking the ball around when I was six. Dad taught Greg, because dad wasn’t the same when Greg was small; but, mum taught me and it was something I always loved bragging about. I’d tell the kids at school, “Yeah, me mum taught me footie and she’s better than all of you and your dads combined.”

That got a right laugh every time; but, it was true, even if they never believed me. It didn’t matter, because of my mum either way.

I sit silently and reach into my back pocket, pulling out a half-empty pack of cigarettes, retrieving the lighter and a fag. I bring the cigarette to my lips and feel my face grow hot, more reminders of my mother flooding back to me.

I bring the lighter to the shaky cigarette in my mouth, lighting it after a few unsuccessful tries due to the wind.

I take a deep breath and hold the smoke deep in my lungs as I begin to remember some of the
not-so-great times; the worst times.

“Hey, I’m not intruding, am I?”

I turn abruptly to find Hannah peeking from around the wall. I grin weakly and shake my head, “C’mere, babe.”

I pat my hands on my thighs and Hannah climbs around me through the door, sitting carefully on my lap. I wrap one arm tightly around her waist and hold my cigarette out to the other side so it’s not right in her face.

“Penny for your thoughts?” She snakes an arm around my neck and rests her forehead against mine.

I take another drag of nicotine, blowing it as far out into the yard as I can, “I don’t know, Hannah. I’m just... contemplating shit I haven’t thought about in years. Everything-“ I swallow thickly, tears prickling my eyes, “Everything hurts.”

She coos and runs her fingers gently through my hair, her expression mirroring my sadness, riddled with concern, “Tell me what it is, Ni. I promise I can handle it.”

I chuckle weakly as my cheeks dampen a bit, “I don’t know why I’m about to tell you this,” I take one last puff of smoke and stomp out the cigarette when it’s only half gone, “but, I will.”

She pecks my cheek as I rest my now free hand on her thigh, “I remember the day me mum told me she was sick. I got home from school on a Friday, and we were meant to go see our grandma in Drogheda. Believe it or not, I was thrilled; I loved going to visit her. Anyway, I got home a little early and I walked into a full-blown fight between me parents. Greg was at work or something- I can’t remember- but, dad stormed out, heading to god knows where, leaving me to tend to mum, who was beside herself crying. When I finally convinced her to sit with me and talk, she got real serious, more serious than I had ever seen her. She said, ‘Niall, you know I love you, even if I don’t say it often enough, right?’ I told her that of course I knew that and it was quiet for a while. Then, she made some tea and started humming this song I had just started playing. It was Tchaikovsky’s ‘Black Swan’ from Swan Lake and it was one of her favorites. It’s quite beautiful, really,” I sigh in memory, wondering if I would even be able to play it now, “Anyway, I could tell something was wrong by the way she disregarded the fight and the way she spoke so seriously. Finally, I begged her to tell me what was wrong and she just sighed and told me, ‘If you play me that song, I’ll tell you everything, my sweet boy.’ So, I did, of course. I played it clearly and so precisely just for her. She sat in the music room, sipping her tea with her eyes closed, immersing herself in the music like she always did. By the time I was nearing the end of the piece, I was so anxious to know what was going on. I finished and sat quietly with my hands in my lap, patiently awaiting her explanation.”

I really begin to cry as I think back on the vivid memory, “She sat next to me on the bench, her fingers grazing the keys distantly. That’s when she told me. She just said it, ‘Niall, I have cancer.’ She just acted like it was typical news for a Friday afternoon and began to play another song; I couldn’t tell you what it was, because I was too far gone in my own thoughts to pay attention. She played absentmindedly and without another word, I stood up and left the room. She never stopped playing; she didn’t call after me. I started running once I walked out the front door. I ran until I reached this pond a few kilometers down. I stayed there until it was dark out and I grew cold. I walked home, kicking stones and crying, I couldn’t stop crying, Hannah. I felt like I had no one. Mum wasn’t even dead yet, and I felt alone and useless. I was so cold to her after that. God, I was awful. I started smoking, drinking, having sex; I basically did anything that I thought could possibly get someone’s attention. I was such a fucking idiot. She cared so much; she just couldn’t control me once I let everything go. Greg was going through his own form of rebellion and dad was up to his usual shenanigans, only worse with the pills and all. I probably killed her, Hannah. Sure, she was dying, but I didn’t help. What if I killed her faster? What if-“

“Shh... Niall, please don’t say that,” Hannah cradles my head against her chest, crying along with me as I sob shamefully and uncontrollably. It’s too overwhelming being here, just like I knew it would be.

Hannah and I don’t say anything for a while. I just cry, holding her in my arms, and wishing that things could be different; wishing mum was still here. She’ll never meet Hannah; she’ll never meet the man I’ve become.

“Niall, I have an idea,” Hannah whispers after a while, as the crickets grow louder and the stars begin to appear.

I rest my head on her shoulder and hum, “What is it?”

“I know it’s intimidating, but I think I know of a way to make you feel better, more at peace,” she’s saying it vaguely, obviously stepping around my toes so as to not press any buttons.

I glance at her, my eyes red and dried out, until she continues, “I think you should play her song; the one she loved so much.”

I gulp and begin to protest, but Hannah places a finger on my lips, “Just once more. Play it for her one more time.”

I breathe shakily and nod before I can really think about it. It’s the least I can do.

For mum.

Notes

Hiiii Sorry it's a sad update... lol

For those of you who would like to listen, the piece from Swan Lake that I'm thinking of is the Black Swan Pas de Deux (a pas de deux is a part of a ballet that is danced by two people) and it's really beautiful, so maybe listen if you like classical music! --->https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CDEhjOMrirA


Well, please comment and all that, please. I'd love your feedback on the progress of this story <3 I need sleep... lol. Goodnight all! Thanks so much for your patience (since i'm always terrible at updating... I'll try to be quicker this time!)