Fearless

I just realized I have no idea where you live…

I bit my lip for a second before sending him a response. Oh, yeah. I’ll just meet you on campus. It’s easier than directing you here.

Okay.

I shoved my phone back into my pocket and started down the street. The world around me was darkening slowly, the streetlights starting to come to life, one by one. Butterflies found homes in my stomach, and I struggled to keep them at bay.

Niall made it as easy as he could to find him, sitting on a bench right next to the main entrance.

When he saw me, he hopped to his feet and wiped his hands on his pants.

Before I could say anything, he nodded toward the path. “Let’s walk,” he insisted, leading the way.

I hurried behind him until I caught up to him, our steps landing on the concrete at the same time. The silence between us, somehow, was comfortable, yet tension-filled at the same time. I knew that I had to fill the quiet, but I wasn’t sure how.

“Niall,” I started, but he shook his head.

“No. I think I want to direct this conversation. If that’s alright with you.”

I nodded, even though he wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were fixed on the ground in front of him, which just made me even more nervous. I was petrified that he was going to make my worst fears a reality.

He took a deep breath before saying, “I don’t know what happened. And I’m not sure I want to know. But what I do understand is that I really like you. I like how easy it is for me to hang out around you, how responsible and quiet you are. I just like you.

“And when you kissed me back on Friday, I figured that you felt the same way. That you liked me. But then you just pushed me away and left.

“Whatever your reasoning behind it, it doesn’t change my mind. I still hate the fact that you act like nothing happened. Because it did. And playing some kind of Alternate Universe Game isn’t going to change that.”

I swallowed and ran a hand through my hair, trying to find the words to say. But nothing came.

“You’re so closed off,” Niall continued once he realized I wasn’t going to be much of a conversationalist. “Let me help you.”

Finally, I found my voice. I turned to him and laughed, a spiteful sound that came from deep down in the hatred I’d buried inside of me.

“Trust me,” I implored, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder, “you do not want to get involved with this.”

He pulled away, letting my arm fall between us. For the first time since I met him, he didn’t look hurt or upset, but angry. Irritated. It didn’t suit him. “Don’t talk down to me like I’m a child,” he snapped. “I’m an adult, same as you. And I’m telling you that whatever secrets you’re keeping, they’re not as massive as you think they are. You’re fine. And I can handle it. We can get through it together.”

And just like that, the dynamite inside of me had been lit. No longer was he Niall, the cute boy who had given me a new nickname, who was sweet and pure to the core. He was just another person trying to invade my privacy.

“Niall, you have no idea. Not everybody comes from a cute little family in the middle of Ireland, where everyone’s happy and joyful all the time. Not everybody has a life full of rainbows and butterflies like you. It’s just now how things work.”

“Hey,” he argued, “my life hasn’t been perfect. Everyone’s got their problems. It’s not just you. The difference is that I don’t let it all get to me. You're supposed to deal with things and move on. You shouldn't let them weigh down on your personality and conscience until you have no happiness left inside of you.”

“Well, I guess you’re just better at coping than I am,” I responded in a harsh, patronizing voice. “But then again, I don’t think you’ve had the struggles I’ve had.”

“Then why don’t you tell someone about them, instead of keeping them all inside of you until you explode?”

Too late. I felt a little burst of emotion inside my stomach and my heart went into overdrive as I screamed, “FINE. You want to know? The truth is that the other night, when you saw Rachel almost getting raped? That’s almost a weekly occurrence with her. She’s an alcoholic, and she loves to go to parties, get drunk off her fucking ass, and she’s too weak to stand up for herself. It’s been that way for fucking years. I had to grow up real fast, because if I hadn’t, she would probably be dead right now.

“I lived with my grandmother because my parents were fucking drug addicts. I almost died when I was born because I went through heroin withdrawal. My dear old mom didn’t even care enough to stop shooting up when she knew she could kill me.

“So I worked so hard to get myself through school, to make it so I could get scholarships to go to college, because I knew I wasn’t going to be able to come here without it.

“And then, to top off the icing on the shit-cake that is my life, we depended entirely on the income that Rachel made from her waitressing job, but she fucked up, and now she just bums around the house all day every day, telling me that she’ll get a new job and that she’ll stay sober, two lies that I am so fucking sick of hearing. And I just want to break down and cry at night because I love her so much, yet I just want to shake her and scream at her until she screws her head on right and realizes how much she’s hurting everyone, not just herself. But I can’t cry because I’m supposed to be the strong one. I’ve always been the strong one.”

Although I started off yelling, by the end, I could feel the agony in my voice. It was just like Niall had said; the pain hurt me way more than I was willing to admit.

Niall stared at me, shaking his head subtly. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Because it was my problem,” I muttered, turning away from him. “I don’t want to burden other people with my problems.”

I didn’t see him come closer to me, but I did notice that he put a finger under my chin to force me to look at him. He put his palm on my cheek and ran his thumb under my eyes. I pretended that he hadn’t collected tears on his fingerprint, that I wasn’t crying for the first time in years in front of a boy I tried to tell myself I barely knew.

He pulled me in close, and I buried my face in his shoulder, just as he had the first time I’d hugged him. His smell was oddly comforting to me, as was the little circles he rubbed on my back.

Once I collected myself, thankfully before I went into full-out sobbing mode, I tried to pull away. But he wouldn’t let go.

“I just want to tell you,” he whispered, stirring the hair around my ear, “that this doesn’t matter to me. I don’t feel any differently about you. And I’m going to help you.”

I forced pulling away from him and wiped off my eyes. I pretended I couldn’t see the wet stain I’d made on his t-shirt. “Niall, I don’t want your charity.”

“It’s not charity, Mocha. It’s called friendship.” He smiled at me. “And now that you don’t have any secrets to keep me away from you, maybe it can develop into a little more.”

I didn’t say it aloud, but there was a strong possibility that I could like that.

And from the look on his face, it looked like he didn’t need any answer, anyway.