Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Niall wasn’t sure what he had expected by coming home.

Sure, his mum had been happy to see him. That was her job, to care for her son. But, Niall Horan was such a disappointment that he could almost see through it all. He noticed the way she not-so-subtly used her body to block the wine cabinet from his view. Her eyes basically screamed ‘you should have given me some warning so I could have properly hidden all the alcohol in the house, you pathetic drunk’.

But, Niall was just seeing and hearing the things he wanted to. His mum had hugged him tightly, kissing his cheeks with teary eyes. She had missed him desperately but knew rehab was best. Niall looked at himself through a broken mirror. He saw disgust and disappointment in everyone’s eyes because it was all he felt. He was twenty years old and a drunken has-been. Four years ago he never would have pictured his life ending up like this. Not when he had been on the top of the world with this best mates.

And it was moments like these when burning anger ripped through him, and he pictured Harry’s broken nose. He remembered Liam patting his back, whispering lies about how things were going to be okay.

Everything was most certainly not okay. Six months in rehab and his so-called brothers hadn’t called or stopped by once to see if he was okay. They had allowed Niall’s habit to go on that far, they had allowed their best mate to fall apart.

Niall shook his bitter head. He didn’t want to think about the past. That would make him relapse and Niall didn’t think he could survive seeing Doc Roger’s smug ‘I told you so’ face when he came back.

Instead, Niall gripped his old guitar tightly in his hand. It was the first one he’d ever received, the one that he learned to play on, the one that started his passion. The wood was worn and the strings were about to burst, but Niall could never bring himself to throw it away. Even after almost ten years of ownership.

“The Eagles?” A mild feminine voice questioned from the open doorway. “Good taste.”

Niall’s dull blue eyes swerved to the door. A petite, mousy brunette was leaning against the door with her arms folded. Her long hair was braided lazily to the side and a beanie sat atop her head. Her dark grey eyes watched him lightly.

“Miss. Gallagher, I presume?” Niall asked, not moving from his spot on his twin-sized bed. She didn’t look nearly as angry and old as Niall pictured her. In fact, she looked quite young. She couldn’t have been much older than him.

“Kinsington Gallagher.” She answered, keeping her distance, as if she knew he didn’t feel like touching or talking.

Niall couldn’t help but snicker at her strange name. “What a mouthful.”

“My mum had a folksy sense of humor.” She cracked a small smile that showed the tiny gap between her front teeth. “Call me Kinsey, though. Or I’ll kick your arse.”

Niall furrowed his darken brows lightly before deciding to laugh. A playful smirk covered his companion’s face. But, the laughter quickly faded once Niall remembered why Kinsington Gallagher was in his presence at all. “You look awfully young to be making sure I don’t fly off the deep end, love.”

“I’m twenty-three.” She shuffled closer towards him, sitting at his old, dusty computer desk. “How old are you, Mr. Horan?”

Niall grimaced at the formality. “Don’t you already know everything there is to know about me?”

“Because you were in One Direction or because I was assigned to your case?” Kinsey asked nonchalantly. There was something about Kinsey’s presence that irritated and calmed him at once and he wasn’t sure how that was possible.

“Both, I guess.” He answered coldly. That last thing he wanted to talk about was his old band, his so-called friends.

“I was a fan.” She shrugged, glancing around his room curiously. Niall felt slightly self-conscious. He didn’t want anyone in his childhood room, dissecting him to pieces by his choices of posters and comforter. “But, your case file can tell me so much more than an interview about your ideal girl or celebrity crush.”

Niall felt his cheeks heat up, embarrassment filled him.

“Why’d you come back here, Mr. Horan?” Kinsey questioned lightly, crossing her legs.

“Why don’t you try spending six months in rehab and not feel sentimental.” Niall answered coldly.

“Fair enough.” She rose abruptly. “Would you like to stay here a few days, or accompany me back to London?”

Niall pursed his lips, staring back at the grey, cold window. Mullingar didn’t feel like home anymore. But, neither did London. Both places held dark memories that Niall would not soon forget.

But, there were fewer taverns in London (albeit there were many bars and clubs there, but it wasn’t the drinking capital of the world, and the people he cared most for wouldn’t be looking on at him with pity, unable to invite him anywhere because alcohol was such a big part of their culture). So, Niall copied Kinsey and picked his flat cap back up, placing it on his dark brown hair. “There’s nothing left for me here.” He spoke quietly.

Kinsey nodded solemnly. “Let’s go to back to London, Mr. Horan.”