Through the Dark

In Julia's Perspective

It has been, indeed, such a day. Besides the fact that I might have accidentally stolen some famous person’s belonging, we also came home to a bunch of middle-aged women. Friends of Mom, I’d assumed. They were making quite a ruckus inside the kitchen while playing poker. On the other hand, my Mother wasted no time and joined her ladies shortly. While Val and I were stuck taking care of her wedding gown. Honestly, this whole thing’s already starting to drive me nuts and we were still just at the beginning.

After everything has been done, I crash into my bed room and Val followed shortly. With a tub of ice cream in hand, she begins nagging me about the inadvertently stolen phone. I tell her that I intend to call my number to reach him with hopes that the guy doesn’t press charges on me, right after a nice warm shower. Obviously, I was trying too hard to stall myself from facing the consequences of my actions. “Why would he press charges on you?” Val asked with furrowed eyebrows.

In my defence, I tell her, “He might assume that I bumped into him on purpose just to get my hands on his phone.” to which she just snorted at. Rude.

“Oh please! Did you forget that he has your phone on the other hand?” she argued.

And I fall into silence, because he did have it. But it’s not like he would actually attempt to mess with it. A small hint of anxiety filled my head when I’d realised that the code to my phone was changed to 1111, and literally anyone could just take a wild guess and voila! But it’s also not like he would see anything there that would actually catch his attention. Nevertheless, I found myself dialling my own number through his phone right away, with hopes that he would answer calmly.

The first call was a bust and no one answered. My hands were shaking and I was basically all over my bed room, pacing back and forth. Val just sat there and watched me with amusement, like this was a fucking joke to her. “You do it, Val.” I commanded, throwing her the small slab of metal.
“Uhm, no. You’re the one who took it, you should be the one to return It.” she replied simply, throwing the phone right back at me.

So I try again, this time I was crossing my fingers so hard it felt like they were about to break. But the ringing stopped and I realised he’d answered it. Don’t fucking freak out, my subconscious reminded me.

“Hello?” a voice came through the other line. It was him. The thick Irish accent was too familiar.

My stuttering commenced. “H-hi, look I-I’m sorry to bother y-you. B-but I was t-the girl who bumped into y-you earlier. And I-I kinda took your p-phone by mistake and uhm…I’m really sorry. I don’t know h-how to get it back t-to you, so… ”

Silence.

“Oh…yeh, s’alright! Really. I do have your phone though.” He said, reassuringly (stating the obvious). And it instantly felt like the boulder crushing my insides was finally lifted. “So, is it okay if we can just meet someplace so we can give each other’s phone back? Or…” his voice trailed off. And I kind of assumed that that was my cue to speak.

It never occurred to me that talking to some people could get this hard. Nonetheless, I reply. “Oh…well, I kind of thought about just mailing it to you. You know, t-that way i-t would be m-more convenient.” That sounded just about right.

And I was a hundred percent sure that he was going to agree, for a busy person that he is, he had to. Until he answered me with, “…Right, right. That would work too, although I wouldn’t mind heading out to see you. It’d be really nice to thank you personally too.”

Oh, my god what the fuck. By then, all thoughts had fled my mind. There was no reasoning my way out of it since it seemed like he was insisting that we meet. But maybe I was just overanalysing everything, maybe he’s only being polite. And the thing is that, I didn’t really mind getting his stuff to him personally as well. What worried me is the fact that this whole thing, and my clumsiness, was causing him such inconvenience. “Are y-you sure? I mean, you’re p-probably busy.” I stated, sounding like a total loser. Way to go, lame-o.

After guaranteeing me that it was truly alright, for about five times, it was then decided that we meet as soon as possible. Or at least that’s what he said. And by ‘as soon as possible’, Niall meant tomorrow. He really was a rather excited person. We both agreed that he just swing by around the neighbourhood to lessen the odds of attracting an unwanted audience. After asking for my name, which I completely managed to stutter out, I then told him our address. And we said our goodbyes.
I paced around my room all night with Val laughing her ass off at me. She honestly looked like a retarded seal, which I congratulated her for and earned myself a good slap on the arm. “Well, good luck on your date tomorrow though.” She teased.

I throw a pillow at her, but she dodged it quickly. “Shut up, it’s not a date!” I retorted.
“Hmm...He certainly made it sound like one, with all that persuading he did.” She stated, once again speaking truer words. Although it was completely unnecessary, I couldn’t deny the fact that Niall did wheedle me into seeing him, which was something I’d expected from someone famous and could get any amount of ass he wanted. Although it’s not like I had any ass to offer him.
In any case, I think I might have to down around four bottles of energy drink in order to not freak out the living bejesus out of Niall Horan. I could only wish myself the best of luck.

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For a person who’s trying to function properly with only three hours of sleep, Val should be proud to know that I have managed to dress up well, even if she did have to give me a 10-minute lecture about giving first impressions. And to which I had argued with, “I don’t need to impress him!” she only rolled her eyes and ushered me downstairs quickly.

Mom was already beginning the day with her special waffles with whipped cream and little bits of fruits on top. I wasn’t one who liked eating too healthily, but the meal was just perfect. It’s funny how Val was more anxious than I was with regards to Niall Horan. “Why don’t you meet up with him instead?” I whisper to her and snickered.

She elbowed my ribs, really hard and almost made me fall off the high chair. Her laugh echoed around the kitchen walls, but were soon cut off by the sound of the car beeping from outside. “Oh…shit.” Val teased, a mischievous grin had creeped up on her face.

“Julia, can you get that honey?” Mom requested, innocent from all our shenanigans.

I exited the kitchen with my palms sweating profusely and with discomfort. The last time I’ve felt like this was way back in 3rd grade. Our adviser made me play the role of Wendy in Peter Pan and despite the fact that I did nail the part quite right, I still vomited at the backstage—all over the props, after the show. Somehow I couldn’t but feel like that was about to happen again, except this time there would be no backstage at all.

As soon as the door clicked open and a black Range Rover appeared up front, my feet felt like it was glued to the ground. A voice in my head was telling me to go on, because he was probably feeling either shy or terrified that he’ll be seen by someone. ‘He might be just as anxious as you are, Jules.’ I thought to myself. And somehow, that helped. Because the next thing I knew, his window was rolling down. Then it felt like the heavens opened up its gates when his face came into my peripheral vision. He was wearing a plain white shirt and a jet black letterman over it. I’d assumed his pants were the same colour as his thousand-dollar jacket. A pair of ray-bans hung on the neckline of his shirt. It was safe to say that if looks could kill, I would probably be lying lifeless on the street by now.

“Hi.” he simply said.

And I swear to the heavens that it took me about five seconds to reply to his simple greeting. “H-hello” was all I could muster up. What a loser. Honestly, it would just be some huge bullshit if I said that I’m not impressed by how Niall Horan carries himself, because I really am. He was someone trained, taught and practiced to make the most perfect impressions on people. He was also someone who you shouldn’t mess around with.

He offered me smile and unlocked the passenger door. “Get in.” he said, which sounded more like a command rather than an invitation.

Of course, I complied. The atmosphere was filled with silence that had awkwardness painted all over it, or maybe I was the only one feeling so. “Uhm…here’s your phone?” my statement sounded more like question, and I had to mentally slap myself for being so incapable of holding up a normal conversation.

Niall took his phone from my hand and replaced it with mine. I couldn’t help but smile at the fact the he had covered it with a Mickey Mouse Band-Aid at the back. “It kind of cracked when you dropped your phone at mall yesterday, so uh—I tried to fix It.” he said. And I almost strangle my own damn neck for giggling like a tramp or something.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Thanks though, but you didn’t really have to.” I replied, internally congratulating myself for finally sounding casual.

When he cleared his throat and rested his hands on the steering, I thought it was a notion to leave. So I reached for the door but he spoke again and indeed seemed surprised. “I, uh, I was wondering if we could grab some breakfast?”

Shit. If I say yes, then we would probably end up as the news headline tomorrow. If I say no, then I would probably give him a rude impression. As much as I hate being impolite, I also didn’t have any more room for death threats from 12 year-olds. But then again, we could always lie about it. He could just say that I’m a cousin, twice removed. So despite the anxiety that was creeping up my throat, I agreed to go out and have breakfast with Niall Horan.