Empty Space

Niall had never seen anyone more beautiful than the woman who just walked through the door to the pub. He would have thought it was the Guinness affecting his vision, his brain, if it weren’t for his mates letting out low whistles. He turned away before she could catch him staring. He never wanted to be the creep who made women uncomfortable.

His ma would have his arse if he became that kind of man.

But even as he tried to focus on the conversations around him, he could still see the snow that clung to her dark hair, white fat flakes amongst the black. The kiss of red to her cheeks and nose. The subtle shiver as warmth enveloped her. The long legs wrapped in denim under the hem of her jacket. He wished he’d gotten a look at her eyes.

Niall glanced over his shoulder. She was at the bar now, patiently waiting. Volunteering to get the next round was his only choice. Liam frowned and reminded Niall that he had covered the last one, it was Harry’s turn now. Niall only shrugged.

He’d pay all the money in the world for the courage to ask her name.

He slipped into the empty space beside her, and she smiled politely at him before facing the approaching barkeep. She was even more beautiful up close. Her hair must have been dyed - her eyebrows were too light. But still, he struggled to keep his eyes off her. An American accent ordering a Jack and Coke.

He wondered what her full pink-painted lips would taste like under the whisky.

The barkeep turned to him. Niall froze. Why had he come to the bar again? She giggled at his wide-eyed immobility.

Leaning over, she murmured, “I think you were buying your friends more drinks.”

“Yes! Yes, I was. Er, another round.”

The barkeep nodded and walked away. Niall stared at his hands. Had they always been this large? This fumbling? And when had his tongue swelled to the point of inability to speak? His mind blanked out, all thoughts disappearing in the face of this woman. Hazel. Her eyes were hazel.

She thanked the barkeep and picked up her glass. Niall’s breath hitched in his throat when she faced him. God, did she know how gorgeous she was? Then her lips quirked, and she stretched up to whisper in his ear:

“Kennedy. I’m over there if you want to join.”

He watched her walk away. Tossing a few bills onto the bar, he grabbed the tray, deposited it on the table, and his feet carried him to where Kennedy sat in the corner.



Another long swallow, then it’s empty. Niall throws the bottle to the wall. The shattering of glass almost matches the shattering of his heart. How could he have let her go? He never made time for her. She said that so many times, and each time, he promised things would be different. They never changed.

And now all that’s gone. I don’t see you. You’re not in every window I look through. She left and took his heart with him. He’s stuck here on the living room floor, drinking his way through the heartbreak. And I don’t miss you.



Kennedy grinned up at him as they danced across the floor. Niall had no rhythm, was too awkward with her arms around his waist and not wanting to step on her feet. But she’d invited him to her sister’s wedding, so he’d had to become comfortable with holding her so close.

They’d been seeing each other for two months, and still she affected him so viscerally. He woke often in the night begging for her to be by his side.

Her laugh echoed over the music, and his desire overwhelmed his nerves: He leaned forward and kissed her. She gasped against his lips. Just when he thought he’d done the wrong thing, she was kissing him back. Her hands pressed against his lower back, tugging him closer, and he lost himself.

There was no hesitation in her movements. She linked her fingers with his, and he followed where she guided him. The thrill, the unadulterated exhilaration, of hiking her dress up as she sat on the sink counter. Of pulling her thong down her legs. Of feeling her fingers rolling a condom down his length, squeezing lightly. Of sliding into her, rocking into her with the beat of the music he could hear coming from the reception room.

Or maybe it was his heart that was pounding in his ears, guiding his motions. Kennedy’s breaths ghosted along the shell of his ear, her fingers dug into his shoulders, and Niall could scarcely breathe with each whimper that spilled from her lips. Her teeth grazed the skin of his throat, and his hands slipped to her waist.

She cried out when he increased the pace, changed the angle, pushed into her roughly. His hands squeezed her hips, tug her even closer, into each thrust. He lost control, spilling into her with abandon. Kennedy pleaded for him not to stop, and how could he deny her something she wanted like that?

When they returned to the reception, Niall felt as if the guests knew where they’d disappeared to. That they’d fucked in the bathroom while the wedding party gave toasts, while everyone danced and congratulated the happy newlyweds. He would do it again if she asked.



You’re not in every single thing I do. Niall can barely control the thoughts. Each time he closes his eyes, he sees her. That brilliant smile he loves so much. The way her hazel eyes light up with her joy and darken with tears when she sees the commercials for abused animals.

The gorgeous expanse of her skin as she sprawls across their bed after a night of love, golden morning sun landing like a spotlight on the four-leaf clover tattooed on her ass.

“A drunken mistake,” she laughed when he saw it during their first shower together.

The way she exposed her throat so beautiful for his lips, even as they chased shot after shot with more whisky. He loves when she drinks whisky. She’s always affectionate, lovable, but with whisky in her veins, she turns into a hugging machine.

He’s lost her. He will never see her again. She left. It’s all his fault. He should have put in more effort.

He stumbles to the kitchen, throat aching to burn. Anything else to feel than the gaping chasm in his chest, the evidence of all the love he holds for her. Evidence of the way she ripped his heart from his chest when she left.



Kennedy made a place for herself with his mates, in the empty space at Niall’s side. She remembered all the tiny details of their lives - Harry’s troubles with keeping a girlfriend, Louis’s struggles to sell a song, Zayn’s strained relationship with his parents, Liam’s overbearing but well-meaning mum and dad. She made every single one of them feel special.

It had been seven months since she and Niall met in this very pub, when he’d been so blinded by her that he’d forgotten how to speak. When he abandoned the others to spend even five minutes in her presence. That night was still imprinted in his mind: The quiet gasps, the tight hold she had on his hair, the softness of her skin and the heat of her that he dove instead over and over and over again. There was nothing but her that buzzed in his veins.

He craved her from the very first second, and now that he’d had her, he only wanted more.

He hardly believed she chose him. Out of all the other men in the pub - and there had been no shortage of men ogling her that night - she chose Niall to take home. They talked and shared a bottle of wine, and then she’d lead him upstairs to her bedroom. Her bare feet were beacons, pale and guiding him to the place he knew he wanted to belong.



I don’t think we’re meant to be, and you are not the missing piece.

Another knock at the door. Liam’s voice, asking if Niall is okay.

“Please open up, mate. We’re-we’re worried about you.”

Niall throws the bottle toward the door. It doesn’t hit its target, falling uselessly to the carpet, and he slumps over. There’s a hole in his chest. They were supposed to get married in less than two months.



“Are you serious?”

Niall swallowed thickly and nodded. His hands trembled as he held the box up for her inspection. He knew this was stupid. Nine months would never be long enough to know someone, not to the point of proposing marriage.

But then Kennedy was beaming, her chapped lips quivering. He slipped the ring onto her finger and opened his arms. She came without hesitation. Lowering herself to the floor, she pressed shaking hands to his cheeks. Her mouth crashed against his, awkward and uncoordinated and wet with tears but perfect.

“I love you so much,” she whispered against his lips. “I’d love to be your wife.”

“Hell of a Christmas present,” he laughed.

And it was. Their first Christmas together, certainly not their last.

She’d warned him that she took Christmas seriously. She did. The house was decorated as if it was a shopping centre and not a two-room home they were building a life in. She was even wearing a velvet red dress with white fuzzy trim, black tights that sparkled with silver strands, and - inexplicably - an elf-ear headband. She was stunning in her happiness, her love for the holiday and him.

They told everyone immediately. Kennedy couldn’t wait to break the news, to share the gift with their families, and Niall wanted to see that excited grin on her face as long as possible. His ma and Kennedy’s mother and his fiancée herself all set up a group video-chat for the next day so they could begin planning.

Niall thought they should go to Vegas and elope. He wanted her forever. He wanted ‘forever’ to start as soon as possible.

He knew their mothers would have his arse if they did that. Kennedy would have his arse. So he kept the plan to himself.

Anything to make her happy.



I won’t hear it, whenever anybody says your name.

“Niall? Hey, it’s Zoe.” Of course Louis would send his girlfriend. Maybe he thinks catching Niall off-guard will push him off his game. But Niall knows better. “Look, I know you’re hurting right now. We all know how important Kennedy was to you, but you’re scaring us.”

Kennedy. Kennedy. Kennedy. Why can’t she be here? Why can’t she come waltzing through the door as she always has, grinning and bursting with news of her day? Kennedy always makes her days seem so extraordinary, even at their dullest.

And I won’t feel it, even when I’m burstin’ into flames. He can feel her soft hair in his hands. Her fingers slotting into the empty space between his. The thundering of his heart as he watches her dress for the day, dress for their date, dress for dinner with their parents. The warmth that spreads through him when he remembers they love each other enough for marriage. For forever.

Kennedy.

He pushed her away. He didn’t show her how important she was to him. He had his music, getting his foot through the door to the business. Louis was successful, so Niall thought he could be, too.

Kennedy supported him. Of course she had. She’d been perfect through it all. But he couldn’t give her what she needed. And now, she’s gone.

He can barely think her name. Kennedy.



She sighed, head resting on her hand. Her fork scraped against the plate. Normally, the sound would bother Niall. But his attention was solely on the guitar in his hands. The scratch of string beneath his fingertips, the rich notes that came from the instrument.

He was happier in this moment than he had ever been.

His first song was sold, and now, he needed to write another hit. It was a dream come true. Music had always been one of his main passions, especially since his knees made football impossible. Now he was chasing that dream.

He couldn’t be happier.

“I’m going to bed.”

“Okay, love. I’ll be there in just a minute.”

That minute stretched to nearly five in the morning. Kennedy was waking for her day when he was finally ending his. He reached for her hand, grinned at the ring on her finger - the one he put there five months ago. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, but he figured it was the early hour that cast the shadows.

“I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

She tugged her hand from his and left the room. Niall fell asleep.



I’m alone in my head, looking for love in a stranger’s bed. He hates this, hates the feeling of another woman under his body. He hates that she doesn’t sound like Kennedy, she doesn’t feel like Kennedy. She doesn’t taste like Kennedy. Still he fucks her, if only to forget Kennedy at least for a minute.

It doesn’t work. He tries his best, she tries her best, but he can’t forget the noises Kennedy makes. He kisses her - the woman crying out with each thrust, the one who isn’t the love of his life - and wants to vomit up the whisky they’d drank. The tequila. The unfamiliar taste on his tongue as she clenches around him and he spills into her.

But I don’t think I’ll find it. He stumbles out of her flat long after she falls asleep. Kennedy’s face flashes in his mind, and he nearly trips over his feet as he throws up on the pavement.

’Cause only you could fill this empty space.



“I’m sick of playing second fiddle, Niall!”

He slammed the cupboard door shut, breathing harshly. “What do you want me to do, Ken? Really? Give up my music just so you can be happy? Because I have to say, that’s selfish.”

“I’m selfish? You really wanna call me the selfish one?” Kennedy’s voice wobbled, but she pushed on. “How about the fact that we’ve barely slept in the same bed since about a month after you proposed? Or the fact that all of your time is spent on your music while I work two jobs to support us.”

“We’ve slept -” He didn’t look at her. Seeing the anger on her face would only anger him more. What he was doing was important. Why couldn’t she just see that? All he needed was time.

“No. We’ve fucked. We’ve had sex whenever you managed to find five damn minutes to shove your dick into me. That isn’t love, Niall. It’s you needing to satisfy your own needs. That’s selfish.”

“Like you haven’t done the same to me?”

Kennedy scoffed. The chair scraped against the wood floor. Niall didn’t turn around even as her footsteps neared the door.

“Even when I was tired, Niall? I still sucked your dick. I’ve given you as much passion as I possibly could. I haven’t felt your mouth on me in months.” She sighed, and he could hear the heartbreak in her voice when she said, “I’m staying with Zoe tonight.”



I wanna tell all my friends, but I don’t think they would understand. His mates have stopped coming by. He doesn’t even know how to tell them what’s going on. He doesn’t care, anyway. Without Kennedy, what does he have?

Nothing. His love for her has been all-consuming for the last twenty-three months. Then she left, and now he wonders why he ever thought his music held a candle to her.

I’ve been drinking. I’ve been doin’ things I shouldn’t do. He sniffs, scrubbing at his nose, and leans back against the couch. The world swims around him, but he isn’t sure what’s causing it. It could be the stash of liquor he’s steadily consumed after the last three weeks, or the cocaine, or the slashes in his wrists. He isn’t sure. He doesn’t care.

Red pools around him, mixes with powder and whisky alike, but he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t even want to live anymore, but taking his own life is far too much effort. When his head is spinning like this and his thoughts have gone fuzzy. He can’t feel his body.

He can’t breathe without smelling Kennedy’s perfume.

Can’t swallow down the Jack without tasting her lips, her skin, her body.

Can’t hear the neighbours without hearing her whimpers, the way she breathes his name in his ear as she falls over the ledge. Hoping, trusting him, to catch her.

Kennedy isn’t here. Overthinking. I don’t know who I am without you. Why should he give a damn about anything without her?



That first argument grew to more. Anger and resentment from both of them, and Niall wasn’t surprised when she stopped coming home. Days at a time, he spent alone with only his guitar, writing songs that spoke of love and commitment and the fiery passion of ‘forever’. He wasn’t sure when it stopped feeling like that for him.

He wondered why Kennedy didn’t care enough to stay by his side. Just until he got more established as a songwriter, that’s all he was asking for. Niall only needed some time. Then he could show her how amazing she was. How much he loved her.

They would be able to take some time just for themselves. Be in love and married and just… be NiallandKennedy instead of Niall and Kennedy. She would be Kennedy Alexandra Horan - or, if she wanted, Kennedy Alexandra Rose-Horan. Hell, he would even take her last name if she asked. Niall James Rose sounded pretty awesome.

The machine beeped, then Kennedy’s voice came through the speaker:

“Look, Niall… I tried. Okay? I tried so goddamn hard to make us work. But you, you didn’t put in that same effort, and I can’t keep doing this. I can’t. I love you so much, but I deserve better than that. Unless you can change, unless you can make me important to you again, then I think we’re done. I’m sorry. I’ll be coming by later for my stuff.”

He gaped, fingers still on the guitar for the first time since she left a week ago. How had it been a week already? With a sigh, he set the guitar aside and leaned back on the couch. Maybe they could work this out. Maybe he could change her mind.

It took no thought at all: He rushed out of the house to buy the fanciest bottle of wine - the kind they rarely splurged on. She was right. Working two jobs wasn’t enough to support them. He cooked a romantic meal, something that screamed how sorry he was. He even bought a dozen of daisies. Her favourite flower.

Kennedy came in, guided her sister up the stairs, and they left thirty minutes later with her life boxed up. Neither of them looked at Niall, but he watched her closely. Her face was a mask, something he never thought he’d see.

She was always so open. She could never hide her emotions. Now, though, now Niall couldn’t read her, and it terrified him.



I couldn’t make you love me. His stomach cramps, the first sensation that isn’t caused by the drugs or the alcohol or even the self-harm that has numbed the pain. Niall can’t remember the last time he ate. The last time his stomach was full of something other than bile and whisky.

The empty space of their bed seems so large. So cold. He stretches out a hand and stares without seeing the blood that stains the sheets. I couldn’t make you love me.



Niall called her a few weeks after she left. She’d answered, to his surprise. Even more shocking was that she agreed to dinner. It took him almost an hour to swear that he’d changed. He was willing to put in the work that a relationship required. She swore it would be one last chance. If he hadn’t changed, he would lose her for good.

It was pleasant. Her laugh was the same, if more guarded. Her smile was beautiful. He was as in love with her as he was that first night in the pub. She’d even kissed him on the pavement outside the restaurant, and it was everything he remembered. It was what he missed. It tasted like home and freedom and being bound to her for the rest of his life.

Bright lights. Screaming. Glass. Voices. He squeezed his eyes closed as tightly as possible, but the pain didn’t fade. Voices.

Then…

Niall heard the pitiful whimper. Gasping, he searched through the blood in his eyes to find Kennedy’s face. She was too pale, lips parted and painted red. Her lipstick was peach. He tried to reach for her, to grab her hand and keep her with him. His fingers fumbled for her hand.

It was too late.

It was too late, and it was his fault.

It was too late.



‘Cause only you could fill this empty space.

Niall stares at the notepad in front of him. He hasn’t been this clear-minded, this sober, since Kennedy died. Since he killed her in the wreck. It had been an accident, but it was still his fault. He was the one driving, and he was the one that brought on Kennedy’s death. He should have paid better attention to the road. To traffic. To whatever it was that caused the wreck.

Anything but the joy of having her back. She was wearing the ring again.

The lyrics hurt him, almost as much as losing Kennedy does. But he needed to get them out. It’s been four months.

His mates had barged into the house a week ago, and he’d tried to fight them. Tried to stop them from dumping out the liquor and flushing the cocaine down the toilet, the pills in the garbage disposal. From disposing of the needles and razors that had become his best friend since he lost Kennedy. His best friend and soon-to-be wife who will never take his name.

Zoe had disinfected his wrists, bandaged them, and made him swear to talk to her if he felt like harming himself again. He sobbed on her shoulder. Harry was the first to plaster himself against Niall’s back, then all five of them were falling into a pile of sprawled limbs. That was the first time he felt like he’d be okay.

Now, even through the agony that drove him to write Empty Space. he feels like things might be okay. He will always miss Kennedy. She will always be the puzzle piece that is lost into the void. But...

Niall thinks he’ll be okay. He can learn to live with the empty space.