RED ROOM [H.S]

7.

Since I was going to die, I decided to spoil myself and use my last paycheck  on ice cream and a bottle of semi expensive wine to drown my sorrows. If I wasn't going to die from Bill, I was sure I was going to have my limbs chopped up by Smurf. I could almost laugh at how bad my fucking life was. I would personally consider this my lowest, but hey, who knows what else could be thrown at me, right? I didn't like to pity myself, but fuck, someone had to do it.

Taking a gulp of the almost empty bottle of wine, I sighed deeply. My eyes hurt from all my crying, and my head was heavy from all the alcohol. I was drunk, by myself, with nothing but the TV blaring to remind myself that I was alive, and this was my shitty reality.

"Fuck you mom and dad," I muttered bitterly to myself as I slouched against my ratty couch. "You couldn't of been normal parents?"

I continued to sip my wine, burping occasionally as I did. "Fuck you Bill, you stupid cocksucker. I'm going to haunt your ass when I die, I hope you know that."

I was going crazy, and I decided that was okay. I continued to spit out fuck yous to random people I hated, leaving an especially long and dramatic one for Smurf, as I don't think I'd ever be able to spit the words out to his face. I felt better by the end of my rant, but maybe that was because I had finished the whole bottle of wine and now felt dizzy. My ice cream sat on the small coffee table in front of my feet, melting slowly because I was too lazy to reach out and eat it. Life blows, I decided. I hated it.

"Universe," I called out, staring up at my water stained ceiling. "God...Buddha...whoever, I don't really care at this point, could even be the devil, just give me a fucking sign that I'm going to be okay."

I waited for a few moments. For a sound. A bird. A plane, a fucking car. But no, nothing came. "Figures," i muttered. "No such thing as a fucking miracle."

And just like that, there was a knock at my door. I blinked a couple of times, just to make sure it wasn't a figment of my imagination. I waited a few more seconds, before a harder knock followed. Guess I should ask for signs more often, I thought to myself.

Scurrying to see what or who was my sign, I ended up tripping over my own two feet. "Fuck sake," I muttered to myself before calling, "coming!"

I grinned, too drunk to look into the peep hole to see who it was, I was just to excited that my sad excuse of a prayer worked, and that a miracle stood on the other side of my front door.

Opening it quickly, my smile dropped as soon as I realized who was standing there.

What the fuck? 

"What the fuck?" I muttered aloud, staring at the person like he had three heads. This was definitely the devils work. Last time I'm ever mentioning him aloud. He has a sick sense of humor.

"I don't know what funnier, the fact that you talk to yourself or the fact that you fell on your way to answer the door," his Irish accent rang in my ear like a bad song, and I couldn't do anything but stare at him like he was a ghost. God, I wish he was. I would of preferred having my dead parents at my door than him and his stupid fucking grin.

"But then again, you look fucking hammered, so I guess that's an excuse," he continued with a shrug.

Logic took a bit longer hit me given that I was somewhat drunk, but as soon as it did, I reached for the door and tried slamming it shut. I was clearly too fucking slow or Niall was just really fucking fast.

"Uh-uh," he said, sticking his foot out and gripping my door. He pushed it open easily, sending me stumbling back into the wall, and walked into my house like he was a welcomed guest.