As the Wind Blows [A Niall Horan Love Story]

Chapter 3

As I drive home from school, Ed Sheeran quietly hums through my car radio. I've always loved his music. It's soft and rhythmic and down right beautiful. 

Before I go home, I decide to stop by Antoinette's to find an outfit for the party after homecoming. I mean, I'm not looking forward to going, but I have nothing new or semi-attractive in my closet. My mom never takes me shopping because she's always busy blowing all her money on booze.

I park in front of the small shop and walk into the store. It's fall, so they have a bunch of seasonal clothes. I go throught the racks to find a shirt that would be appropriate for a highschool party. I dig out a few things... a black crotchet crop top, a sheer white shirt with blue stripes, and a red sweater. I try on all three, liking each one, and buy all of them. I'll figure out which one to wear when I get home.

When I step out onto the sidewalk, I hear a quiet guitar playing down the street. I look to my right and see a figure, dressed in plain blue jeans and a white shirt, sitting on an apartment step, picking at the strings. The tune sounds familiar. Lucky by Jason Mraz? Maybe. A small smile on my face emerges when I see him nodding his head from side to side to the melody.

~~~

Eventually I return home, with a shopping bag in my hand and my backpack slung on one shoulder. When I walk up the path to my house, I hear a car engine stop from behind me. I quickly whip my head around to see the red headed boy from the parking lot. He's parked on the other side of the street. I gaze at him as he fixes his thick, black glasses and smooths his tousled hair. I wonder what he's doing when he gets out of the car. 

I turn my back to him and continue walking up the path to my house, but just as I reach the steps, I hear his voice.

"Hey! Hi! You're Rae, right?" His voice cracks.

I turn back around and face him. "Yeah... you are?"

He walks towards me and reaches out his hand. "Connor Evans" I shake it and give him a small smile. This whole conversation is quite bizzare. Why is he at my house?

"You're probably really freaked out by me right now, but I'm not a stalker, I swear." He gives a nervous laugh. "I live a couple houses down from you... that yellow one, there." He points his finger to a large house with a white porch and a perfectly kept front yard.

I nod. "Oh, well, that's cool. I didn't know."

He scratches the back of his head. "Well, I moved after 9th grade. You were already in the hospital, so you didn't know me. Well, still don't know me." He corrects himself.

I shiver at the thought of being in the hospital. "Yeah, I was in there for a while." I play with the strings on my backpack. "But it's great to meet you, Connor. I appreciate you coming to introduce yourself." I smile at him.

He returns the gesture and perfectly straight, pearly white teeth surround his smile. I'm guessing he had braces... he looks like the type of kid who would.

"Yeah... well, I'll see you around then." He says quickly. He walks back over to his car before stopping in the middle of the street.

"Are you going to homecoming?" He asks hesitantly.

"No... I don't think so." I tell him.

He gives a small nod and heads back into his car before driving down the street and pulling into his driveway. I laugh at the awkward encounter and unlock the door to my house, stepping inside.

"Rae! You're home!" I hear slurred words coming from the kitchen.

Please don't be drunk, please don't be drunk.

I turn the corner and see my mother, dancing around the kitchen, with of course, another bottle of whiskey in her hand.

"Mom! You're drunk again? It's 2:30 in the afternoon on a Wednesday." I set my bag down on the counter and throw my backback into the hallway.

"Wednesdays are fun days!" She tells me, grabbing my hand to dance with her. I pull my hand away from her grasp and scoff. 

"Mom, you need to stop getting drunk. Maybe get a job, so we don't lose our house? Tommy has already dropped out of college to support us. We can't depend on him. You're our mother. You need to start acting like one." I walk over to the refridgerator, but she grabs my shoulder and whips me around to face her.

"Don't talk to me like that, I'm your mother." Her breath smells like alcohol and I recoil at the scent. 

"Yeah, well, you sure don't seem like one." I spit back. Her eyes go wide, and in a matter of seconds she's back handing me. She stumbles back at her violent gesture and I bring my hand to my stinging cheek.

"What the fuck mom?!" I screech at her.

"You talked back to me! You have to respect me! And when you don't, you get the back hand!" She laughs at her drunken words.

"You disgust me! I will never respect you if you go off and waste your life away on whiskey!" I run up the stairs, still holding my hand to my cheek. In this moment I wished Tommy was home.

I slam the door shut and lock it, making sure my wasted birth-giver doesn't try to assault me again. I walk over to the bed and sit down, letting out a large breath. I barely remember the time when she wasn't a drunk. It was a long time ago, back when my father was still alive. He died when I was ten, he was hit by a drunk driver. It's kind of ironic since that's what his widow is now. A drunk.

I look at my mirror and stare at the reflection. My cheek is red, and a shading of purple is starting to form under my left eye. Perfect. 

I fall back down onto my bed and look up at my ceiling. What are people going to think now? They'll know someone hit me, why else would I have a black eye? This sucks... as if people stared at me enough.

I hop up from my bed and head back downstairs to get an ice pack. Hopefully my mother will ignore me while doing so. When I reach the kitchen, she's back as she was this morning. Passed out on the countertop. I take the whiskey from her hand and pour the rest of it down the drain, smashing the bottle in the sink. Before she wakes up from the sound, I reach into the freezer, grab an icepack, and run back up the stairs, grabbing my backpack and bag of clothes on the way.

I spend the rest of the evening in my room, doing my homework and icing my cheek. The black eye is even worse now, and I know that it won't fade away for another week. I throw the ice pack angrily, watching it hit the wall and then falling to the floor. Fuck my alcoholic mother. These are the times I really wished my dad was still alive.