Trouble. (niall horan au)

chapter 10 - drunken confessions

"Did you know," Niall stated factually, "That a person needs human contact at least seven times a week to remain mentally healthy."

I was laying upside down on Zayn's cracked leather couch, my head hanging off the edge and hair dangling down onto the ground below. My knees were hooked around the top as I took in the upside down boy in front of me.

Niall's eyes locked onto the pale strip of skin on my stomach that had been exposed by my shirt falling down from the position. I hurriedly pushed it back into place.

He continued when it was obvious I wasn't going to answer. "So that fear you have, it's an actual phobia. Haphephobia, the fear of touching. You're not gonna be mentally sane if you don't let people touch you."

"But I don't feel mentally sane when people touch me." I replied stiffly. Placing both my hands on the rough carpet below, I swung my legs over and let the momentum send me sumersulting forward. Once right side up, I blinked rapidly as blood rushed to my head.

Niall stared at me. "I want to kiss your stomach."

"That's a little strange."

"It is." he agreed, pausing and squinting at the ceiling, "I don't know why I do, though. Can I?"

"No."

He shrugged absently, as though what he had said wasn't a big deal. "Anyway, it says that Haphephobia is usually caused by a past traumatic experience."

I tried not to react at his words, instead kept my face impassive and neutral. Niall cocked his head at me, obviously seeing past my facade.

"So tell me, sweetheart." he said slowly, "What past traumatic experience might that be?"

I stared at him, opened my mouth briefly, before snapping it shut. My eyes darted around for something to draw my attention to. Anything but where this conversation was headed.

Yet Zayn's house lacked much interior design. We had come over to his place after a loud, music blasting drive, with him cackling and swearing in the background. He was eccentric but also a total and supreme dick. This might explain his friendship with Niall, even though Zayn was a 21 year old uni drop out.

They say surround yourself with good people, but here I was. Sitting across from Niall, who had his thin fingers wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle. Zayn had offered me some earlier.

"She's not drinking," Niall had said stiffly, giving me a stern look.

I glared at him. "Why?" It's not that I wanted to, or was even planning on it, but it was bothersome when Niall thought he could boss me around.

"Oh come." Zayn whined, forcing a cold bottle into my hand, "I wanna see this girl get tipsy."

"So you can try to make out with her when she's barely unconscious?" Niall snapped, "I said no."

I blinked back into the present as Niall's voice came breaking through my thoughts. "It's obviously something. You weren't born being afraid of touching."

He swirled around the drink in the bottle, spilling a little over the edge and onto the floor. It was sometime past his second bottle, and it was obvious he was slightly intoxicated by the way his blue eyes clouded over.

"Why is your hair dyed lilac?" I asked fiercely, desperate to draw the attention off of me.

"It's purple," Niall corrected automatically, "And I didn't just do it for fun, it's in honor of someone." His expression softened a bit. "Somebody who died."

"Who?" I exclaimed quickly. Niall never liked to talk about himself, as though his past was one shadowy secret. I always assumed the hair color was just to contribute to the fear he was trying to induce in his look.