The Perfect Match 15+ (Completed)

Summary: Niall Horan is the epitome of bad news. After his mother passes away, he finds himself in the battle with drugs and alcohol. With jeopardy of not graduating his senior year, his teacher Ms. Aleman pairs him with tutor Aubrey Osborn, daughter of a man who may know Niall a bit too well. Ms. Aleman thinks Aubrey and Niall are the perfect match, but their histories beg to differ. On top of it, Aubrey is applying to the most competitive schools in the nation, while Niall could care less about a higher education. Two teenagers. Two hearts. Two stories. Will it be the perfect match?

i'm not responsible for the bad language & sexual scenes. it's left upon yourself to read this fan-fic. your choice, not mine. (:
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17. Chapter 17 (:


Niall’s P.O.V – Summer 2012

The color orange does not suit me well, not that I give a shit about what I have to wear. With the word “juvenile” stamped along my back, no one gives a shit about me anyway. I’m a delinquent, a criminal. I have spent three weeks in this piece of shit, and all I yearn for is a nice, warm shower and a home-cooked meal. I sigh heavily and kick the dirt on the floor with my rugged shoe. My cellmate snores when the book his hand hits his face. As you probably assumed, this place is hell. Footsteps loom toward my cell, and I immediately nudge my cellmate awake. For the most part, we are not allowed to sleep unless it is sleeping hours. Our officer lets us read, but on rare occasions, he lets us go outside. I have been reading Looking for Alaska by John Green. I like it, actually, and odd enough, I like reading, but I have no motivation to do it. When the officer stops in front of my cell, my cellmate and I raise our eyes and wait for him to give orders.


“You,” he demands pointing to me with his index finger, “you have a visitor. Come with me.” Very funny, I have a visitor. Greg never visits me. He said some shit about not deserving his sympathy. I don’t need his fucking sympathy, what I need is to go home. The officer unlocks the cell with the key on his belt, and I stalk out with my hands crossed in front of me. I already know the routine. He pulls the handcuffs from his belt and secures it over my wrists. “You are getting the hang of it, eh?”

He shoves my shoulder as an order for me to walk, and I obey immediately. His hand grips my elbow as he walks me to another room. When he opens the door, I hope to see my best friend Zayn, but he is nowhere to be found. A few other inmates are across the table from their loved ones, but I have no loved ones to visit me. The only person who visits me is my mother, but only in my dreams. The officer leads me to a table and seats me across from who appears to be another officer. When my eyes meet his, I realize I am sitting across from the officer I shot not too long ago. He continues to glare, and a part of me is cowering in fear. I can hardly face him, how am I going to speak to him?

“Hello, Niall,” he says when my officer leaves us to speak in peace, “how have you been doing?” His voice is calm, and it reminds me of the night I shot him. There are flashes of his lips slipping the words I disobeyed. Put the gun down.

“I hate it,” I say, “but I deserve it.” I lower my eyes unable to face him and fumble with my fingers worriedly. “Why are you here?”

“I work here, remember?” He flashes me his officer badge and smiles proudly. He must love his job of going in and out to arrest dumbasses like me. I nod, but unlike him, I fail to laugh. He clears his throat and bores his eyes into mine. “Listen, I came here with a purpose. I wanted to speak to you to see how you’ve been.”

“Well, I told you,” I shrug, “being here is shit. Are you going to leave now?” Despite my attitude, having a conversation with someone who is not my cellmate is actually…refreshing.

“No,” he says. “Niall, do you remember when you shot me, you told me your mother passed away in an accident?” I nod my head for him to continue. “Well, I wanted to ask you, when she died, how did you handle it?”

“Listen,” I shout shooting out of my seat, “where the hell are you going with this?” He has no right to bring my mother into this conversation. My arrest has literally nothing to do with her. My arrest is my fault for ingesting three pills in one gulp. I allowed the demon inside of me to take over my mind and body.

“Son, sit down and hear me out,” he pleads in his calm voice. I hate when his voice is calm. I sit down and level my breathing. “I am sure your mother loved you, but when she passed away, how did you feel?” The silence grows as I fail to comprehend his purpose.

“I felt like shit,” I say, “and I still do.” Flashes of my mother holding me in her arms and telling me stories of her days in Mullingar appear. She used to tuck Greg and I into bed and tell us about granddad, and now those stories are hardly memories. I still my shaking hands and shift my feet. “Why the hell do you care?”

“Well, Niall,” he sighs, “when you pulled the gun on me, the only thought running through my mind was how my daughter would react. You know, if I died. You see, I hardly have any time left here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I-I may have cancer,” he says. Immediately, my eyes cast downward. I almost killed a man whose days were already limited. If I wasn’t a pathetic excuse for a human being then, I am now. He folds his hands together and places it on the table avoiding my gaze. “My doctor is still doing a lot of tests.”

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“No,” he warns sternly, “I don’t need your sympathy. I know you were in a hard place the night of your arrest, but I want you to know I hardly have time with my family left, and there are other people in the world who have minutes to their names. The next time you think about pulling the trigger, think twice, Niall, and I know you heard it all before. I am sure your brother told you about it, and you are done listening, but I want you to hear it from me. My daughter…she is everything to me. My only wish is to see her happy, and you ruined it. You ruined it for her, and I am afraid you can’t take it back.” His voice is shaking, and a few words are hard to understand.

“Officer Osborn, I—”

“Nothing you say will fix it,” he interjects, “and I say this, not to be the asshole cop you expect me to be, but because it should be a lesson.” He runs his fingers through his hair dusted with age. “Your actions have consequences, and being here is one of them. The other consequence is living with the guilt in your heart. I forgive you, Horan, and I do because I am an officer, and I see young boys similar to you every day. You think you have it all figured out. You think you do not need help. You think you are fine the way you are. Let me tell you, Horan, people will forgive you, but some of us do not have the time left in the world to wait for an apology.” I don’t realize I’m crying until a single tear streaks my face, and I wipe it away. I am the biggest fuckup I have ever met. Not only did I attempt to kill a man with cancer, but a man with a family. His daughter is living and breathing the pain I put on his family, and I have no other desire than to run to their home and apologize for the boy I am. I swallow my tears and turn my head away hoping for my officer to return me to my cell.

“What if you do have cancer?” I ask. My breathing is uneven, and I fail to level it. “I mean, how are you going to tell your daughter?”

“I guess I have to tell her myself,” he shrugs, “how did you find out about your mother?”

“They called me and told me she died on impact,” my voice cracks, “I remember it clearly. I was with a friend to buy her a Mother’s Day gift. She always wore this pearl bracelet, and I figured she needed complementary earrings for it. I babysat for my neighbor to save for it. I was literally handing the cashier the money when my phone ringed. I picked it up, and an officer told she died…they told me she died, and I never told her goodbye.” My sobs are uncontrollable now. The memory is shit, but every day, I remember it. I remember every single detail. I remember the time on the chestnut grandfather clock in the corner of the shop. I remember the smell of stale cookies lingering in the mall. I remember the numbness deafening the beat of my heart. I never told her I loved her. I never told her how much I appreciate her for being the only person there for me…and it hurts. It fucking hurts because I will never have my mother again. “If you go home alive tonight,” I sniffle, “and I pray you do, promise me one thing.”


“Tell your daughter you love her,” I gulp, “and tell her about the cancer soon.” He nods approvingly, and suddenly, my officer appears before us to return me to my cell.

“It is not as easy as you make it seem,” he huffs.

“Yeah,” my voice manages, “but losing a parent without much warning isn’t either. In fact? You never forget it.” He opens his mouth to respond, but hurriedly shuts it when he struggles to find the words. My officer forcefully tugs me away, and I rise from my seat to return to the hell I am forced to call home for the next few months.

When I return to my cell, my cellmate picks up his book and pretends to have been reading the entire time. After my officer locks the cell and stalks to another cell, my cellmate peers over his book and cocks his head.

“Who was it?” he asks. “Your mom?”

“Nah,” I say shaking my head.

“Damn, your mom never visits you,” he says matter-of-factly.

I purse my lips together and toss my body against my bed picking up the John Green book I urge to finish. “What are you talking about, mate?” I laugh to hide my sadness. “She visits me every night.”


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