white noise chocolate

We all have our problems and with ours we need each other in order to solve them. We need to help each other, we need to understand each other. We need to love each other, make each other feel one another. Another. Other. Kiss me Niall, please, because there won't be another. Love me Niall, please, because I need to feel your touch before I go.


3. Ireland

All three of us were sitting on the train watching city and woodlands pass by us. 

"I'm not sure about Birmingham," I confessed. 

"Why?" Harry interjected. "Birmingham is nice, populated, and it's where some type of chocolate came from, right Louis?" 

"Yea, Cadbury I think," said Louis over a pretzel. 

"Niall you'll be fine. People won't expect you to move there anyway so the tabloids will at least give you a break."

That I was thankful for. The tabloids have been up my ass ever since the last tour where let's just say I was a little to high to be singing any song, or even walking across a stage. Usually the paps were after Harry, but according to the Daily Mail I've become the newest scandal in England. I couldn't disagree--I have done more illegal things than any twenty year old. 

"Okay," I muttered as I let my head fall back against the seat and continued to watch outside as Louis and Harry struck up a conversation I completely ignored. 


"This is the place?" I asked, stepping out of the taxi. 

"Well it's a studio flat," said Harry. "It's on floor five I believe. Let's go." 

Louis and I followed Harry into the brick lay building. Looking fairly old, but walking inside it was like entering a five-star hotel in New York City. 

"Gemma has taste," I said as my eyes scanned the upper floors, the glass elevator and everything that was draped in red satin. 

"Tell me about it," started Harry. "She's the one who picked out my place back in London and my 'relaxation' home in the Caribbean." That's right, Harry Styles with the complete house montage. I think his own counting now reached three or close to it, but it will fall close behind his tattoo count which has raised past ninety. 

He led us to the elevator and pressed the number five on the keypad. The doors closing and us taking the ride up. When we reached that fifth floor, Harry pulled out a set of keys from his back pocket. 

"Gemma still rents the place even though she doesn't live here, so I got a key from her," he said as he placed a brass key into the door with the numbers '227' pasted to the front. 

The door was opened and warm air was released. 

"Damn it," said Harry as he stepped inside and went to a window. "She forgot to close the fucking window." 

I stepped inside, Louis following me, and as I crossed my arms the smell of chocolate filled my nose. It was like someone was baking fresh chocolate chip cookies or melting chocolate. 

"Do you smell that?" I asked.

"Smell what?" Louis looked towards me. 

"It smells like…like chocolate." 

"How many drugs you on?" Louis inquired, and I lowered my head. 

I was definitely high on LSD, so high I was surprised I was standing, but I knew the side effects. Hallucinations being the first major side effect. 

"Never mind," I muttered. 

"Niall," Harry exhaled. "The first thing you need to do is stop taking these drugs. We've been all effected by drugs but you are the worse. Stay away from that crowd, you're much better than them. Just--I'll deal with management--try and get yourself better." 

I wanted to roll my eyes, but some part of me new he was right. 

"Harry we need to get back," said Louis as he leaned against a wall. "We have a meet and greet."

"What?!" I was getting angry, I could feel my blood start to boil. 

"Remember what I told you, you need to get yourself better."

"That doesn't mean completely kick me out of the band!" 

"We aren't kicking you out," started Louis. "We are giving you a break. You should thank us at least, I would die for a break."

"Then maybe we should all get addicted to drugs and sex and have a break together," I was acting irrationally. 

"Niall, come on," Harry started. 

I stopped him, "Whatever. Just leave me alone." I turned away from them and went to the nearest room. Thankfully it was a bedroom. A light blue duvet lay on the bed and I slammed the door before dropping onto the bed, pulling the duvet over me. 

All I heard was Louis and Harry converse before leaving me behind. I was so angry I didn't care, but instead I fell asleep ignoring the smell of chocolate still in the air. 


I opened my eyes, the bronze sun was entering through the closed curtains. It had to be close to six, due to the sunset, but I didn't get out of bed. Instead I looked at the picture frames still on the bedside table. 

I creased my forehead. The pictures all contained girls, but I didn't notice Gemma in any of them. I turned over and saw posters of Michael Buble, Gemma wasn't a fan of him. Maybe this was a guest room, but as I ran a finger along the table with the picture frame a heavy coat of dust appeared on my finger.

No one has stayed in this room for a long time. I sat up in the bed and continued to scan the room. More and more things Gemma was and never will be in to was scattered around the room. The surprising thing was most of the things around the room was what I was interested in--or was until the drug mishaps, where now nothing really matters. 

I got out of the bed and went into the living room. Pictures still not containing Gemma. There was one with a brunette. She was pretty, her eyes almost translucent being the lightest gray eyes. This was most certainly not Gemma. Was someone else living here?

Did Gemma sell the place without telling Harry? What the fuck was going on? 

"What are you doing?" I heard a voice behind me, the smell of chocolate overwhelming. I quickly turned around and saw the girl. The girl from the picture, the girl from all the pictures. "Get out of my house!" 

"What? Wait, no, I live here," I said back at her. 

"Her mouth dropped open in disgust, "Get out!" She brought her hand forward, coming close to my face. Her fingers hardly left a mark, barely even touching my skin. "What?" She looked down at her fingers, confused. As she looked I noticed her accent, not English but American.

"So you're the so called ghost," I smirked. 

She was growing angrier, "What the fuck are you talking about?" 

"Attitude, too," I crossed my arms. "Sorry to upset you, but I live here now, so you can go." 

"I'm not going anywhere," she crossed her arms. 

I raised an eyebrow at her refusal, "Just out of curiosity, how comes I can see you."

"What? I'm not a fucking ghost you idiot." 

"Fine," I raised my hands up not wanting to fight with a confused girl. "Whatever you say."

"Are you high?" She inquired, leaning forward.

"What? Are you kidding?" I turned away from her. 

"You are. I have a drug addict living in my apartment. My dad's going to be pissed when he gets here from California." 

"I don't think your dad's coming," I muttered.


"Nothing," I said louder. "Just get out."

"I already told you I'm not leaving," she waked away, and instead of opening a door, she walked right through the wooden door. My eyes widened, freaked out. 

"Ugh," I exhaled, for some stupid reason I followed her. Opening the door she just walked through, she sat on the bed I just came from. 

"I see you've made yourself comfortable," she complained. 

I needed to get to the bottom of this. "Who are you?" 

"Who are you?"

I rolled my eyes, honestly. "I asked you first." 

"Whatever," she started. "I'm Ireland." 

"You're Ireland?" She was making fun of me.

"Yea," she looked serious. "My name is Ireland Brand. I was born in San Diego, California and I moved to Birmingham a couple years ago." 

"How comes it's hard for me to believe your name is Ireland." 

"Well it is, my dad calls me Ira, but I don't care what you call me because you're leaving soon, right?"

"Wrong," I said. "I'm Niall, and I was born in Ireland." 

"We have so much in common," she rolled her eyes. "Now excuse me while I call my lawyer, for breaking and entering." 

"Are you fucking serious?" I complained. "I've told you, I live here. I pay the rent." Okay that part wasn't true because I'm sure Harry was picking up the payments for me. 

"For some reason I don't believe you," she said before she walked around me. She tried to reach for the phone but her fingers kept going right through it. "What the fuck is going on?! What did you do to my phone?"

"Nothing!" Just to prove my point I picked up the phone. "See?"

"Give it to me!" I handed the phone out to her, and she reached for it, but instead of letting it drop in her hand it fell to the floor. "You clumsy idiot."

She bent down to pick up the phone but she became unsuccessful and her fingers just kept going right through the plastic phone. She fell down to her knees, I was surprise she didn't fall through the floor. I bent down in front of her, my knees hitting the hard floor. 

"It won't work," I said to her. 

"What's happening," her voice was foggy, like she was beginning to cry. "What's happening to me?" 

"I don't know," I said truthfully. I couldn't believe I was actually talking to someone that wasn't actually here. "Do you remember anything?" 

"What?" She looked up at me, her silver eyes were glassed over with tears. 

"What was the last thing you remembered?" 

She looked away, "I was riding my bike this morning." 

"Did you hit your head or anything?" 

She brought her hand up to her head, "Oh." 

Then there was a knock on the door. "Niall? Niall?!" 

It sounded like Harry, but when I looked back at Ireland she was gone, the chocolate instantly vanishing. 

I got up and declared my meeting with Ireland was a hallucination brought on by the drugs. I walked over to the door and saw Harry, gasping for air. 

"I just ran here from the train station," he breathed. 

"For what?"

"You're coming with us," he said. "The meet and greet, the fans--."

"What Harry?" I urged him.

"They're all shouting your name," he said. "Zayn called me. They won't do anything until you come. Niall they're supporting you." 

I have no idea how I got an idea of a ghost. This is going to be the craziest story I've ever written, but bare with me. All bad stories come with a good ending!

Please comment, like, and favorite!!

Much love, Morgan xx

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...