When Niall's girlfriend is driven over the edge by a message sent anonymously, Niall breaks down. But after paying a visit to her sister, he decides to take revenge. To find who did this to her.
To take them down.
But to do this, he needs to destroy a few lives, reveal a few secrets and break a few hearts.
A story of love, revenge and betrayal.


11. Helping What Hurts

A knock on my door woke me up around 9:00pm. I sat up, yawned, and rubbed at my eyes. 

"Sleeping. Go away."    


I nearly choked on my own spit.

"Come in." I said it so pathetically, like I was begging.  

The door opened slowly and I watched with all the patience I could muster as Faye's head popped around the side of the door and then the rest of her stepped in. She was wearing a pair of jeans and some old dolly shoes with a baggy T-shirt. But, God, I still wanted her. 

"How are you doing?'

I didn't speak, because if I opened my mouth I might scream.

How was I doing? Shit. Because my almost-girlfriend who said she loved me left and didn't come back for a week and left me to put myself back together. Again. 

"God, Niall. I didn't mean to do what I did. But I couldn't stay. I needed to clear my head. And it helped."

"Yeah,' I said, my voice strained, "well you look like shit."

She looked down at herself and shrugged shyly. Then she laughed, but it came out more as a sob. 

"Well, we can't all look pretty all the time."

Her voice was sarcastic and sweet and everything she was but that didn't hide the bruises or the split in her lower lip or the faint smell of roses and the stronger smell of alcohol. I was going to kill her 'friend' Sam.

"Seriously, though, couldn't you have at least put a diamond corset on? A guy like me deserves better than this."

She laughed but she looked so fucking small in my bedroom doorway that I sat up and pulled my duvet off me slightly, an open invitation. 

She hesitated, like getting into my bed would make me hate her or something. 

"Come here," I murmered, and then she was stumbling over the meter between us and climbing onto my rumpled sheets and letting me enfold her into my arms. She felt cold and small, and she smelt different. I hated it. I wanted her to be wrapped up like this forever where nothing could touch her and just feed her up until her cheeks were full and let her sleep for a week so that the bags under her eyes would disappear. 

"I miss you."

She smiled dryly and looked me straight in the eyes. "I'm right here, asshole."

"I know," I said, "I miss you."

And she closed her eyes while I tried to not not focus on how prominent her cheekbones were or the face that her lips looked like she'd been recently kissed or the fact that she might be broken inside. 

"I miss me too," she whispered. Then fell asleep.


My arm reached out beside me to find Faye's waist and I pulled her to me. She was sleeping still but she turned to face me and wrapped one leg around my body. I buried my face in her hair and smiled. It still kind of smelt like she used to. 

"Morning," she murmered. 

"Not anymore," I told her. The clock on my bedside table read 1:23pm.

"God, we're lazy." She made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh and snuggled closer to me. She felt thinner, but not by much.

"Yeah. But we're also teenagers. We need extra sleep."

"Whatever," she said quietly, rolling over so she was on top of me, her hair tickling my chin.

"I love you." I said. But she didn't hear me because I didn't say it. 

I tried again. "I love you."

"I know," she whispered, like it was some sort of secret, "I love you, too."



My mother was on a quest to fatten Faye up. It was embarrassing. She was cooking eggs and frying bacon and pouring orange juice into glasses while Faye and I sat at the breakfast bar watching her. 

We were doing the cheesy thing where we held hands underneath the table so Mum wouldn't see but it was done ironically because Mum knew we'd slept in together in the bed last night. She'd helped Faye up the stairs and it made me wonder why she needed helping in the first place. Was she drunk?

But I'd let her wear one of my shirts and she'd pulled off her jeans last night so that waistband wasn't digging into her stomach. She looked better in the morning. Happier. I was, too. 

"Thanks, Maura." Faye smiled and I just felt so fucking relieved that she was here and not at some goddamned freak show's house where anything could of happened to her. 

"You should probably call Scott," I suggested, biting into a piece of toast. She nodded, promising to call him later. 

It was weird, I felt this doubt unfurling in the pit of my stomach. The uncertainty that whatever had happened at Sam's house had effected her more than she was letting on. It made me feel a bit naucious. 

"I love you."

She grinned and I felt stupidly better. The doubt disappeared. 

"I love you too, weirdo."



"Oh. My. God."

I agreed completely. We were standing outside Scott's bedroom door, hand-in-hand. Faye had changed clothes into something from her room and she smelt like she used to smell. 

"What the hell is he doing to her?" Faye hissed, giggling slightly. 

"I think he's performing an intense operation and forgot to knock her out."

Fay clamped a hand over her mouth and laugh-coughed into her fingers. 

There were very loud, very scary moans coming from inside his room and we tiptoed across the landing into Faye's room, slumping down on the bed. I watched as Faye threw the application forms into her bin. 

"So, who've you laid, Mr Horan?"

I burst out laughing. She remembered, then.

"Not many," I grinned, "what about you?"

Then she told me. Three guys. In one week. Over at Sam's house. 

I don't remember how, but a fist-shaped dent appeared in her sky-blue wall.

"What the fuck did they do to you?!"

She was sat on the bed, her knees drawn up to her chest, sobbing. I was going to kill them. Fuck the plan. 

"It wasn't force or anything, Niall. I was hurting and they said they could make it stop and it was okay. And it did stop, for a while. They didn't give me anything."

I didn't care. They were dead. 

"Please, Faye, please don't ever go like that again. Don't leave like that."

She let me take her hands in mine and nodded, pursing her lips. 

Then we were kissing. And my hands were on her stomach and neck and legs and arms and she was smiling like she wanted me to erase anything those sick bastards did to her. 

"I love you," I whispered as she pulled her shirt over her curls.

"I love you too."

And she did. 


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