31. Niall Imagine
Drunk, drunk, drunk. Over and over and over again. Every night, even most of the days, were spent drunk. He didn’t stop drinking long enough to be hungover. He was killing his liver and didn’t care, it was no expense to him anymore. Dying would be easier than the pain; anything would. The boys tried to talk him out of it, plead him out of it, even tried to force him out of it. Nothing worked. Yet, he still didn’t care. It seemed as if it was all just a game to him; life and death. It was killing him slowly, but so was the inner turmoil.
“Could I have done something? Could I have helped? Was I that bad of a fiance Did I push her to it? Was it all my fault?”
It must have been. That’s the only conclusion Niall could ever come to. His fault, no one else’s, all his fault. He hated himself for it, for not saving you. Or at least helping. But, in reality no one could have saved you, and maybe if Niall stopped guzzling back the vodka and chugging the wine then maybe he would realize that fact. He never did stop though, he felt he had no reason to stop. He felt it was all his fault you had jumped, and he had considered doing it himself so so so many times, but he never did because he knew if he ever joined you in Heaven before his time you would be highly disappointed and probably quite annoyed he had not just gotten over you, you never did love yourself.