Trust Me

When an independent girl is faced with the demanding task of solely raising her young sister while maintaining her fast-paced, hectic life, she barely manages to glue things together. She suddenly crashes into a man that can either make or break her situation, depending on one imperative thing: trust. Can she pull enough trust together to save both her and her sister, or will things tumble down from above, engulfing her in the shattered pieces once again? Is this an escape to recovery or just another all-too fresh wound in life?


1. Chapter One

A/N: I copy and paste this and I am really sorry it does not keep my italicized things italicized.


***Liam's POV***


I can't move for a second because the sight in front of me has paralyzed me. 


How? keeps running through my head over and over until it's joined by the word catastrophic, neither words offering aid nor explanation.


I should help, I think, yet I'm still immobile at the sight.


It's so dire to act upon, though nobody in the room dares even as to draw  so much as one breath. There's a sickening feeling as I take it in, an ineluctable feeling. The feeling deepens with each second that ticks away. It pins me to the solid floor and grinds its teeth at me, threatening me to move. I don't; I can't. Then, the words brake the dazed spell I'm trapped in.


I don't know who's words they are or what they say. Nevertheless, they grip me and shove me back to life.


I move hastily at the instructions I receive. As I sprint off, I glance back for a split second. There is no denying the view: my friend Harry is holding an unconscious girl wrapped in only a towel--in the middle of December--in his arms, and her knee is bursting with dark blood.


The same question still overflows my mind; Why?


Well, this is what has happened until this point. 


Me and my friends are all part of this world-famous band. We go on tour and see a lot of girls doing just about anything you can imagine to earn our attention. We've been together for years now, Louis, Harry, Niall and I; we've all become one big family of friends. The fans keep flooding everywhere, the gigs keep getting from huge to hugest to more hugest, and we're just trying to savor every minute of this hectic life where you can barely process anything before you're moving on. We love it though and wouldn't dare trade it for anything.


We finally have a month break from tour; management was brought to their senses when Niall passed out on stage. I know, I know, but he'll be fine.


    Niall was really sick that morning—a 101 fever, coughing, and of course, shivering—but he was forced onstage with blinding lights, screaming fans, and unbearable heat anyways. 


    In the middle of the concert I was becoming worried, although that doesn't take much, honestly. However, given the circumstances, this was different; he looked almost sheet white and was sweating buckets. 


When it was his turn to sing his part in "I Want," the only think I could really think of was what I wanted.


    Why don't they just let him sit down? Can't they see he isn't well? I wish they would be more understanding. I mean, his voice is so thin and frail I wonder if I shoul—


    My thoughts were cut off a loud thud when Niall hit the ground. I literally almost screamed at the surprise of the whole thing. I knew he was feeling poorly, just the whole event was unpredictable.


    We all stopped exactly where we were like time had frozen and left us not able to move. Although our bodies were frozen, our minds weren't; mine was on overdrive at the moment.


    He passed out! He actually passed out! Oh, my goodness! Why didn't I do anything? I should've talked to management more, convinced them he wasn't okay. This all could've been prevented if I had just done something more.


    My thoughts again subsided when the crowd apparently had gotten over the initial shock like us and were now roaring Niall's name. 


"Niall, Niall, Niall," they begged and screamed and cried all at the same time.


Some of them were even on the ground sobbing their poor hearts out. Others comforted the weeping fans, trying to push back tears themselves. I wanted to join them in their crying. 


He was one of my best friends, one of our pack. We were all kind of like a pack of wolves; we were together a lot, we would always defend each other, and we were always there for one another—physically and emotionally.


    Anyways, so my mate was lying on the ground and we were all snapped out of our dazed trance. I was the first to drop to my knees beside him and shake his shoulders, the only thing I could think to do at the minute. 


    "Ni, wake up!" I shouted over and over.


    He didn't, and it troubled me. 


    The boys were there in no time. Louis placed Niall's head in his lap and was starting to panic when nobody could get a reaction. 


    "Wake up, Niall!" all of us practically shouted.


    No response was given.


    Harry started slapping Ni's cheeks rapidly and repeating over and over for him to open his eyes, to no avail. 


Just when everyone was practically losing their heads about the ill Irish lad, the first aid crew ran up on stage.


    I didn't want to focus on the disaster that was occurring, so I just analyzed what I thought the boys may be thinking.


    Louis: Oh, great. Management to the rescue! They'll take care of him! He was probably drowning in sarcasm. Yeah, right. If only. They're probably more likely to—


    I stopped myself there. I didn't really want to know what they were more likely to do; it would probably just tear me even more apart. I moved on to Harry.


    Harry: Really, Management? You're kind of too late! I just want to--


    I couldn't help but laugh a little at that one; as sweet as Hazz was, he'll quickly get furious if you give him a reason to, and this was more than enough reason. Now for Ni— Oh, yeah. Niall... 


    I glanced up just in time to see they had gotten Niall's weak, pale body on a stretcher. I reached out to him, longing for any sense of life. It was too late though; he was rushed out and we were commanded to begin singing again.


 Begin singing? Continue with the concert? After that? Really?     


    Just the suggestion that we could even continue made my stomach pang with pain.


    We can't continue knowing this! 


    I wanted to scream that, and I'm sure the others did, too. One look at their outraged, confused faces confirmed that.


    I sighed, and reluctantly began to sing again.


    What can I do? It's management—never relenting, never sympathizing, always pushing us to work our bums off management.


    We were basically zombies the rest of the concert. No joke. Our thoughts were too clogged with ones of Niall to focus. I mean, he was like our brother, so how could we really focus? We couldn't.


    The song we started with was "Little White Lies." I thought of some different lyrics for it though. I liked these better:


 "If this room was burning / I wouldn't even notice / 'Cause you've been taking up my life / With your stupid bad guys, stupid bad guys"


    I didn't sing them, just thought them; management would kill me. If I had sung them, it would have started a riot. Everyone would have been talking about how I referred to management as "stupid bad guys." That would not be good for us (even though all the fans at the concert would probably agree with me).


    After the concert, all of us went back to our dressing room of pure torture and unlimited agony to wait for any shred of news on Ni.


    Upon an agonizing wait, eventually, word came to us that Niall was just dehydrated and that his fever had sky-rocketed under the heat of the lights. Other news was that they were giving us a break to recover for the toll that touring took. It's bittersweet, seeing as how our lad is still ill.


    That was four days ago; Niall is feeling a bit better now, and we are all enjoying the vacation days. We are all living in houses that are not to far from each other at the time being. Meaning, it's easy for us to visit each other, and it's also going to be easy to get back together when the break ends, as well as take care of Niall.


    I was sitting on the couch halfway watching the T.V. just as my phone rang. I muted the T.V. in response. I noticed Niall's name on the screen and picked it up, smiling slightly.


    "Hey, mate. You alright?" I wondered aloud.


    He sighed, and my grin began to fade.


    "I guess..." he trailed off.


    I furrowed my eyebrows in concern. My happiness whipped off my face.


    "No, you aren't; what's wrong?"


 Why is he trying to hide this? We all know he's still poorly; there's nothing to cover up. 


    I heard a groan. It wasn't a pained one though, just an exasperated one.


    "Just my stomach is irritating me a bit, and I can't seem to rest."


    "I'm sorry."


    "Don't be; there's nothing you could do anyways."


    I sighed and nodded, forgetting he couldn't see me. There were a few moments of silence before Niall spoke again.


    "I'm bored."


    I chuckled.


    "Then do something, Ni!"


    He groaned again, longer.


    "There's nothing to do."


    My laugh faded as I thought about this comment.


    Things to do. Things to do. Things. To. Do.


    I moved into a lying down position in order to think more productively—or perhaps it was to get more comfortable. Probably the second.


    What is there to do? He could watch a film.


    I suggested, "Watch a film then."


    "Really?" he said flatly. "Li, that's no fun!" he whined like a two-year-old.


    "I know. Sorry."


    I surveyed my brain for anything relatively fun.


    He could go out somewhere. Wait, no; fans would tear him apart. He could play football or something. Nevermind; who's he going to play that with him? The best possible opponent eould be the wall, and that's no option for safety.


    "I don't know what you can do. Maybe you should just try and res—"


    I was cut off with whimpering in the background and straightaway sat back up, overcome with anxiety about him.


    I shouted, "Ni, lad, are you alright? Are you good? Ni, what's going o—"


    He interrupted with, "I-I'm okay. I just..."


    I could hear his teary voice trail off into the distance and more anxiety flooded over.


    What's wrong with him? Oh, my. I wish he would talk to me, I pleaded.


    "Come on. What's wrong?" I prompted once again.


    "I just threw up," he cried, barely audible. 


    I sighed.


    "It's okay, buddy," I sympathized. "You want to come over here? Let me take care of you."


    "No, I'll be fi—"


    This time, I cut him off.


    "No, you aren't; you just got sick, for goodness sake. Come over now before I change my mind on you driving."


    "But, Li, I—"


    "That's it; I'm coming over right now to pick you up. Be there in about 15 minutes."


    I turned my phone off before he could protest and retrieved my keys from the kitchen table.


    This is going to be a process.


    Once I safely transported Niall to my house—after a lot of whining and complaining, might I mention—we both realized this didn't solve our boredom dilemma.


    "Should we just call the boys already?" I gave in.




    I pulled out my phone and started to type a group text explaining the situation, including the Niall-getting-ill part.


***a few hours later***


    I laughed and shook my head at Niall. He was going crazy to get to the popcorn that just finished popping, running over anyone in his way in the process. 


 At least he's feeling better, it looks like.


    Louis was on the ground rolling around in pain; he had been in the doorway of the kitchen when the microwave beeped, signaling the end of Niall's torturous wait, and well, that was part of Niall's pathway, as any person watching could easily tell.


    "Cheers! Thanks, mate!" Louis groaned sarcastically. 


    I finally gathered myself enough to stop laughing and help Louis up. 


    "Thanks," he mumbled to me in response, still in pain.


    Me and Louis went back into the living room, him sitting on the couch beside his girlfriend, Eleanor, who came over with him sense she was with him when he recived the text. I didn't mind it though; I like El. She's nice and, after all, she's Louis' girlfriend. Whatever makes them happy, I'll probably be okay with.


    I decided to sit on the floor beside Harry. Niall came in and lyed back under his blanket on the second couch. He shoved his hand into the bag and continued to eat messily.


 You know, there is probably a trail of popcorn from Niall to the kitchen that I will have to clean later.



    I sighed at just the thought. No matter how messy or inappropriate they could be, I knew I would always love them all like brothers.


    We all stared aimlessly at the television that played, guess what, a film. However, nobody was really paying attention; we were lost in our own worlds. I doubt that anyone even knew what was playing. 


    Of course, I suggest a movie to Niall, and now we're all "watching" one. Seriously, if this isn't boredom, then I don't know what is.


    "Hey, guys," Eleanor said. 


    Everyone turned and starred at her, looking for anything to even remotely entertain them. 


    "How about we play a game?" she suggested. 



    We perked up a bit, and Harry piped up.


    "What game?"


 Good question, because I have no idea. What games even are there? I thought.


    "Well..." Eleanor sighed.


 I guess she doesn't have an answer either; she looks like it, I chuckle, noticing the slightly disappointed expression she wore as she took her head in her palms and starred at the floor.


    Before she could finish saying anything she might have, Louis jumped up and stood on the—white, might I mention—couch. 


    "Let's play truth or dare!" he gushed, grinning like a two-year-old. 


    "Get off the couch! Your feet are dirty; you could stain it!" I complained. 


    "Fun killer," he mumbled while climbing back down.


    I don't care, I thought. I don't want mud stains on it; it's sort of expensive. By that I mean, very expensive and not to mess with it. 


    Although I didn't say it, because that would make him more sassy—and he was sassy enough as it was. I love him, but he's flooded with sass to spare.


    Niall volunteered, "I'll play." 


    "Me too," Harry agreed, already getting on the floor. 


    Everyone chimed in saying 'yes.' Suddenly, we were all in a circle on the floor playing truth or dare. 


    "I get to go first!" Louis shouted at a volume that was completely unnecessary. 


    "Okay," everyone gave in, seeing as how he did suggest it.




    "Dare," Niall decided after a few seconds of thinking about his decision. 


    Louis smirked and evilly raised his eyebrows. 


    "You have to give up all of your food for a hour." 


    "What?!" Niall exclaimed, outraged.    "Never!" he shouted while hugging his popcorn tightly so nobody could steal it and ruin his happiness.


 Man, this guy's got a deep love for food—it's hilarious! This should be fun to witness; he'll be bothered, to say the least.


    I laughed unstoppably at this and tugged the popcorn bag out of the bars of Niall's prison, also known as his arms. The popcorn, and all other food in his reach for that matter, was Niall's prisoner. He would execute all prisoners if it was up to him.


    "No!" Niall begged as if I look away all his hopes and dreams, which I arguably did.


    His arms were crossed and he was pouting.


    "That was the dare." I defended, smirking and raising my eyebrows. 


 Oh, how Louis must be enjoying this right now.


    "Truth! I pick truth!" Niall attempted to revoke.


    At this point, everyone including Louis was practically rolling on the floor chortling because of Niall's reaction to this simple but, from his point of view, abominable dare. 


    In the midst of the laughter, Louis hollered out, "Too late!" 


    He quickly took the bag from me and flung it across the room like it was a paper airplane or something. This, of course, caused different pieces popcorn to scatter across the room and land in various places. (It was quite a mess, really.) One place included on top of Niall's head, to which he responded to by quickly throwing it into his mouth and eating it before anyone could take it away or dispose of it. 


    Oh, geez. All over my house, too! These boys are lucky I like them; otherwise, I would be chastising them right now. At leadt Niall's enjoying himself, aside from the food incident.


    "You're weird," I commented instead, shaking my head only mildly disappointed, seeing as how this behavior was of expectation now—for Niall and food at least. 


    Niall shrugged, and we continued on with the game.    


    He immediately chose Louis.


    Of course, he wants revenge. This boy and his food obsession. It's crazy, almost irrational.




    I'm surprised by that. He picks dare normally, being the wacky guy he normally is. Maybe, he's just scared of what Niall would do, given the circumstances.


    Niall thought for a moment with a long, drawn out "Hmm..." Finally, he spoke up.


    "Do you love Eleanor?"


    Louis and Eleanor turned toward each other with bright smiles and blushing cheeks. 


    "You bet,"Louis whispered like it was a big secret, eyes never diverting from his beautiful girlfriend.


I'm sure Niall didn't plan that one out.


    I smiled at the pair. I really loved how they were both so joyfully. Besides, Eleanor is a really nice person.


    El whispered back, "Love you, too."    


    "Prove it."


    Suddenly, the two were locking lips in the middle of my living room! Everyone was either starring at them stunned or shocked.


 Wow... Just wow.


    They kept going for quite a while: she gripped his shirt; he played with her hair, tracing his figertips down the ends; both their eyes closed.


    How can they hold their breath that long? 


    Finally Harry snapped out of his trance and coughed awkwardly, not-so concealing a "get a room."


    They pulled away and blushed super hard, causing everyone to laugh. 


    "Sorry," El mumbled. 


    "Don't be."


    Eventually everyone ceased laughing their heads off, and the game continued as normal.


    After a few minutes of playing—dares ranging from "lick the floor" to "eat a gross smoothie of whatever we find in the kitchen"—it was my turn to dare someone.


"Harry, truth or dare."


    "Dare," he automatically answered me, probably scared of what I would come up with if he were to pick truth.


    I don't blame him; he has tons of truths against him—not that it's anything bad like magazines suggest so frequently.


    I thought a few minutes; I wanted to do this right, think of something so great that he would dread it.


     Hmm... What can I do here? What can I do? There isn't much.


    I think a few more minutes before coming upon what I wanted to use.


    "I know!" I announced enthusiastically. "You know the girl next door?"


    "Yeah." he responded. 


    "I dare you to invite her over here."


    The weirdest thing occured then: a smile played on his lips.


    "Invite the girl next door over," I repeated, clarifying that he was supposed to reacting in any way but pleasure.


He grin just seemed to deepen.


What? I gasped, shocked.


    He stood up, pulling on a jacket.




More bewilderment gathered with each new move he made.


What? What on Earth is he doing? I called Niall weird, but maybe I should have named Harry the weird one.


    Niall verbalized my thoughts by inquiring, "What you doing, mate?"


    "Going to ask the neighbor if she wants to come over," he answered, as if it was an everyday answer and a casual event.


    "Yo—" I attempted to say, but he had already slipped out into the cold air of the season.


    Well, that was quick.


A/N: How was this? Thanks for reading. I hope this was long; I worked on it forever.




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