I got to my mansion around one a.m. It was built in the country-side, around four hours out of Dublin, and I had stopped at Wild Rover's. Everlee was pretty understanding about my wanting something to eat, but still got me out of there as soon as I'd paid for the croissant she'd hastily thrown into a bag. That left me four hours to listen to punk rock in my limo that I'd had the Hard Rock manager call.
When I finally got out of the limo, the chauffeur looked extremely happy to have the sweet silence greet his ears again. I waved by as I stepped onto my lawn, surrounded by violets and roses. Looking at my feet so that I wouldn't step on a snake by mistake, I made my way to the dirt path that led to the front steps.
My house looked like Monticello, Thomas Jefferson's home on the outside, but on the inside, it looked more like the Centre Hill house in Petersburg, Virginia.
When I was a child, before I began my career, my mother used to take me to different historical houses. I had been so inspired by the Centre Hill's beautiful sitting rooms and gorgeous furnishings that I had made my house a more modern version.
But at times, because of its positioning, the house gave me the creeps. As I unlocked my door, I found myself looking over my shoulder. The chauffeur was watching me, making sure I made it inside, and when I finally closed the door, I heard him drive off.
Switching on all the lights, I found Alice, my old grandmother, snoring in one of the chairs that were positioned on either side in the middle of the walls. Alice had moved in with me after my parents got tired of the old bat's snoring, which they could hear through the thin walls.
Gramma Alice was my favorite relative. So I took her in; I had enough room, and it felt good to see someone I knew whenever I came home. The only problem with Gramma was that she'd brought her cat, Thompson, with her. Along with her many other belongings; Gramma used to be rich before she fell upon money problems. She still had her belongings from what she called "the good old days"; a four poster bed with a silver curtained canopy, a toy chest holding all of her memories from my grandfather, and clothes from when she was a nurse during World War Two.
She'd married into the money, but when Grandpa died, she'd gotten none of it due to his debts.
Which led to where she was now. Sleeping on my couch, because she was too scared to go upstairs without me. I gently shook her awake, and her milky blue eyes fluttered open.
"Oh, Aviva!" She sat up, her thin, frail form shaking. "What time is it, dear? You should not be out this late!"
"I know, Gramma," I said, hugging her. She wrapped her arms around me, pecking me on the cheek. I smiled at her. "I had a meeting with my agent. He set me up with another boyband."
"Av, you need to show him who's boss!" Gramma said in her adorable yet strong voice, raising her fist in the air. She looked exactly like that girl in the WWII posters that said We Can Do It!, except older. I guess I should put in that Gramma is American, married to an Irish man. "If you don't want to visit with the fellas, then you don't have to. Although I am hoping someone will rub off on you, my little rebel. I did enjoy your blonde hair."
I shook my head. "I try, Gramma. Sterling's not one to listen, though." I ran my fingers through my hair. "Maybe I'll dye it blonde next time. Just for you."
She grinned, her teeth surprisingly still there even at her age, and then took my hand. I stood up, slowly lifting her to her feet, and together, we stumbled up the stairs.
I woke up to a banging noise downstairs. I reached under my pillow, and pulled out a flashlight. Flicking it on, I jumped out of bed, tripping over my slippers. I assumed it was Thompson, jumping on his cat post in the kitchen. The cat was always up at night, and occasionally I'd have to get up and bring him into my room. Where he'd sleep for the rest of the night.
If he didn't decide that he needed to go to the bathroom. Anyway, it could also be my Gramma. She often got thirsty around this time.
The sun was just starting to peek its head into the night, and the sky was a soft gray. It must be three o'clock. I sighed, shining the light at the curtains. Walking over to the drapes, I pulled them open, revealing the faint daylight. It shone on the downstairs drawing room; a bookcase in the middle of two couches, a mirror above the fireplace with a candle on either side, and a grand piano in the corner....Where a boy with blonde hair sat, his head leaning against the keys. They'd long stopped playing their tune, and now they were silent. Which explained why I was so freaked out that he was there.
He immediately woke up, slamming his fingers down on the keys. A terrible sound erupted from the instrument, causing me to jump at least three feet in the air. Thompson just so happened to walk under my legs as I landed, and I leaped onto his tail. He hissed, and streaked out of the room, his ears laid back straight against his head.
"Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?"
The boy looked up at me. "Wait, don't hit me with the flashlight! It's Niall Horan, you know? One Direction!"
"That doesn't explain why you're here! Do you realize how creepy this is?"
"Well, Sterling didn't think it was creepy..."
"What?! Sterling's here?! Where is here, I am going to slap the-"
"No!" Niall walked forward, and I took a step back, collapsing into my Civil War period style couch. He stared at the couch, apparently realizing that he was actually in my house. In my house. Aviva's house. I still handled the flashlight as though it were a weapon, ready to smack the shit out of him if he turned out to be some robber impersonating an international popstar.
"No? Then why are you here? You shouldn't have a reason to be in my mansion if he is not here! And you shouldn't have a reason to be here at THREE O'CLOCK IN THE F-"
"Shush!" He squealed, holding up his hands. "Louis is in the guest room, trying to sleep!"
"You searched through my house enough to find the bloody guest room?!" I whisper-yelled, spit flying out of my mouth. He rolled his eyes.
"No. We came up with a song idea, and we couldn't wait until morning. So we asked Sterling for the key."
"Sterling. Has the key. To my HOUSE?!"
"No. Your brother does."
"My brother gave you the key to my house," I deadpanned, crossing my arms across my chest. He nodded, sitting next to me on the couch. I edged away from him, and, noticing that I was still in my PJs, turned my back to him.
"Yeah. He told me to tell you that you are not allowed to drink, or he would call the police to tell them that you are committing the indecent exposure crime..."
"What the actual-"
"And he also said that you're banned from his wedding? I dunno."
"You know what? Hold that song idea for a moment, and gather up your stupid buddies. We're taking a three a.m. field trip to my brother's apartment. I'm going to trust that you won't let me punch the living daylights out of him?"