Nine.

                                    

                                          
January 7th, 2016 

                          
BLAIR'S POV
It's been about a week since I last saw Niall, and I don't have any intentions of letting anything like that happen ever again.
                          
It's not good for me.
                          
I hate him and he hates me, so why can't we stay away from each other? I've never seen anything like it, and I wish I didn't have to. No matter how many showers I take I still feel dirty, like I'll never be able to wash away what we've done because, in reality, I know I can't. It's in the past so I'm not worried about it because of that—I'm only thinking about it because I'm afraid it's going to happen again. There's no denying we have the physical aspect of something amazing, but mentally and emotionally I doubt we ever could. He's not the caring type, he seems conceited and selfish, and like I always say, he's a prick. He sleeps with different girls every night, never the same one twice.
                          
Except for me, I guess. 
                          
I wish every time I came running to him, he would turn me away. Since I know he won't, if he ever comes running to me I'm going to have to be the one to. 
                          
I take a sip of my iced caramel macchiato from Starbucks before a text notification from my phone disrupts my thoughts. It's an unknown number that says, "Hi, It's Niall. This is Blair, right?" 
                          
I'm confused... there are text messages from previous days to this exact number stating that this isn't Niall...
                          
That fucker. 
                          
"Must be mistaken, this isn't her. Sorry!" I reply since I have no intentions of speaking to him ever again.
                          
"Cmon love, I know it's you. Remember that messages are automatically saved unless they're deleted," he reminds me in his reply. 
                          
Sometimes I really do hate my life.
                          
"What do you want?" I bluntly ask. I hope he can hear my attitude through the screen, maybe it'll piss him off and he'll finally leave me alone.
                          
"I want to meet up to talk. Coffee, dinner, a drink, whatever you'd like," his words shock me. Come the fuck again...am I reading this clearly?
                          
"And why would I want to do that?"
                          
"Oh I know you don't want to, but I'm paying, and I know you love to always be doing something, somewhere. I'll pick you up at 7:30 sharp, send me your address." There's no way in hell I'm going. 
                          
"And by the way, love, that wasn't me asking. See you at 7:30." 
                          
I know that no matter what I want I'm going to be spending my evening with Niall Horan. I roll my eyes and reluctantly send my location to him. I've never met someone as persistently annoying as him, and I doubt I ever will. 
                          
I do my typical going-out routine and throw on one of Delaney's fit and flare dresses. Of course, she's encouraging me to go, so she gave me something that looked "really hot but effortless." The dress is a light periwinkle—I look innocent, which is ironic since I'm far from it. I carelessly toss in small, white plastic hoops to match my strappy white heels. I keep my face fairly bare, only applying a light amount of concealer, mascara, and blush. I coat my lips with clear lip gloss and check my phone only to see it's 7:25. 
                          
"Almost here," the words across my phone pop up. Great.
                          
"You look amazing as always, B. Go have fun tonight," she heavily encourages. "Whether you hate him or not, I can tell he's a lot of fun to be around. Plus, he keeps you on your toes...Now be safe and don't do anything I wouldn't do," she says as she rushes me out of the door, handing me my white puffer jacket and my matching clutch. "Fine, but only for you, D," I say before the door slams behind me and locks.