The nighttime feed. Every parents' nightmare. Waking up to a banshee screaming at two in the morning when the world should be sleeping but no, a little terror is wide awake and demanding to be fed. It was Harley's turn and she sluggishly dragged herself out of the bed, plucking her dressing gown from the bed knob and slipped it on, tying the rope around her waist and sighing in annoyance.

Her feet dragged along the wooden floorboards like a deadweight and she could do with slipping onto it and falling asleep there and then. When she entered the nursery, her eyed fell upon the child and her eyes glazed over. She titled her head and stood there expecting the baby to shut up just at the sight of its mother. It didn't. She trudged over and pulled it up into her arms and reluctantly held onto it taking it down the stairs into the kitchen where she sorted a bottle.

As the baby suckled on the bottle's teet, Harley glared down at it in disgust. She didn't want this. But she did at the same time. She wanted to love the baby. She wanted to be overjoyed at feeding him and burping him and playing with him. She wanted that.

She didn't get that.

Inside of her, anger bubbled up from her stomach and she started to shake as Niall refused to drink anymore milk. She buried him despite her shaking hands and tried again. A little more milk but he stopped once more, his lips curling in the corners and a giggle tumbling from his lips.

Her jaw clenched and she had to stop herself from doing something stupid. Instead, she tossed the bottle into the sink even though it was supposed to be sterilised and washed in a certain way. The bottle cracked from the impact and Harley let out a loud growl in despair.

It scared Niall. His lips turned into a frown and his eyes widened. It scared Harley too. She shook violently and had to put Niall in his cot in the living room to hinder herself from what had crossed her mind.

She was disgusting.

Hatred boiled up within her at the thought that if it wasn't the bottle. Niall may have soared through the room.

She wasn't a mother.

This was not what went through a mother's mind!

Tears slipped down her cheeks, the warm trickles feeling hot from the cold air in the house. Her lips trembled and her knees buckled as she fell to the floor. Groping the sofa she grabbed a cushion and stuffed her face into letting out an curdling scream to which Niall started crying from.

"Shut up!" She shouted into the pillow.

"SHUT UP!"

Niall's cries did not seize and neither did Harley's. she eventually lifted her head and hauled her body across the floor towards the cot. "Shush, shush, shush," she whispered putting her hand through the bars. Niall took her finger and put it in her mouth. She turned her head away from him as he sucked on her finger, his cries halting but hers only worsened.

Harley didn't realise when Niall stopped and curled up to sleep. She was more focussed on her breathing and stopping herself from hyperventilating. She took her hand back and wiped it on her dressing gown not before leaving the room and going back into the kitchen where she took a glass from the cupboard and went to the pantry.

It was weird having a pantry. Growing up she never had one, most British homes didn't seem to have one but this cottage did. She had grown to love the pantry because it was heaven to her, filled with all her baking/cooking needs and of course, so much chocolate! She often hid away in here in order to escape from her duties and responsibilities as a mother, leaving Bill to occupy himself and Niall, which he clearly didn't mind or at least, he didn't notice.

At the back of the pantry was a cupboard, it was what was labelled Bill's cupboard because it contained what only he would touch or get for guests. Harley never had a need for it. She didn't want to have a need for it.

However, she lost control of herself, she pulled open the cupboard and closed her eyes diving into it blind and taking whatever her hand landed on and pulled it out. She twisted open the cap and poured some into the glass.

The stench was repulsive. She never liked the smell, it reminded her too much of her parents and she never wanted to be reminded of them. That was all over for her now that the war was over. She gaggdd as she raised the glass up, the odour pouring up her nostrils even more. She pushed her head forward and wrapped her lips around the edge of the glass ripping it back and letting the liquid pour into her mouth and down her throat.

Just as she had expected, the liquid was putrid. It didn't tastes of anything, no flavour because the alcohol taste overpowered it all. All of this, yet she poured another glass, and another, and another. Her head spun and she couldn't balance properly as she put the bottle back and and washing the glass up. It wasn't a pleasant taste in her mouth nor was the feeling of imbalance delightful, but her whole body became numb. She no longer could feel the ache of her heart and the stress in her mind.

She had lost all her inhibitions and it all came from one bottle...

red wine.