After Midnight

chapter thirty-three.

33 - SCARLETT

    My head is pounding, and there's an annoying beeping sound-making progressively worse.

    The rest of my body feels numb. I'm half worried it's not even there anymore. That fear seems to be eased, though, as my eyes open and I'm greeted by darkness and numerous machines lighting up small portions of the room.

    I move my head slowly and take in my surroundings. I can tell it's nighttime from the darkness outside the small window.

    I can see my mother's silhouetted body slumped in the chair beside my bed, only now realizing that her hand is clutching mine. She's fast asleep, her breathing steady.

    I can tell that the light is on in the bathroom, the small space underneath the door allowing a bit of light to shine through.

    I notice the feeling of the cheap hospital gown fabric against my skin and needles poked into my arm for the IV.

    There's shuffling coming from the bathroom now, and soon enough, the door swings open, the bright light momentarily blinding me.

    I clench my eyes shut until I hear the click of the light switch. Zayn's tall figure stands in the doorway when I open my eyes, his body completely still.

    It's too dark for me to see his face, and I can't tell if he's aware that I'm awake or not. After a minute or two of him standing there like slender man, he moves forward. He walks right to the edge of my bed, the light from the machine keeping track of my vitals shining on his face.

    His eyes are bloodshot, and his dark circles make his usually bright green eyes a shade darker. He looks at me as if he can't believe what he's seeing, and before I can say hello, he's pulling me up gently and wrapping his arms around me.

    I return the hug as best I can, barely able to move my arms as his muscular frame overpowers me.

    The last thing I remember is driving home from work. Everything after that, including how the hell I ended up here, is a mystery to me.

    "Z," I mumble, my mouth covered by his broad shoulder.

    Zayn pulls away, slowly laying me back down. His eyes are brimmed with unshed tears, breaking my heart even more as I took in his broken expression.

    "Don't cry," I say, putting my hand to his cheek as he sits on the edge of my bed. "I'm okay. I swear it." I try to give him an encouraging smile.

    That only makes it worse. Zayn's hand clutches mine as his tears fall silently. "I'm so fucking sorry, baby. I'm so sorry."

    "Stop it," I snapped angrily. "I may not remember what happened, but I know for damn sure it wasn't your fault, so stop it right now." I freaking hate it when he blames himself.

    Zayn apologies with a weak laugh, tucking my loose strands of hair behind my ear. His thumb rubs soothing circles against the back of my hand as he recounts the events that took place on my birthday.

    Apparently, Carlos is the one who shot me, and if it weren't for Rocky, the bullet would've ended up in my head rather than my stomach. Luckily the bullet missed any major organs, and the surgery went smoothly.

    "Everyone keeps telling me how lucky you are, but it only makes me feel worse. You shouldn't have had to rely on luck in the first place. I promised to protect you, and I failed."

    "You couldn't have known what he was going to do, Zayn. I don't expect you to be able to predict when a psychopath is going to attack me," I attempt to make a joke, but Zayn can only muster a slight twitch of the lip.