He couldn't remember how long he had been in the plain, white room, surrounded by the smell of stale sheets and sterilizer. He couldn't remember how long he'd been thinking of the blue tint to her lips or the ring on her finger feeling colder than it should have since it was pressed against her skin. He couldn't remember how long he'd been trying to make sense of it all or how long he'd been trying to breathe without the air catching in the back of the throat or how long it had been since he was eating her breakfast. He couldn't seem to get a grip on his concept of time, like that part of his brain had been removed.
A nurse finally filed in, speaking quick French words that got lost on their way to his ears. It was like water filled his ears and everything sounded a little clouded and far away.
Glove covered hands pinned a paper to his tear and sweat soaked shirt, a slip of paper that he couldn't understand. It either read "watch" or "blue." The ink was smudged and he was reading it upside down and everything seemed foreign anyways.
"Is she okay?" he stuttered and the nurse shrugged and rushed out of the room.
His body shook, another sob thrashing through his body. He wanted to break his own ribs or bang his head against the hard plaster of the wall, anything to make the pain in his chest feel like a paper cut.
Gnawed fingernails and chapped lips, tiled floors and fluorescent lights, tornadoes of thoughts and floods of miseries.
Another doctor came in, clipboard in hand and shoes squeaking on the linoleum tiles. He was stern with his uptight shoulders and furrowed eyebrows and when he reached for Zayn's arm, he pulled away. He was scared, oh god he was scared. He didn't want to be touched by this big, strange man. He didn't want to feel unknown callused pressed against him because he thought he might crumble like a cookie right there beneath his touch.
"Sir, please work with me here," the man said through gritted teeth. The words were the first English ones he'd heard.
"I wanna see Caroline! I'm not even supposed to be here! Let me see her!" he exclaimed, his shouts making his body thrash.
The large man placed his big hands on the thrashing boy's forearms, pinning him down to the cot. Another series of screams tore through him, later settling in he back of his throat. A few other medics came in with syringes and threats, and all he could see was milky skin and bright eyes.
He started feeling lighter and lighter, sharp pains covering his body and a crippling one settling in his lungs. He dreamt of her soft hands tracing stars and circles into his skin and her knotty, nest-like hair bouncing against her shoulders as she danced down empty streets. He saw her lightly freckled face held in his palms and her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. He loved her so much, so goddamn much, and he prayed and he hoped and he screamed to whoever listened that she would get better.
