Patterns of Blues

Chapter 11

Niall peeked his eyes open, only to close them again immediately after, the white brightness of the room he was in too shocking a change, temporarily blinding him. He heard someone scramble beside him, his hand being squeezed tightly,

"Ni? Are you awake?" He groaned in response, noticing then that every inch of him was aching. Then he remembered what had happened that day, and his eyes snapped open and he ripped his hand away from the person beside him, panic stirring inside of him,

"Don't touch me." He blinked several times to adjust to the stark lighting and zoned in on Liam's hurt expression.

"I'm sorry," Liam apologized softly, setting his hands in his lap. Niall studied the room around him and saw Harry slumped over in a chair, dead asleep, cheeks red and puffy as though he had been crying for hours.

He glared at his feet and slowly dragged his gaze up to his chest, where he finally noticed that his left arm was wrapped in a sling. Before he could stop it, a single tear slid down his cheek and dripped off his jaw, landing on the paper-like hospital gown he had magically woken up in.

"Oh, Ni," Liam whispered, reaching over to brush it away.

"No!" Niall screamed, flinching away, "I said not to touch me. Please, just listen. No one ever listens." His breaths shortened, and he felt his head spinning. He tried to stand up, pulling at the wires that were attached to his arms, desperate to get away.

"Niall, you can't get up yet," Liam shouted, gently grabbing his shoulders and setting him back down on the bed, but all that made him do was thrash even harder against him,

"Stop!" He scrambled out of his brother's grasp, shaking his head wildly, "Stop it, stop it, stop it!" Harry was wide awake then, and several nurses hurried into the room upon hearing the commotion, scrambling to keep the eight-year-old on the bed, which only made him freak out some more. He writhed beneath their force, holding him to the bed as they tried to command him to stop fighting and relax.

He couldn't. Not in a million years would he be able to relax again. But he did give up on fighting, instead just letting the sobs take over. They laid him back where he should be and he scrunched his eyes closed when he heard softer footsteps approach his bedside,

"Hey, Ni. Breathe with me, okay? Nice an' easy." He shook his head violently in response, unable to focus on anything, his brain getting cloudy with a storm of a thousand terrible thoughts. He didn't need to see to know it was Harry, so he tucked his knees up to his chest and looped his free elbow around them, trying to be small. Small enough to hide away and never be seen again. Harry sighed and tried again, "Just copy my breathing, okay? Like we always do. It's just you and me and Liam. Don't worry about anyone else." That made him open his eyes again, and he tried to shallow his breathing, copying Harry's pattern, sobs slowly dying into hiccups and coughs. Harry nodded encouragingly, and the nurses stepped back, allowing them to get a proper look at each other.

"There you go," Liam murmured soothingly, kneeling beside him on the opposite side of the bed. Niall sniffed back another round of tears and buried his face into his knees, incapable of looking at either of them. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened back at home, but he knew that the man hurt him in ways Greg never would have. He let out a whimper as he remembered what happened, and he heard Harry sniff from beside him, clearly torn up as well. Then a new set of footsteps sounded, causing him to glance up, afraid of who he'd see approaching. He frowned in confusion when he saw a woman who he had originally thought to be a nurse standing in front of the bed, clipboard in hand. She wasn't dressed as a nurse, though. Instead of scrubs and a hairnet, she was wearing long black dress pants and a dark grey blazer, her hair kept behind her ears in a tight bun. She had a friendly smile and warm brown eyes, but Niall was too shaken up to trust a thing about her.