Zessa

chapter 13

i just realised that this story no longer resembles the original after at all. I meant to try and make my writing sound like anna todd's but i guess it didn't really work out. oh well.

Zayn

My fingers are numb and the room is a blur. The gun has slipped from my hands. Someone bursts through the door, a wraith of smoke and silver. I blink hard, but my vision is still distorted by a film of unshed tears. Slowly, Tyler's face shimmers into hazy focus.

"Are you okay? Are you okay?"

"No," I try to say. "Not me . . . Tessa. Is Tessa okay?"

But all I can manage is a few incoherent mumbles, and then my knees turn to liquid and I collapse on the floor. On the other side of the room, I can see two huddled bodies crumpled against each other. One of them is moving. I can't tell who it is.

"I called the cops," Tyler says, quick and frantic. "I only went down to do the laundry, what the fuck happened, Zayn? Zayn?"

I can't speak. My heart is jammed in my throat like a fist as I struggle to collect my quivering muscles and drag myself across the floor. She has to be okay. She has to be okay.

"I can hear the sirens," Tyler says suddenly, grabbing my arm and yanking me to my feet. I struggle weakly against him, but my mind is dull with shock. I don't know what's going on.

He drags me out of the room, away from Tessa, away from everything. Heaving my arm around his neck, he jerks me down the stairs and to the main entrance, where two police cars and an ambulance are parked, sirens blazing. Already, the scene has been infiltrated by several irritated neighbours, dressed in pyjamas and muttering unhappily amongst themselves.

They turn to look at us, and their expressions of annoyance transforming to masks of horrified shock as they watch Tyler half carry me toward the ambulance. I try to pull away from him. "Tessa," I mutter into his ear. "We . . . have to go back . . . Tessa."

"I know, just let me talk to the cops, alright?" Tyler snaps. "You should go to the hospital. What happened?"

"Harry," I say as distinctly as I can. "He's still . . . up there. With Tessa. We . . . have to get her."

Tyler shakes his head. "You shot him, man"

"Shot?" My voice trembles. "Shot him?"

He gives me a sidelong glance as we stumble along and lowers his voice. "I think you killed him, dude."

At first, the words don't register. I think you killed him . . . think you killed . . . you killed him. I stare blankly at Tyler, my bare feet dragging across the asphalt. I don't feel anything. I can't organise my thoughts.

And then it hits me in a second. I gag on air and jerk convulsively out of his grasp, falling to my hands and knees and vomiting so hard I start to cry. I can feel acid burning the back of my throat and crawling up toward my nose. I cough hard and wipe my mouth on my forearm.

I killed him.

"Fuck," I cry, sitting back on my heels. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Hey!" Tyler shouts, waving at one of the policemen, who has just stepped out of his car. "Hey, over here!" He turns back to me. "Zayn, you alright, man?"

"Shit ," I groan, rising unsteadily to my feet and wiping tears from my eyes.

"Take it easy, man," Tyler says, grabbing my shoulder as I sway dangerously. "It was self-defence, alright? These guys know it. No one's going to jail."

I feel sick, both physically and mentally. If I hadn't killed Harry, he would be going to jail. If I hadn't killed Harry . . . well, if I hadn't killed Harry, he'd still be alive.