red hair and a blue hoodie // ed sheeran

Chapter 47 - Through the Dark with Niall

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The elevator smelt of drying blood as I made my way up to Zo’s floor. It was cold, my blue hoodie wrapped tightly around my body. I tucked my  hands deeper into my pockets, gripping the recorder I had brought. I had decided to make her a mix tape. Except, the twist was I going to play every song live at her bedside.

Ding!

The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened revealing to me a dark white corridor. I knew my way down these paths now. I knew the route to Zo’s room. She was three doors down from the elevator while also being the door across from the other burns unit patients.

There was one girl in there that had nearly lost her life in the same fire that Zo was in. She was in a critical condition also. I had visited her one day when Zo was getting tests done on her progress. She was pretty at first glance. The burns that scattered all over her face, neck, arms and legs did little to hide the true beauty that hid beneath. I had walked in, my feet hitting the floor at the same rhythm as her heart monitor and perched myself next to her on an unoccupied seat.

Glancing around her room my eyes landed on her bedside table. There was nothing there. No flowers. No ‘get well’ messages. No presents. I glanced back up at her face with tears lacing the bottom rim of my eyes. Did no one know she was here? Did no one that cared know what had happened? Did they care? With a mixture of frustration, sympathy, hatred and pity, I fished a broken but working blue pen out of my pocket and on the back of a spare sheet of blank manuscript, I wrote her a letter.Leaning against my knee, trying ever so hard not to pierce or damage this sheet in anyway.

After about ten minutes, I had managed to cram it all in. A detailed description of how beautiful she was and how everything was going to be okay. I had to give her some sort of hope seeing as no one else was willing to give it to her. I had left the letter on the chair I had occupied. I wonder if she had had the chance to read it yet.

She... She... You don’t even know her name Sheeran.

I was brought back to reality when I came to a stop outside of Zo’s door. I peeked through the window, running my fingers over the fogging glass. She was in there, her hair fanning out around her like the goddess she was. Her freckles were more outstanding in contrast to her pale complexion. Something that used to just blend into her face like a sprinkle of chocolate flakes on a cupcake now stood out like a pebble in the sand.

Her skin looked loose against her skin; almost like you could peal it off with your bare hand. She looked tired even when she slept. I didn’t want her to wake up. So, when I opened the door I kept as quiet as possible. It did squeak but only slightly so I was able to slip in with my guitar held close to my back.

I glanced down at the door, finding a lock. With a flick of my finger I locked the door and made my way over to Zo’s bedside. I lifted the straps of the guitar from over my head so I held it to my right, wrapping my fingers around the neck of Lloyd. She still didn’t move under my sight. Her eye lids stayed glued shut with her mouth staying barely parted to let that small bubble of oxygen fly freely in and out of her lungs. The doctors had told me it was a miracle that she was able to breathe on her own. They thought that with the smoke inhalation that she would be on breathing masks for at least a couple weeks. But she was a miracle girl in general.

Whilst admiring Zo and her amazing qualities, I padded my way over to the chair beside her bed. With a careless peek at the desk next to me, I found a total of six single different and individual flowers. There was a blood red rose, a pink gerbera, a white daisy, a fuchsia coloured orchid, a golden coloured lily  and a purple iris with a yellow inside. On each of the flowers was a small note, no bigger than my screen on my iPhone. Each little note had Zo’s name written on it but after picking up one, I found a small passage on the back of each piece of card. I didn’t read the tiny paragraphs; not until Zo gave me permission to read them would I even think about doing something so invasive. If she ever gave me permission. If she ever spoke to me again. Last time I checked she still hated me.