It Started With A Drunk Kiss (Zayn Malik Fan Fiction) [EDITING] COMPLETED

Chapter 32 - I'm Sorry

One by one all of us walked slowly in the gloomy room and surrounded Zayn’s bed. My heart dropped as I saw the awful state he was in. One of his eyes was swollen and purple; there were stitches on the right side of his forehead and one of his legs was propped up on a pillow in a big white cast.

“Hey mate, how are you feeling?” Louis asked.

“Yeah, just a little light headed,” Zayn mumbled half conscious. Zayn’s sisters Safaa and Waliyha went on either sides of his bed and hugged him gently and carefully. I could see Safaa’s eyes get watery as she took in Zayn’s appearance.

According to the doctor’s reports he had several broken bones, a cracked skull and heavy bruising in a few places. Luckily he didn’t lose his memory; that was the last thing I needed.

Everyone gave each other some time to be alone with Zayn. His family were the first to talk with him and see how he’s feeling while the boys and I waited just outside anxiously.

“I wonder who would do such a thing?” Liam wondered aloud while he stared at Zayn through the glass door.

“The poor lad, I hope he will erm…recover quite well. We need him for the um the gig coming soon,” Harry said in a painfully slow way.

My body was still numb. I could’ve lost Zayn. Liam hugged me and reassured me once more that he’s healing now. Niall didn’t say much either, we were all pretty quiet and shocked. I felt traumatized.

After Trisha stepped out of Zayn’s room, it was my turn. I stepped in and he looked exactly how I saw him 20 minutes earlier.

“Hey babe,” I whispered as I took a seat on his bed. “You scared me to death. I was worried about you so much.”

“You saved my life,” he spoke just above a whisper. I couldn’t reply. My throat was clogged up and if I spoke I’d break down in tears. It was painful seeing him in pain. I gulped down the sob that was about to leave my mouth and got a hold of myself.

“Do you remember anything?” I took his hand into mine and gently stroked it.

“Every single detail. It hurts to remember.”

“Do you know who did it?”

“No, not one clue. Never saw them in my life.”

“Well, we’ll find who it was and make them pay,” I managed to say before my voice cracked and tears streamed down my face.

The next day I visited Zayn at the hospital the police were there. They were asking Zayn all these questions to help them in their investigation.

“How many people abused you?” The officer asked.

“There were 3,” Zayn replied dully.

“Were they all of the same gender?”

“Yes, they were all males. They looked about 18. They had an extremely good build.”

“Could you describe how the first male offended you and his appearance?”

“He had mahogany coloured hair and freckles. I presume his natural hair colour was red since his eyelashes and eyebrows were red. He came out of nowhere when I was walking to school and hit me in the back with a baseball bat.”

The image in my head of that happening made me sick in the pit of my stomach. I rubbed the bags under my eyes trying to clear the image.

Zayn described the 2nd male, who was tanned, had brown eyes and dark hair who might’ve been Vietnamese. Zayn described that the Vietnamese looking guy held him in a firm position so the other two guys could punch him easier.