Living in London

I hate hospitals

0

---DANIELLE'S POV ---

Words are funny things. Have you ever noticed that sometimes you can reread a whole paragraph from a history textbook about five times and you still have no idea what it's about?

Yeah.

That sometimes can happen with talking, too. I just hung up my phone from a very short conversation with Liam. He spoke quickly but all I really know is that I need to go to the Queen Elizabeth and bring a spare set of comfortable clothes. I don't know why I need to go there and I don't know who the clothes are for. I guess everything he said didn't have time to sink in.

I'm not the kind of girl who just nods along but secretly ignores everything her boyfriend says-in fact, if anything I'm the exact opposite of those girls. I love Liam and when he talks to me I practically memorize every word. Not this time though. I heard him, but I wasn't listening. The frantic, panicked tone he spoke in was all I could focus on. Something was obviously wrong, very wrong.

I'd been to the hospital only two times before. The time my grandma passed away and the time my grandpa passed away.

I hate hospitals and the way some are blindingly bright, all painted a glossy, sterile white. They are usually quiet with just the low hum of chatter in other rooms and the occasional beep from a random heart rate monitor. I hate hospitals and the way some are painted in bright blues and greens, with visitor rooms full of couches and tv's in failed attempts at appearing welcoming. I hate hospitals and the way they smell so strongly of antiseptic that it burns the inside of your nose. I hate hospitals and the way there is an air of depression surrounding them, draining all the cheer out of you. I hate hospitals and the way they are bittersweet.

You are born at the hospital. You are sick at the hospital. You get better at the hospital. You are hurt at the hospital. You are healed at the hospital. You die at the hospital.

I hate hospitals.

I parked my car in a free space and grabbed the bag with the spare clothes off the backseat, locking the doors behind me. I pulled my hoodie sleeves down over my hands and the hood up over my head when a particularly cool breeze rustled some dead leaves on the ground. I sighed, pushing through a crowd of paparazzi at the entrance to the awful building. I wasn't in the mood to be friendly and smile for the cameras and answer the questions they shouted at me.

Yes, this is one of the sterile white hospitals, just as I remember it to be. I saw Liam leaning against a wall on the other side of the emergency waiting room. His face was covered by his hood but I would recognize him anywhere.

"Hey, what's going on?" I asked as soon as I reached him. He immediately took my hand and led me out of the waiting room and down a hallway.

"Don't you remember what I said on the phone? You did bring the clothes, didn't you?"

"Yeah- I grabbed them and came straight here after you hung up. I didn't even have time to change," I said, looking down at my daggy leggings-and-hoodie combo.

"You look fine," Liam assured me.

In a visitor room, the rest of the boys and a blonde girl who I'd only seen in pictures before were waiting. They all looked up at our entrance and I did a quick headcount. Zayn was missing.

"Is he okay? What happened?" I asked Liam in a low whisper.

"He was hit by a car. He's in with some doctors right now. They won't tell us anything," Liam replied and the girl, Ariadne I'm sure her name is, turned and buried her face in Harry's neck and began to cry.