Capture My Heart (BK3: Niall Horan)

-Ch 3: Cold glass and pale fonts.

CHAPTER THREE- Cold glass and pale fonts.

-Ashley Dawson-

The glass was cold against my hand as I left an undoubtable handprint on it. But that was okay, it was just another little bit of proof that I had been here. That I hadn’t forgotten. I closed my eyes for a few seconds, my eyelids felt heavy, considering I had not endured a lot of sleep. I didn’t know what I was doing here. I had told myself it was because I felt sick and needed air in and in my dizzy tiredness ended up here, but I knew that wasn’t true. I knew I was here because of the nightmare that had cloaked my peaceful slumbers in it’s dark cape, sucking all the pure things away into an endless vortex. It never got any better, however many times I came. It’s okay, once you’ve been a few times, it gets normal. But it doesn’t, it doesn’t get normal and it never will be.

I knew I had to go back home. Of course I did. I suppose I was just counting on the solemn fact that Niall wouldn’t wake up in the time I was gone. But I still stayed there, like I had for the past hour. It almost felt like my feet were glued to the spot, my legs were aching slightly from standing for so long. I was tired considering I had only slept for about four hours, but I still stood there. Traces of mist were looping around my fingers in their smudged font writing the determination I had for her to get better. If I wiped them with my sleeve, they would disappear. Almost like the incorrect spelling of a simple word, one that you rush hastily to remove with an eraser. But there will always be the small pieces of mistake lingering, the things that never quite inherit themselves into something else. Normally, you would brush them off of the table, falling onto the floor they would later be sucked up by a vacuum. But right now, it felt like a sin to remove it, almost as if I was hiding the fact that I ever spent a lot of time here.

As the clock behind me ticked away I leant my head against the glass. It was so cold against my skin, but it felt like my insides, so it didn’t matter. I could already feel my throat aching, and my eyes stinging. No tears had come yet, and I wondered if they even would. But right now, as I watched the lines of the LCD flowing steadily in zig zags I felt like thanking god with everyone second they continued, telling me that she had taken another breath. And as they dipped, falling low and almost to a heart wrenching halt, I felt my heart plummet. And then my brain would spin into a whir as it slowly climbed back up. I couldn’t do it. I could not lose her, or anyone else. It was hard enough knowing that someone else close to me had slipped through death’s door, I couldn’t handle another. But I promised myself, that if it was going to happen, I would be here for her last breaths. However much it killed me, broke me and made me realise that life is really, really sinister; I would do it for her. Because she didn’t deserve to die alone, and everyone knew it.

Somewhere, I could hear someone crying. And I could also hear the rhythmic squeaking of wheels as they pressed against the bleak, laminate flooring that blanketed the empty and bland halls for miles. Each one led to another disaster, another heart breaking and tear shedding. It was like a dead end, but it was literal.

A cold breath of air wafted down the hallway, mingling with the smell of cleaning agents. I watched wistfully as a group of doctors made their way down the hallway towards me in their scrubs. They were laughing as they pulled the latex gloves onto their cleanliness ridden hands. I wondered how they could laugh, smile as they were constantly in a place full of such dark secrets and scenarios. I wondered how they could feel good, jabbing needles into bare skin, forcing liquid and medicine down people’s throats and covering them with thinning sheets. I knew they got a reward, when they actually fixed someone, but I had no idea how they could smile. How they could not just break down and cry because life is so freaking ugly and cruel.

And as I turned away, a single tear slipping down my cheek that I would not let descend into a pitiful stream, I had a flash of so many years ago. It was so many years ago, that everything was different, I was different, the whole principal of life was different. Suddenly, I felt my legs buckling at the knee weakening memory that I wasn’t sure whether this was a good knee weakener or not. So I had to sit down on the small, invertebrate plastic bench as I rested my head in my hands. And as I closed my eyes, it all felt like five years ago again. And as I watched myself, I felt something strange, it wasn’t even me.