Assault With a Deadly Weapon || N.H / 1D

52.

Song recommendation: Fix You by Coldplay
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Ouch.

There was something stuck in my arm.

What had I been doing? Why would there ever be something stuck in my fucking arm?

My eyes weren't open, my mind wasn't awake, but I could feel that thing stuck in my arm.

I should rip it out.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep?

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

What the fuck?

My eyes opened to the dark room. My vision was blurry. You know how after you rub your eyes for too long, or if you sleep with your hands pressed on your eyes, and then your vision gets all cloudy and blurred? That's exactly how I felt at that moment. No matter how many times I blinked, I still couldn't make out much of what was going on around me. Based on the colour scheme of the blurbs that I could see, I was in our bedroom at the McBride's. Something was still stuck in my arm, and there was an obnoxious, steady, beeping noise coming from beside me.

I lifted my heavy arm to rub my eyes. I could feel fresh bandages on my forehead, but it didn't hurt anymore. I must've undergone some sort of magic ritual in order to make this pain disappear. Whoever my fairy godmother was, obviously went through extensive training in med school.

Nope.

My vision cleared.

It was morphine.

I looked down at my arm, there was an IV sticking in it. I almost gagged. I hated needles. Yep, fearless Philly Carter couldn't get bloodwork done without nearly passing out. Once I almost broke a nurse's hand because I was squeezing it so tightly while I was getting blood taken. I was fifteen, it wasn't my fault.

I craned my neck to see where the beeping was coming from. There was a monitor with my heart rate and blood pressure sitting on my nightstand. I was hooked up to the machine to make sure all my vitals were in check.

I was wearing my pyjamas. It was a light blue, silky, two piece set that I adored. I wonder who had changed me? Who'd taken me up to the bedroom? Who the hell was pumping me with morphine? These were all valid questions for me to have, but my brain was a little confused. I didn't really feel like I was awake. I couldn't properly gauge the temperature of my body, or how the blankets felt on my skin. My senses weren't one hundred percent heightened. I was just a fog of consciousness.

I would've panicked. What if I wasn't really on morphine? What if they were pumping poison into my blood? This could be a lethal dose of fentanyl for all I knew! Maybe I was finally dead!

I didn't panic, only because my gaze caught onto a figure in the chair by the window. The fireplace was flickering gently, casting orange waves of light across the walls. The dim, spastic glow was enough for me to recognize who was folded up on that uncomfortable chair. His neck was twisted in an awkward position, and his legs were spread out, probably just to distribute his weight evenly. Only he would think about things like that.

I didn't know why Niall was sleeping on that tiny chair, he should've been sleeping in the bed with me. It was our bed after all, and I had the space for it. I couldn't wake him up though. He looked the most peaceful I'd seen him in a very long time. His eyebrows were unfurrowed. He wasn't frowning, he just looked relaxed. Lately he hadn't been smiling as much as he used to. I wished I could make him smile like I used to be able to. I feel like all I'd been doing was causing him unnecessary stress. He shouldn't have to take care of me. That wasn't in his job description.