Legacy // H.S

32.

'Not all the answers are the same

Yet we still play thе game

*

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

We took every precaution.

Everything was safe.

Until it wasn't.

It all happened so quickly, really. The day after the wedding. His parents left. Half-way home something happened. And then at 2 in the morning we got a call. That's when we knew.

Hugo had sent people to try and kill Zayn's parents. On a country road they thought wouldn't be as busy as the motorways, one barely lit and virtually empty. A collision is what the police are calling it. A collision that was accidental, perhaps, but the driver fled the scene and left them to die. But we knew. We knew who was to blame, and we knew the instant Zayn got the call that his parents had been taken to hospital before we even had the details explaining why.

His mother is fine, bar a few broken bones and some scratches, but his dad... He's not doing so well.

Internal bleeding, ruptured organs, loss of consciousness. He took the brunt of the hit. The car collided with his side, sending their vehicle rolling across a field and into a ditch. They're not sure how the driver even got out of their own car considering the state it was in, but Liam has been sure to check hospital records across the country for wounds that sound similar to Zayn's dad's, just so we can try and track down the person responsible for it.

They're at a hospital near Birmingham at the moment, all of us racing up here the moment we heard. Zayn needed us, there was no question about it. We've been taking it in turns sitting with him, sleeping, eating, bringing some clothes to him, but he hasn't said a word to any of us. Only Babz, because she hasn't left his side, unless when she's going to check on Zayn's mum, but otherwise her time is spent glued to her husband.

Harry has been the same, though. Not just because Zayn is perhaps the person he is closest to in the world, but because his dad was the only father figure he had growing up. His own fell short of the job, and it's something he's still coming to terms with, but Zayn's dad was always there, and always did what he could to make sure he was okay.

Instead, I've spent most of my time with Claude and Niall, though the latter is sleeping right now.

Claude and I sit on the uncomfortable orange chairs in the waiting room, thick coats wrapped around us and warm drinks in our hands. It's busy, people spending most of their days here due to cuts to the healthcare system and understaffing. Never quiet because of it, babies screaming, children crying, mothers begging to be seen to while men complain about a swollen ankle from kicking a ball too hard. I don't really feel sorry for any of them, but when I see someone alone, see the fear in their eyes over their situation, I do find myself wondering if they want someone to sit with them too.

A few times I've joined a lone stranger, not saying a word, of course, but providing smiles and company without specifying it. I think it makes it the smallest bit easier if you're not alone. In a hospital, everything seems so much worse than it is, and when you're surrounded by noise your anxiety can't help but grow. Sometimes, people just need someone to sit next to them. That's all.

There's a thick stench of both bleach and blood in the air, something that made me feel violently ill at first, but I've grown quite used to now. On the few times I've left the hospital to shower, I can smell it on my clothes, too. It's not comforting in the slightest, but it's become normal. A lot of things have become normal lately. Death being one of them.