Triple Dog Dare *A Zayn Malik Love Story*

Chapter 17

The song for the chapter is Stupid Pretty Girl by Anthony Salari.

*Zayn's POV*

I woke with a start, a loud knocking on my door invading my peaceful slumber. "Zayn. Are you dead?" Harry opened the door a crack and stuck his head in to see me.

I flipped over from my side to my back and rubbed my eyes with my palms. "I think so."

"Okay, just making sure," Harry teased. He opened the door and completely stood against the doorframe as I shoved my face back into my pillow. "Come out and eat breakfast."

"No," I whined. "My everything hurts."

"I set out iBuprofen," he chimed.

"Coming," I groaned. He took off down the stairs and I rolled out of my bed, slowly and carefully finding the will to lure myself down the stairs. Despite my body disagreeing with my every move I eventually made it to where the stairs met the living room. I carelessly plopped down at the kitchen table at a spot across from Harry. He looked almost as bad as I probably did, tired eyes straining to stay open and hair falling messily in all directions.

"Here, take these," he offered. I stole a drink from his cup of water and swallowed the pills in a painful gulp.

"Thanks man." He nodded.

"So how was it, Birthday Boy?"

"The party?" I asked. He nodded and took a bite of his cereal. I reached across to his side of the tabletop and grabbed the Cheerios, pouring a small amount into the bowl in front of me followed by a dosage of milk. "It was a lot of fun, I just think I drank too much."

"Same, Man. That's the fun in it but I'm definitely regretting it today, I don't know about you."

"Same. Who brought me home?"

"Camille drove you and Rita home. Rita's car is still down the street at Liam's. I just stayed there all night. I literally just walked in." My eyes flicked to the clock. 11:04.

"We don't have to record today, do we?" I fussed, putting my slightly aching head on the table.

"Nope. Every day this coming week we do," he replied.

"Cool." I turned my head to the side to stare at the wall. "Well it's only Sunday so Camille doesn't have to go to university today. I might go over and see what she's up to." I finished and picked up my bowl, pouring the remnants of milk into the sink. I stalked up the stairs to get a shower, brush my teeth, and ultimately freshen up before heading over to Camille's.

. . .

*Camille's POV*

When I woke up to my alarm at 11, I could feel that something was off. Something about me didn't seem right. I felt nauseous, like I was going to vomit. My tired body failed to deny my unwilling actions as I pulled the duvet covers covering my bed back and quickly fled to the bathroom. Observing myself in the mirror on the bathroom wall, I noticed how sickly pale my face was. I raised the back of my hand to my forehead and groaned at the coolness I felt, signaling I had a fever. I was consciously aware of the vomiting sensation that remained in my stomach as I supported myself against the wall in the bathroom and waited for the feeling to pass.

It didn't.

Instead, I sat on my knees on the cold, tile floor, having to pull my hair back to prevent it from becoming a victim of my harsh retching. I winced when my phone rang obnoxiously in my bedroom. My body trembled as I stood from my spot in front of the toilet to find it. I picked it off my bedside table and unplugged it from its charger.