The chosen [Niall Horan]

Chapter 30 (sybil)

The first thing I notice is that I'm being carried, large stiff arms wrapped around my knees and back, carrying me like an infant. I can tell that it's a man, but it's not Niall. No, not Niall. Everytime Niall touches me its gentle, as delicate as a flower, this isn't like that. This person is holding me uncomfortably tight.

The second thing I notice is the pain. I feel as though I've been thrown into a meat grinder. Ever inch of me hurts. I let out a hiss as the man readjusts me in his arms.

My curiosity gets the best of me and I peel my eyes open, only to see Jackson. "Where are we going?" I choke out, voice a hoarse whisper. His jaw is set, eyes blazing. "They almost killed you" he says through gritted teeth.

"Jackson, where are we going?" I ask again.

He looks down at me, eyes brimming with tears, he blinks quickly, pushing them back in. "We need to bring you to the infirmary. Do you remember what happened?"

I think back as far as I can, my photographic memory coming in use. "I remember everything up until the rock hit my head."

I suddenly remember the last words that left my lips "il see you soon". I start pushing against Jacksons chest, desperate to get down. "Woah woah woah, what are you doing?!" He yells, trying to keep his grip on my floundering body.

"I need to see him! I can't go to the infirmary yet, I need to see him"

"Sybil...Sybil stop!" He shouts, stopping my movements. "Sybil, you need to see the doctors. Look at your leg and shoulder, they need to get stitched. You're head too. You can barely limp by yourself let alone walk."

I look down at my leg, sure enough, a small amount of blood is still coming from the deep gash. I set my jaw and look up at him, determination radiating in my voice.

"Niall first, stitches second"

"Fine" he grumbles

We walk down the dimly lit hallways, we must be underground. Every second feels as though my body is becoming more and more damaged. Spots of blood stain Jacksons shirt.

"I'm sorry" I mumble, gesturing to the growing stain.

"Stop that. It's a bit of blood, I've seen ten times worse" he chuckles.

I nod my head as we continue down the corridor. Finally we come to a fork in the path, one leading left, the other right. He sets me down lightly, I push down the shriek of pain threatening to escape my lips. He starts walking down the left branch, letting me hold onto his arm, but the minute I take a step my body objects. It feels as if my limbs aren't my own. I suppose the blood and dirt concealed the severity of them.

Jacksons quick to react, draping my one arm over his shoulder, acting as a crutch for my injured leg, which drags neatly useless behind me. The walk feels agonizing, every step more difficult than the last, my breath coming out in laboured gasps. Beads of sweat collect on my forehead. The only reason I haven't stopped is the thought that I'll see him soon.

The hall is lined with doors on both sides, each of them numbered. I quickly gather that behind each one, there's a chosen.

"Which one is he?" I ask

"53"

We continue the torturing walk, the numbers slowly but surely going up. Suddenly, a thought hits me.

"Jackson...Does this mean I made the cut?"

He looks at me with bewildered eyes. "Of course you did. You were the first one that they put through. You did the best"

I feel a shadow of a grin appear on my face, I did it. I made it. The grin is quick to disappear though, because in front of me is a heavy iron door, not unlike the rest, other than the number, which reads 53.