brainchild | z.m. & n.h. au

ii.

“Why were you at the lake, Niall?”

This is the second time the question has been asked. Niall fidgets in his seat and the brittle leather cracks like the spine of a book. His hands are shaking so he sits on them, warms his fingers until they are numb beneath the pressure and the uncomfortable stabbing sensation is mere seconds away.

The doctor sighs but Niall is not watching him remove his glasses and run a hand through his hair. Exasperated. They’ve been at this for forty minutes now and the blonde has barely said a word—only wondered if he should address the doctor by a proper name.

“Niall, are you going to answer my question?”

The said blonde does not like the way the doctor constantly refers to his name. They are the only two in the room, who else would he be talking to? Niall stays silent—pretends that there is glass wedged in his esophagus and he is keeping still to stay alive.

The doctor sighs, “I’ll take that as a no?”

And Niall feels a bit bad—feels like he’s just wasted nearly an hour of the busy man’s time by being an obstinate asshole when, really, he is just confused. “What lake?” and his voice is so hoarse and so quiet, he’s not sure the man heard him.

“The lake in your hometown. Mullingar, isn’t it?” there’s hope in this man’s tone for the first time in thirty five minutes.

Niall nods, “Yes, Mullingar, yes.” He scratches his head and tries to remember. Everything is still fuzzy and all he sees is grey upon grey upon grey water and stormy skies. The lake, right. “I,”—he hesitates, feels unsure, “I don’t know.”

“They found you there,” the doctor elaborates, reminding him easily as if he already knows, “When they picked you up. They found you sitting at the end of the dock, all alone. Can you tell me what you were doing there?”

Niall shakes his head no and offers the only logical thought that comes to mind, “It doesn’t make sense. I can’t swim.”

The doctor raises his eyebrows and scribbles something down in his oversized notepad. He is left handed and Niall forgets why that is important.

“Do you remember walking to the lake, Niall? Maybe, getting up that morning?”

Niall shakes his head and his fingers tremble, blood hot and bubbling inside of him. “I don’t remember anything. Not until the police showed up and grabbed me. Other than that...nothing.”

The doctor goes back to his notebook and the universe pauses for him; waits until he’s finished to allow Niall a portion of oxygen.

“Am I in trouble?” the blonde asks quietly, frightened. His heart is beating so loud he’s sure it can be heard through the thick, mahogany bookshelves on either side of him.

The doctor laughs and it is not nice. Forced. Overly forthcoming. “Of course not, Niall.”

“Then why am I here?”

The man just stares at him—still smiling, eyes cold and grey and hungry just like the water. “This isn’t jail, Niall, we’re not locking you up.”

“Why can’t I leave, then?”

“Now, Niall, we’re only trying to help.”

And the blonde nods because he is small and forgetting and could use all of the help he can get. His throat is swollen around his words and his brain feels emptier than ever—washed clear by the grey grey water and the feeling of hands around his arms.

“I’m not bad.”

The doctor smiles, “Of course you’re not, Niall. Now why don’t we get you back to your room? I think we’ve done enough for one day.”

...

[a/n: sorry if it’s confusing. It’s supposed to be a bit, I guess. I don’t know, tell me what you think? It’d mean a lot! xo]