Fire Starter

Chapter Nine

Just hit One MILLION reads on my Niall story.

This is amazing. x

It's completed, if anyone wants to read it. (:

-

I stirred because my chest stung. When a groan parted my lips, I realized how freezing it was regardless there seeming to be heavy comforters ontop of me like a corpse.

Please, let me not be in the emergency room.

But how could I have been...?

I'd been in the ER enough times to realize, half-conscious, that I was not there. As oppose to being exposed under blindingly bright lights, the lighting here was dim through my lids. The bed I was in -if it even was one- wasn't hard with thin blankets and thin lumpy pillows; instead my body practically sunk into this mattress that it even molded around me comfortably, and the pillows were as soft and fluffy as clouds- whatever that felt like. And gratefully, I didn't feel any needles poking in odd places around my body.

I opened my eyes without trouble, but I didn't know what I was looking at. It was a blur that was the color of ebony. Then I realized it was the nightstand. On the nightstand was an ashtray for smoking... Even I could have told you that Zayn was a smoker. My glasses weren't on my face, but they were set between the lamp and alarm clock that indicates that it was 21.07. It took me a minute to realize that in English, I suppose that meant, 9:07pm.

When I breathed, the warmth of my breath would hit me right back in the face and I didn't understand how it was so until I noticed my mouth covered with the edge of the comforters.

My hand reached up to remove the suffocating blockade, but it appeared to me that it was in my imagination that I had done so. My stiff hand wouldn't move an inch, but it twitched a centimeter with a sizzly feeling moving through it. My body wouldn't move either, so I cried out in hopes that it would do something.

Anything.

It was as though I were a soul trapped inside a small jar. Swimming around inside, constricted, and paralyzed.

Oh, I recalled, I was in Zayn's bed.

I felt a presence, but the person-- Zayn, didn't bother helping me, or calming me as I gurgled screams. I thought I was immobile.

I gave up after a while, sinking my head further into the pillows in chagrin, letting my lids fall.

I could breathe fine, but I found myself struggling for air.

"Do you have asthma?"

It's Zayn's voice that startled every bone in my body, and I could move my tense muscles again. I looked up agonized at him, his hair was still up, which meant he hadn't yet had a shower, but he was wearing different clothes; night clothes to sleep in. By the look on his face, he thinks he already knows the answer to his own question, but he's uncertain. I'm uncertain too, whether I want him to know I'm an asthmatic or not.

"No." I say.

"Yes." He says.

I hesitate. "No," but it sounds like a question now.

"Yes. Yes, you do." He nods.

Why did he ask me if he was just going to oppose my answer? I find myself murmuring this question aloud without a ponder.

"Then why did you ask?"

I croaked and I sunk in shame as he said "I just wanted to see if you knew it aswell. And out of that I got that you either don't know or that you're a certified liar."