Living in London

Dilemma

ARIADNE'S POV

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Zayn is currently in a medically enduced coma. Apparently it makes the healing process easier. Four broken ribs, shattered wrist and a punctured lung. The doctors said he won't be able to sing at all for at least a month, until his lung heals properly, and even then he won't be able to sing to his full ability for another month. I know that will be the hardest for him.

This last week has been hard for all of us, actually, with Zayn in hospital. It's like someone has come and cut half the happiness out of our lives. That someone is Number Withheld. I know they did it. I know they did this to Zayn and I hate them for that. I had myself for that. After all, it is my fault; Number Withheld is tormenting me. Not anyone else- just me. They realized that one of the best ways to torment me was not by trapping me in an elevator or sending me threatening messages, it was to hit my boyfriend with their car.

The media have been going crazy, too. Firing question after question at us, not accepting our silence. Can they blame us? Who would want to tell every single magazine and gossip site about the accident, so that their words can be twisted?

According to the Twitter stories, there are quite a few different rumors flying about this situation. I pushed Zayn in front of the car. Zayn was hit when he pushed me out of the way. I tried to push Zayn out of the way. I was driving the car.

Okay, guys, you caught me. I decided to run over my boyfriend with a car in broad daylight when I could have just quietly murdered him alone in his apartment with no witnesses. How'd you work it out- was I too obvious? Was it the way I ran over to Zayn as the car was speeding away? You're right- I was definitely the driver.

I sighed and slumped forward, leaning my elbows on the island in the middle of the kitchen, cupping my hands around a mug of tea. I wasn't in the mood for it, but something about it calmed me down. It was like a stress relief and God knows I could use some now. Ever since this happened I can't help but feel guilty, scared, stressed and angry all at once. My head should have exploded by now. I'm mostly scared, though, because if Number Withheld would run over a celebrity with plenty of eyewitnesses, what else would they do?

More importantly, though, who the heck is this retard and what the heck did I ever do to them? I mean, they seem to have a pretty serious grudge against me to try and murder (or seriously maim) Zayn. This has to stop before this... psychopath takes it too far.

I sighed and took a sip of my tea. Someone joined me in the kitchen and I turned around to see Niall. When we weren't at the hospital, everyone was crashing here with Lou, Harry and I. It was better that way, I think. Easier to sleep, knowing everyone would be there and be okay when you woke up in the morning.

"Hey," I said lightly, tilting my head to the side.

"Hi, Ari," Niall replied tiredly.

I reached forward and pushed his hair out of the way, pressing my hand flat to his forehead. His looked ill but didn't have a temperature. "Niall, how much sleep have you been getting?"

He shrugged. "Enough," he replied and I raised my eyebrow suspiciously.

"Then why do you look like you're going to pass out right here on the floor?"

"It's an illusion. You're hallucinating," he explained with half a smile.

I laughed at his excuse, rolling my eyes. "So does that mean I'm imagining you, too?"

"Please, Ariadne, I know I may appear legendary and God-like but I am one hundred percent real."

"And very modest, too, I see," I quipped, placing my pink mug in the sink.