Viva La Vida

Part 15

In a word, Liam is tired. Being a king is—well, exactly what he'd expected. He doesn't even have a moment to breathe without being overwhelmed by a thousand requests from a thousand different people. Everyone expects him to be able to deal with every problem right away, to find a solution to things that are complicated or unsolvable, to fix everyone else's problems and still have enough time to sleep at night.

Most of the time, he's so tired he's not sure if he's even human, and somehow everyone expects him to be superhuman.

"Superheroes aren't supposed to die."

Liam jolts sickeningly, trying to push the memory to the back of his head until he's done with this meeting. The burden of guilt is too heavy for one person, he thinks helplessly. There's no way he can carry this around for much longer. The hole is too big, the loss is too great.

"Superheroes are supposed beat the bad guys and save everyone." The glint of light off the wheelchair's spokes is dim in comparison to the tears shining in the younger boy's eyes. "He promised not to die."

Yeah, and look at all the fucking good that did him, Liam thinks, trying very hard not to be bitter even though he figures he's earned the right to. He's had a long day, he's tired, and now his omnipresent guilt is coming to haunt him worse than usual.

"He promised," Ahad says desperately. "He said he'd be back. Zayn was one of the good guys. He should have lived."

"I know," Liam says. "I know."

"He should have lived," Ahad repeats in a mumble, looking at the ground. Then he takes a deep breath and looks up, squaring his shoulders. "How did he die?"

This was the hard part. Liam doesn't know if he'll be able to get the words past his mouth, be able to square his shoulders like Ahad had, look into his eyes, and say— "He died for me," Liam says, the words heavy on his tongue, falling like leaden rain onto the ground between them. "He told me to leave him so I could escape, so he could buy me time."

The words are heavy and terrible and final, and he has never felt worse in his life.

Ahad swallows. "Was it—was it fast?"

"I don't know," Liam says. "I hope so." The worst thing—the very worst thing he could think of was the idea of Zayn almost making it—of Zayn being hurt but not killed, hurt just enough to put him out of commission but not enough to kill quickly and—and then being left there to bleed out with no one to help, and, and, and—

"They shot him, didn't they?"

God, Liam hopes so.

"Yes," he says. "They shot him."

This seems to give Ahad some sort of grim satisfaction, although Liam couldn't say why. "He was like my big brother, you know," he says, and he sounds like he's trying very hard to cover up the sound of the earth shattering in his voice. "He was so good to us. I don't think anyone was braver than him in the whole, whole world. No one." He draws in a deep breath, a short intake and a long slow exhale. "I loved him."

"I know," Liam repeats, and all he can think of is the thousand adopted siblings Zayn left behind, the ten thousand people who knew and loved him, the hundred thousand who will mourn him and feel his loss like a black hole that's come down to earth. And he can't help but wonder if it had been him instead, if maybe that would have been better. If anyone would have noticed or cared.