Paralyzed [Nouis]

Chapter 2 // Niall

I slipped my hoodie off as I walked into my room, closing the door behind me quietly. I walked into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind me. I sighed and leaned my head against the wooden door, just trying to breathe. Larry this, Larry that. Larry Larry Larry.

I wanted to scream, but I punched the door instead. It was sudden and I hadn't expected myself to do that. A loud cracking sound echoed through the room, and I just stood there for a moment, shocked. How I really just done that? Did I break my hand? Did I break my door? I didn't check. I opened my hopefully-not-broken door and walked into my room, glancing my hopefully-not-broken hand. It was bleeding, as I could tell a moment later when blood ran down over my arm. I tried not to care too much. It was my own stupid fault anyways.

I heard a knock on my bedroom door as soon as I sat down on my bed. The knock was loud and hard and it made me jump. I grabbed my hoodie, pulling it on quickly and shoving my hand in my pocket, to cover up the blood and scars.

"Come in!" I called, hoping my voice didn't sound too shaky. The door opened to reveal Zayn, peeking in the room with a worried look on his face. He walked in and shut the door behind him, pacing back and forth for a few minutes while I just stood and watched him. He stopped after a moment and ran a hand over his face, taking a few deep breaths as if he were trying to calm himself down, although he didn't seem angry or anything like that. I sat on my bed and stared at him, waiting for him to do something.

He sighed and came over to sit by me. He grabbed my arm, as if he were going to pull my hand out of my pocket, but stopped when he saw me wince.

"Niall . . . ." He started. I wondered if he could feel the blood making my sleeve stick to my arm. I didn't fight him as he pulled my hand out of my pocket. His eyes widened as soon as he saw all the blood pouring out of my hand.

"Oh my god!" He shouted, immediately pulling me up and taking me to the bathroom. He pushed my hand under the water after he turned it on and ran his hand under it quickly, probably to make sure it wasn't too hot or something like that. He began frantically looking for some bandages, his hands shuffling through my drawers. When he stopped searching, he'd come up with a band-aid and an ace bandage. He put the band-aid over a deep cut on my middle finger and pushed my hoodie sleeve up my arm to wrap my hand in the ace bandage. He gasped and dropped the bandage, a hand flying to his mouth as his eyes scanned over the scars on my wrists. I wish I wouldn't have let him pull up my sleeve.

"I'm sorry, Zayn." I said the only thing I could think to say. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, just like he had earlier, only this time I could understand why he would be angry if he was. When he opened them, after only a few moments, he picked the bandage up off the floor. He wrapped it gently around my hand, as to not hurt me, and down over my wrist, covering the scars. It only took him a moment, and when he was done, he took my bandaged hand softly and walked me back into my bedroom. He let go of my hand to sit on my bed. He looked at me for a moment then motioned for me to sit next to him without saying a word.

"Take off your jacket." He said after I sat. Not wanting to argue, I pulled my hoodie off, laying it on the bed beside me. He looked at my wrist carefully while I bit my lip and looked away, not wanting to see his reaction. "How long . . . have you been doing this?"

"A . . . a while." I said. I was only half-lying. I honestly didn't remember when I started, resulting in me not knowing exactly how long I've been doing this. But I know it was a long time ago, and I don't think more than two years would be a while.

"Why?" He asked, pain and worry evident in his tone of voice. I winced slightly, just a reaction of guilt, but I don't think Zayn noticed.

"Louis." I muttered, not bother to make up a lie. Zayn was my best friend, after all, and he deserved to know. There was no point in lying anymore. What was the point? Lying wouldn't make Zayn forget that I had scars, that I did this to myself.