Heart | N.H.

twenty eight - fevered

I've spent far too much time in hospitals for one lifetime.

As I sat in the waiting room with Niall's family and my own, my mind was completely blank. I didn't think about Niall. I didn't think about Leah. I didn't think about Riley Saunders or any other human being in this wretched world.

I was nothing. I was void, and it was different. Oblivion was relief.

Until a nurse walked in and, with the sound of her clipped voice, broke my stupor.

It was like a fragile glass shelter had shattered around me. The pain came flooding back in so sharply that I sucked in a breath.

"We need to keep him at least till tomorrow night. Maybe longer. We'll see," the nurse told Niall's parents. She turned to me and added, "You might want to go home, dearie. No one but immediate family will be allowed to visit tonight."

Dad pulled me under his arm. "Let's go home, sweetheart," he murmured, ruffling my hair. When my parents had first come to the hospital to find me, they'd been furious. They hadn't known where I went, and they were freaking out, a thousand threats and reproaches flying left and right. And then they'd come around me in a rib-crushing embrace, and the next thing I knew Mom was apologizing and Dad was begging the nurses for news about Niall so that I would be comforted.

I appreciated all that, but there wasn't anyone could do, not even my parents. I let myself be walked out of the room without protest; there was no fight left in me.

I was beyond tired. Exhaustion had numbed me.

Everyone had had questions for me. Maura and Bobby Horan, obviously. Greg, standing with his wife and clutching a sleeping Teddy, his face pale and drawn, eyes hungry for an explanation. The police. The doctors. But no one would answer my questions. No one would let me see Niall. It was killing me inside.

When I closed my eyes that night, my sleep was haunted by a nightmare. Someone had broken into heaven and turned all the angels into ice, and I was left sitting in a silver room full of silent forms and shattered glass, crying my heart out.

-

I didn't know how I struggled through the next day. It was all a blur: sitting at the kitchen table dragging a spoon through my cornflakes before dumping them into the trash, walking out into the chilly morning with the wind biting my cheeks, climbing onto the schoolbus, pressing my cheek against my notebook instead of paying attention in first period...

When the bell finally rang to release me from History, I was a little surprised. Surprised that the torture had finally ended (of course, it was only my first class of the day) and that Mr. Martin hadn't lit into me for blatantly ignoring his lecture on the Mongols.

Of course, I didn't question it. I shouldered my backpack and hurried out with my head down.

Someone stopped me in the hallway, lightly brushing my shoulder. "Hey," said Albert Pickenstein. His voice was soft. His curly hair was messier than usual, his gray eyes solemn behind his glasses. When I looked into his face, he dropped his gaze and tugged nervously at his crimson-and-blue tie. "Are you okay?"

I opened my mouth to respond when someone's backpack slammed into my shoulder, sending me crashing nose-first into Albert. He caught me and steadied me, glaring over the top of my head. "Watch it," he muttered.

I turned to see who he was talking to just in time to see Link disappear around the corner, snickering with a pack of his cronies. I rolled my eyes. "Even after Niall beat him up? God, he's such a jackass."

"Some people really don't change. But don't take it personally. He doesn't have anything against you, aside from the fact that you're talking to me," Albert pointed out resignedly.