Passion '2 (15+)

"Remember when I promised to love you forever?"

"Yes?"

"Forever isn't over yet."

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76. White Walls

 

Emily's P.O.V:

 

I didn't know where he was, how he was doing, or if he even was alive. All I knew was that I had seen the defibrillator, and it had been sign enough for me. The police had given me a ride to the hospital, but I hadn't been much of a company. I had been staring out of the window the whole time, without saying a word. Now I sat on a chair, in a room with bright white walls. There was a table in front of me, and an empty chair on the other side of that table. Everything in the room had a bright white color. 

I had been sitting on the chair, staring emptily out in the air in front of me, the past fifteen minutes. I knew that someone was coming to talk to me, but I didn't understand why. If he was dead, why did they need me? Still there was a part of me that never let go of the hope that he could be alive, lying in some hospital bed, some floors over my head. But yet, he could be on his way down to the morgue, wrapped in black plastic. That thought made it hard for me to breathe.  

The white painted metal door swung open, and a male police officer stepped inside. I turned to look at him, but didn't show any sign of a facial expression. The police officer closed the door behind him carefully, and walked across the room, and to the chair in front of me. He let a paper block and a pen land on the table, and then he seated himself on the chair. He moved a little closer the the table, pulled the lid off the pen, and placed it on the paper where he scribbled some words down, before he turned to look up at me. 

"Emily Hawthorne," The man started. I didn't do anything, I just looked at him, with empty eyes. I didn't want to be here. I wanted to be with Zayn. Where ever he might could be. 

"You're Zayn Malik's girlfriend, is that right?" 

This time I gave him a little nod, and he wrote something on the paper. "You weren't there under the accident," The police officer pointed out, and wrote some more down. "Where were you when the accident happened?" He asked, and looked up at me. I remained silent for some seconds, until I whispered, "I didn't do it. It wasn't my fault." But I only said that to convince myself. I didn't want to feel guilty for what had happened, but if I had been honest with him from the beginning, maybe he wouldn't have been in that accident. 

"I'm well aware of that. It was no one's fault. But where were you?" 

"I was in my apartment," I finally mumbled. 

"Is that near the place where the accident happened?" 

I nodded. He didn't write anything down, he just looked at me, waiting for me to explain, but I didn't say a word. He moistened his lips, and opened up his mouth to speak, "Was he on his way to your place?"

"I..."

"If you know anything, I'd help a lot if you told me, because we need to know if it was a suicide attempt, or-"

"Zayn is not suicidal!" I raised my voice, and took a deep breath. "Very well," The police officer said, and wrote something down again. "But..." I started out, and he raised his eyes from the paper, and looked back at me. "But I was with him before," I whispered, and moved my eyes away from the man, and to the white table. In intwined my fingers that were lying on the table, and studied them. "We were out for dinner with a friend of mine, and on our way home we got into a fight - nothing serious, but he drove me home, and left after that. And so... Maybe..."

"Maybe?"

"Maybe he changed his mind, cause the place where the..." 

"Accident," 

"Yeah, acci... The thing happened, was close to my place." I kept my eyes on my intwined fingers, still being able to feel Zayn's fingers in between mine. 

I could hear the sound of the pen against the paper. 

"Did you drink while you were out?" He asked. 

I shrugged my shoulders, "Only a glass of wine each, cause Zayn knew he had to drive afterwards". 

Again the sound of pen again paper, "Okay. So there is nothing important that could have anything with the accident to do. Maybe you don't want to tell us, because it can you in trouble?" The officer asked. 

"No". 

"Very well, if that's it, then you can leave. There will be a doctor waiting for you down the hall," The officer finally said, and stood up. He gathered his stuff, let his eyes run over what he had written down, nodded to himself, and looked at me. I slowly stood up, and followed him out. He had been right. Down the hall a redhaired doctor waited for me. She gave me a little smile, one of those that says, 'I'm terribly sorry for you' or 'I'm sorry for your loss'. 

She lead me into an elevator, and seemed pretty understanding about why I didn't say a lot. Neither did she, she just said where we were going, but didn't mention why. Floor six, room 319. The elevator moved slow, or at least I thought it did. She was a nice lady, told me about every floor that we passed, and explained how it all worked, but after enough minutes of hearing her talk about how the hospital worked, I had to ask, and I did...

"Where is he?"

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