Find My Way (A Paul McCartney Fanfiction)

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Hey, everyone! I'm so sorry that it's been months since I've updated this book, but I've finally gotten some time and inspiration, so I've decided to come back and finish it off. After this chapter will be the last one, which will be written quickly enough, so just know that I'm not going to leave you without an ending like I did before. I hope you'll enjoy!
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It wasn't long before a crowd began gathering around us. I felt completely numb as I watched various people try to revive Paul, who was breathing in shaky gasps. I couldn't will myself to move a muscle, or even speak. I seem to recall someone dialing 999 and asking me what relation I was to Paul, but I don't remember ever moving my lips to respond.

And then the paramedics arrived. I have a blurry image of them putting an oxygen mask over Paul's white, perspiring face, and then rushing to strap him onto a stretcher and load him into an ambulance after he'd apparently stopped breathing for a moment.

"Miss," they'd hastily said to me, "we haven't much time. If you are of relation to him, you may accompany us and him onto the ambulance. But we must hurry."

I know I must have nodded at that, for my next memory was being tossed around in the back of the ambulance as I helplessly watched the paramedics try to bring life back into Paul's limp, pale body. I had no idea what was happening to him. I knew he'd been a bit ill, which I'd figured was part of him seeing things about the future that he shouldn't. But why he was now close to death after we'd kissed...

We'd kissed.

That must have been the reason.

We weren't supposed to love each other in a time he didn't belong in—the typical, soppy explanation. How could I have been so stupid? Why did I allow myself to love him?

I began crying out of both guilt and sadness for Paul. Of course, there was no one there to console me, for the only person who could have done so was lying motionless on a stretcher.

I cried as I watched them inject a needle into his slender arm to start an IV. I cried as they took his vitals with grim faces, which they thought I wouldn't notice. And I cried once we'd arrived at the hospital and they proceeded to unload him off of the ambulance.

I wasn't so sure that, as they rushed him into the ER, I wasn't seeing his young, innocent face for the last time. With a pang of my heart, I realized that he could very well die, and I would never get to see him smile again, or hear his laugh, or feel his warm hand in mine.

I don't remember much else after he disappeared from my view, but I can, with some frame of mind, recall the events which took place hours later.

I ended up in the waiting room, and I must have fallen asleep, because, when I was awoken by a doctor who sported a frighteningly serious countenance, no sunshine was visible through the window behind him.

"Are you here for the young lad who collapsed at the skating rink?" he asked me.

"Y-yes," I stammered, scared to death that Paul was gone. "Is he okay?"

"I'm very sorry to say that we don't know if he is or not. In fact, we haven't a clue as to what's wrong with him at all."

Of course, I knew what was wrong, but I was aware that it would do no good to say so to someone who most certainly wouldn't believe me.

"Can I see him?" I asked.

"I don't see why not, but please note that he is in a most fragile condition; any sort of excitement would not be conducive for him."

"Yes, sir," I replied as I followed him into Paul's room.

Once he opened the door, I was instantly greeted with the sight of Paul's small, unconscious body lying limply upon the bed. I noticed a nurse standing beside him as she took his pulse and his temperature, and she smiled reassuringly to me as I entered the room.