Mature. Viewer Discretion is advised.
*The people inside of this work are FACE-CLAIMS. This has no correlation to any IRL individual.*
*This is messy plot. Made when I was a teen. Beware.*
The story of a young woman who finds her style, self worth...
"And I don't wanna leave, but I have to go..." ♫ Ceilings by Lizzy McAlpine.
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ONE MONTH LATER | OCTOBER
"Harlow, this is the fifth time this week."
"I don't want a lecture, Cherry. You're not my fuckin mother."
"I wouldn't have to act like it if you didn't home wasted every fuckin' night." I slammed the refrigerator door shut after grabbing an ice pack for my 'beloved' fiance; his face purple, bruised, and cut to match the knuckles of some stranger wandering around the streets of Chicago.
After all, that was my life now; taking care of Harlow and holding everything and everyone together.
Things hadn't been good.
It'd been a month since the incident and everything was almost as chaotic and awful as before.
A week ago I came home from the hospital after staying for three whole weeks.
My physical injuries were on the mend. I was walking occasionally with crutches, but I had a boot on my ankle to help me heal that, along with my broken toes.
My hearing was back but only in one ear and the doctor said it could never come back but that , again, only time could tell.
I was fine, medically, I was recovering.
Niko, however, wasn't.
He was in a coma and had been for the whole month.
And that was why Harlow wasn't my Harlow anymore.
The doctors said it wasn't likely that he'd wake up, that it was a one in one thousand chance, and that if he did, he'd have probably have deficits. He might not be able to talk, to hear, to move on his own. It was touch and go for a long time, it was a miracle that he was even alive.
They had two more surgeries to fix his injuries and we watched him go into cardiac arrest more than once from it. His body simply didn't want to cooperate with the medicine, and nothing was working.
He was in critical care.
And when a deadly infection spread, they had no choice but to amputate his left leg.
It was too badly damaged, the nerves were shredded beyond repair, they tried everything. Removing that leg was the only thing that saved his body.
I would never forget the look on Zayn and Harlow's face when the doctor asked us for permission in the middle of his surgery. How frightened they were to lose him.
We were all petrified.
Zayn couldn't even speak.
Much like Harlow, he didn'tsay much of anything these days.
