Harry Styles Imagines

63. He Hurts You Without Meaning To Part 2

Where is she? She hasn't come back, hasn't called, hasn't even made a simple way to contact him. Harry is pacing, hands in his hair as he tugs at the roots. He has never panicked more in his life. Nobody has seen her, nobody has spoken to her. Where the hell could she be? Without him? Without anyone?

"Fucking shit" he mumbled, tears welling in his eyes when he realizes she's been ignoring him.

He needs her, now, with him. He needs her safe. Harry immediately grabs his keys and cell phone, planning on looking for her, even if it took all night. He wasn't going to quit.

"Come on, Y/n" he mumbles to himself, opening the front door in aggravation.

He suddenly takes a step back, a gasp immediately leaving his lips as he takes in the image in front of him. Y/n, on the ground, limp, with blood on the ground surrounding her. His heart picks up speed, hands clenching at his sides as his thoughts race with worry.

"Y/n?" He whispers, hoping, praying that she's awake somehow. But not any part of her is responsive.

"Please, God, no" he sobs, immediately assuming the worst.

She looks so dead. Her skin fare, blood dripping from her forehead, body more still than anything he's ever seen, and he's quick to realize how this is the only time he's been near her where she hasn't jumped up to kiss him.

And it's his fault.

"Y/n. Y/n, you have to answer me, baby. Please" He chokes, gently sitting on his knees before her.

He sticks his hands out, as if wanting to grab her, but he doesn't know how. One wrong hold and he could damage her even worse. His hands shake, reaching back towards his body a couple more times.

"No no no"

He's sobbing, so lost in it he doesn't even give a thought about how to handle the situation.

"Come on. Can you hear me? You have to let me know if you can hear me."

Nothing. Nothing. No hand squeezing, no eye twitch, not a single indication she can even smell him; feel him.

If he could stay with her until she was up, he would. But he knows, all too well, there is no way she'd be save another hour without professional help. So, he is quick to call an ambulance, desperate for his girl to be okay, because, God, if she isn't, Harry wouldn't leave his house for months.

He grabs her again. His tearful, wild eyes looking for any more traces of damage she could have experienced during the fall. There is nothing, and for a split second, Harry is happy she has no other damages on her, until he realizes this means she didn't protect herself.

His lips quiver, eyes flooding over until they spill over the edge. There is nothing he can process. He has done this to her, it was all him. The fighting, the screaming, the fear in her, the way she backed away from him, her running away, the door closing so fast and so close behind her that she had no choice but to fall. It was all him.

Harry holds her like he's hugging her. Her head against his, and her legs around his waist. He doesn't mind the small amount of blood still driving from the gash on her forehead. It feels natural to him, as if he's actually with her, just for a couple of seconds.

"I'm sorry" he whispers in agony, small pecks of delicate kisses being placed on her neck. "This is all me. Not your fault at all"

"You can kill me later, kill me so fucking hard Y/n. I don't care. Yell at me until death. I just wanna be with you."

His tears have left wet blotches along her neck, and his harsh grips are leaving marks upon her skin, but she always said it was her favorite part of her.

It hasn't been long where Harry just sits holding her. Body crushing holds and passionate kisses, even though she can't feel them. He wishes now more than ever that he wouldn't be so goddamn jealous all the time. if he would have just been rational, understanding, none of this would have happened. But seeing some man fucking his girl for the movie they were casted for set something off within him.

It was as if he was a match being stricken on a rough surface, the millisecond before igniting.

"Sir, sir, excuse me, sir." A voice rambles behind him.

He turns to look at the woman with desperation, Y/n's head cradled in his hands, tears running consistently down his face.

"Help her. Please help her." He whispers through clenched teeth.

The paramedic nods, sliding the stretcher over to her. She glances at Harry, who is mumbling incoherent apologies as he pets her hair.

"Sir, do you know what happened? What is her name?" another paramedic asks, papers clipped on a clipboard and her pen settled stiffly in her hand.

"Her name is Y/n. Y/n Y/l/n. S—someone shut the door right behind her and I guess it hit her, a—and she fell. I don't even know h—how long she's been out."

She nods as she writes down the information. "Alright. We need to get her to the emergency room immediately. She could be in a coma as far as I'm concerned, we need to get her out now. Linda! Call the hospital, she's lost a horrible amount of blood!"

Everything around Harry seemed to go in slow motion. From the paramedics taking her away from him, to placing her to the back of the emergency vehicle, everything was coming out as a blur.

"C—coma?" He gasps, hand immediately being placed on his chest, guilt immediately and fully taking its toll on him.

"A coma? H—how? W—what?"

"With all of the blood loss and the incredible amount of impact that was taken place during her fall, it seems like she has a better chance of being in one than just being in shock."

Harry's face goes completely pale. His Y/n, his beautiful, lively, perfect Y/n, un a coma. The thought makes his eyes squeeze shut and his stomach wanting to throw up everything out of it.

All he can manage to think about was that this is all his fault.