A Shot of Reality [Harry Styles]

XXXI. Timshel

A/N: Last chapter of ASOR. Oh wow, I can't believe how fast it went. The support is still overwhelming to this day, and I cannot thank you all enough. This chapter took a lot out of me emotionally and I know it's sad as heck but that's how I always aimed for the ending to be. ASOR didn't start out happy, and it wasn't going to end happy. I knew that right from the start, so if I see any comments insulting me or the ending, I will report you. Criticism is welcome, but plain old "omg u suck the ending sucks everything sucks" is not. No questions asked.

UPDATE: I have decided I am writing an epilogue. It will be posted in the next week, since school is here and all that.

Anyways, enjoy the end. I love you all. Xx

She hears a single thump before anything else.

With instinct taking over, she feels the lid of her eyes splitting into two. At first, she doesn't see much; just splotches of fog with occasional peeks at the ivory ceiling above her. It's frustrating, and it's like this for ten minutes before her poor, cloudy vision kaleidoscopes into a near perfect, sunny one.

Her first thought is how reality wasn't much better than her comatose one. The nauseous white walls confined her like a testing subject in a labratory, the wires and tubes pricking and prodding at her skin mercilessly. The window besides her showed Manhattan's skyline drenched in gray clouds and dreary rain, which was part of the reason she groaned. Even though the shooting pain on her side would not fade, she dared not close her eyes, for she was in deep fear that if she did that they would not open again. She didn't know many chances God had left for her, or if he had any at all. So she didn't close her eyes, and hated every occurence in which she blinked. She didn't want to disappoint Harry, although she knew she already had.

Harry.

The name made the cells in her blood race and diminish all at once. The sound of it ringing throughout her brain brought so much comfort and anxiety all at once, while the picture of his breathtaking smile drooping into a heartbreaking frown repeated relentlessly in her mind. She just wanted to see him.

So, where was he?

The whiteboard which displayed her medical status hung on the wall arrow straight ahead of her. Propping herself uncomfortably on the stiff pillow behind her back, she read the following:

Patient: Sydney Ronan

Dr. Friedman

Nurse(s): Daisy, with a smiley face following the last letter.

Sydney, even in her repetitive discomfort, found solace in the mark of emotion following her nurse's name. Her lips twitched into an upwards slant, but flattened into a straight line as she continued reading.

Status (as of time recently):

COMATOSE

Although she ached to erase that from the board and write in equal bold "I AM FINE," the heart monitor and the tubes in her nostrils restricted her from doing so. Instead, she turned to the left side of her cot and found a wire with a platform for a button in the middle labeled the "call" button. Without reluctance, she pressed it tight with her knuckle until she was sure her alert was noticed.

Within seconds, the sound of feet scurrying down the corridor gradually sounds louder and closer as a head of auburn hair flashes in her door's window before the door opens and reveals it in the open. In front of Sydney stands a petite girl in daisy patterned scrubs, panting relentlessly.