Where Your Heart Is (A Harry Styles Fanfiction) #pfcc2k16 #Wattys2016

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Everything Has Changed.

And your eyes look like coming home...

*****

This can't be happening to me.

I always thought that was a really awful, pitiful thing to say and think. Is like you consider yourself untouchable and rightfully immune to any problem or earthly setback.

To say that, is to say that every other soul in this world is more deserving of bad things happening to them than you. It is to say that the universe has made a terrible mistake that should be set astraight as soon as possible.

Yes. I always thought that was a miserable way to react.

But then again, what did I know, when my peaceful, quiet little life was, up until this morning, completely safe and uneventful? When it came to bad things happening, of course.

And as I a sit here in this bed, that is all I can think about.

This can't be happening to me, but it is. And I knew it was bad the moment it happened. Maybe even a split of a second before.

First, and as crazy as this might come across, there was this weird, popping sound coming from within me. Like a rubber band snapping, or something.

It felt like I was just kicked from behind, so I remember looking over my shoulder to see who it was. And before I even realized that there was no one near me, I fell flat to the floor.

Almost immediately came the pain. Burning and sharp, shooting all the way up to my leg from my ankle, as if a hot blade was carving through my flesh.

I screamed, loudly at first, but as the pain kept getting worse, the air began to leave my lungs without coming back in.

I couldn't breathe, and I couldn't talk. All I could do, as the rest of the class would gather around me, was looking up at them and their horrified, shocked expressions.

I'm still yet to decide what hurt me the most. The physical pain I was in, or the certainty that I was damaged beyond repair written all over their faces.

The last thing I remember is Jasper and Professor Morris pushing their way through the rest of my classmates and kneeling next to me. And as the former would yell over the growing whispering of the small crowd around me calling for an ambulance, my friend would tightly hold my hand whilst repeating over and over the biggest lie he ever told so far.

Everything is going to be just fine.

"There has to be another way. Can you just do this surgery today?" I ask, probably for the tenth time already.

It's been a good while since I woke up to this strange, uncomfortable bed. The pain on my leg was nothing more than a dull throb I could bear, but my head was pounding.

It took me a few minutes to shake off the haze I was surrounded with, and once I felt a little in control of my own thoughts and body, the doctor proceeded to explain the situation for me.

That sound I heard was, in fact, my Achilles tendon snapping and tearing entirely. And I didn't need to hear the rest of his speech to know what he was talking about, because it was the very first item, and maybe one of the worst, in that dreadful list Professor Morris spoke about that first day of school.

Dr. Miller, whose patience has proven to be quite resilient so far, gives me a smile and a slow shaking of his head. He stands closely by the side of my bed, and his arms are folded across his chest.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. Even if I had an OR available today, which I don't, this kind of injury needs to settle before we go in there." He explains all over again. "Ten days, no negotiations."