Catch Me I'm Falling - A Larry Stylinson Fanfic

Chapter 21

April 7th - Day 80

We sat in the hospital lounge, watching families trundle in and out through the big double doors, cups of hot chocolate heating our fingers. It was warm, especially for England, sunlight streaking through stubborn clouds and the breeze holding the smallest hint of spring. We’d briefly debated attempting a trip to the park, but I could still feel the dull ache of chemo stuck in my bones, so we settled for basking in the breeze that occasionally threaded it’s way through the double doors. Besides, I wasn’t entirely sure we’d be able to get ourselves there and back in one piece.

Harry was reading some pamphlet he’d picked up from a rack beside us, cheeks flushed a soft pink, gray beanie low on his forehead, white scarf looped twice around his neck. “Did you know that smoking is the leading cause of lung cancer?”

I took a sip of my cocoa, propping my feet up on the end table. “Someone should  probably tell Zayn.”

Harry nodded, a faint exasperation falling over his features. “Asshole gets a friend with brain cancer and he still thinks he’s invincible.”

I smiled at his tone. “What a douchebag.”

“I don’t even know why we put up with him.” He agreed, tossing the pamphlet on the table and throwing his feet up next to mine. “If you’re not Augustus Waters, I don’t think you should have a cigarette anywhere near your mouth.”

I nodded. “Cigarettes for metaphorical purposes only, I completely agree.”

We fell into silence, Harry reached for another paper as I leaned back for a long breath of air, annoyed by the increasing amount of discomfort I seemed to be finding myself in with every inhale. It didn’t seem like the chemo was helping at all, only making me feel disgusting and extra tired twice a month. 

Harry’s voice broke me from my reverie. “It’s the seventh, isn’t it?”

I looked up. “Hmm?”

He bit at his lip. “Is it the seventh?”

I dug my phone out of my pocket, bringing up the calendar and running my eyes over the dates. “Yep. Why?”

He looked down, a sad quirk to his mouth. “I guess we’re down to three months then.”

“Already?” I asked, wondering how so much time had slipped so quickly through my fingers. This was our halfway point, the tipping point on the scale, when the time we’d had became more than the time we had left.

“Already.” He nodded, reaching out take my fingers, though I couldn’t quite tell who the gesture was supposed to comfort. 

“Oh.” I said, for lack of any better words.

He nodded. “Oh.”

April 10th - Day 83

I was aware, exclusively, of pain. It took over my entire body, some rolling fire that punched deep in my chest and seemed to rip at my organs, making every breath feel like I was breathing in boiling water. I was used to casual pain, the kind that stuck in my bones and rolled around in my muscles, but this was so much worse than that, tugging my entire body apart and making me impervious to everything else.

I was vaguely aware of my sheets and hands pressed to my skin, but they were more like some kind of dream than any semblance of reality. In those moments, I’d never felt more alone. I was trapped in a bell jar, the world blocked out with thick yellowing glass, my whole life just some bad dream that followed me around like a ghost.

Later, I would describe it in Hazel’s words, compare it to the big bang in my chest, but I had lost all eloquence in that sharp burst of agony. Later, Liam would tell me that I was screaming, face streaking with tears as he called the ambulance and rode with me while they tried to protect me from my own body even as it tore me apart