Freed

Nine

When we reach the hospital, I'm ushered out of the ambulance and then through the hospital doors, behind Harry's stretcher. For some reason, I can't seem to bring myself to take hold of his hand, or reassure him anymore. It could be because now I've realized that this is all my fault. The situation he's in, is my fault. My fault.

A nurse tells me to seat myself in the waiting room, while they do whatever the heck they're supposed to. This time, I don't object. I seat myself on a sofa in the far corner, and bring my legs up on it, wrapping my arms around it. Guilt, is what is consuming me from the inside-out.

This feeling is similar to the one I felt after I had the first pill that would lead to my abortion. I could've quite possibly taken another life today. I shake my head. No, I won't think like that. Harry is a fighter, and he'll survive. He will. He will. As I'm chanting these words to myself mentally, I hear Dean's voice.

"A girl!" He yells. "She was brought in with the accident patient." I want to get up and make him aware of my presence, but I can't. The seat is holding onto me, or maybe I'm holding onto it. In the next second, he barges into the waiting room and bolts straight toward me. Dean engulfs me, but I don't return the gesture.

"What happened, Mus?" Dean asks, concerned. He crouches down in front of me, eyebrows knit. His eyes flit across my body. I think he's looking for injuries.

"It's all my fault," I whisper.

"What is?" Dean questions, passing his hand over my head comfortingly.

"The accident. I provoked him to play around on the road. It's all my fault," I explain. Dean shakes his head, looking at me with despair, as if I don't quite understand what I'm saying.

"Nothing is your fault. That asshole probably doesn't know how to drive properly," Dean lets out a bark of laughter. I shake my head, not finding humor in this situation at all.

"No, it really is my doing." I argue, wringing my head in my hands. "I-I didn't know play would turn foul, and he'd end up here."

"Mus, I know you, and that's why I'm right when I say this; no matter how many times I try to persuade you to stop beating yourself up, you won't listen. Because you're a stubborn-ass person, and only do what you wanna." Dean removes my hands from in front of my face, and gazes into my eyes. "But I can plead with you to stop blaming yourself. So, please, stop."

I divert my gaze towards the ceiling, pushing back the tears that are so willingly ready to slip out, and bare my weakness. Dean seats himself on the seat beside me, and keeps my hands in his. I appreciate his presence here, I really do. However, I disagree with his words, because they're untrue.

After a long time of silence passing between us, a question pops into my mind, through the cloud of woe that seems to have engulfed me.

"How'd you know about...what happened?" I question, turning in my seat, so that I'm facing him.

"The news. I was eating breakfast and saw you worrying your panties off on national television. Yup, you have officially given up your reputation." Dean jokes, cracking a small smile. I let out a laugh, setting everything aside.

"Man, that sucks," I murmur. "Well, I guess I've received my punishment. After all, what could be worse than having oneself embarrassed on tv?"

"I don't know," Dean shrugs. "Being caught naked on television? But since that ain't happening anytime soon, you're good."

"Are you here with the accident patient?" A doctor asks, stepping into the waiting room. His eyes flit between Dean and I. Nodding, I hastily stand up and take a few steps toward him.

"Yes," I say. "Do you have any news regarding his condition?" The doctor purses his lips, and looks down at his feet. I can feel my insides sink to the bottom of the ocean. What could be so bad that he can't even meet my gaze?

"Spill!" I exclaim, startling him.

"We will have to operate on him in a few minutes, as his spinal cord is ruptured and - "

"English, please." The doctor sighs.

"The patient has to undergo an operation, before we can tell if he'll recover or not. Once the operation is over - and hopefully successful - we'll move him into ICU, where you can visit him. However, until then, I cannot say anything for sure." He gives me a sympathetic smile, and turns on his heels.

I spend the next couple of hours in complete agony. The worst part is not knowing in which direction the situation can go. I spend the time praying, and hoping and cursing myself. Dean, on the other hand, ensures I don't get dehydrated, or die of hunger. He doesn't really care about Harry, and he doesn't understand why I do, either.

It's hard to explain. Sure, he made me go through shit, and we parted ways. However, in this moment, I cannot lie to myself and say I've completely forgotten about him. Or that I don't love him anymore, because I do. I can't even tell myself a lie at this given time, because every ounce of me knows the truth wholeheartedly. Otherwise, why would I be in such pain?

The same doctor returns later, with a clipboard in hand. He smiles at me, so I take it everything went well.

"Your husband reacted quite well to the operation. In fact, his vitals are excellent, so instead of moving him into ICU, we sent him straight to a private room. You may visit him in there," the doctor says.

"Thank you," I nod my head gratefully. He gives me the room number, and then I'm off. Dean calls me from behind, but I ignore him. He's okay. Harry's vitals are good. These thoughts are what plague me, as I rush up the stairs, not caring to wait for the elevator.

When I reach the door, I stop and stare at it for a minute. What am I doing? If I go in there, then Harry will win. He'll know I still love him, and won't realize that what he did was wrong, and still haunts me in my nightmares. Many a time, I've woken up, dripping with sweat all because of that man. Yet, here I am.

"Fuck it," I murmur. I grip the door-handle and push it downwards confidently, and step into the room. I'm confused as to whether, or not I'm relieved that Harry is unconscious. There is a tube attached to his left arm, and another attached to his foot.

I take a step into the room, and lean against the wall, letting the door shut behind me. He seems so peaceful lying there, ignorant about the rest of the world. I want to reach out and caress his cheek, but I can't. I'm simply here to satisfy my worries regarding his well-being, and nothing else. No feelings attached. There's a two-seater couch towards the left side of the room. I make my way over and sit down.

I can finally feel my heart settle in place, as I see for myself that Harry is okay; he'll recover. Now I don't have to beat myself up about anything. Yeah, this is why I'm here. That's all. Harry's index finger shakes a tiny bit, and I'm ready to bolt out of the room. I stare at his face cautiously, trying to find any indication as to whether or not he's going to wake up.

However, he doesn't. Again, I'm unsure whether or not I'm relieved.

A/N: Friends are officially the best people in the whole freaking world!! Guys, volatileofferings made me these kick-ass covers, but for now imma post one and then with each chp I'll post another and y'all can gimme ur opinions on them. She made 4!! Honestly, I'm so grateful because I suck at making covers, and she knows that, so I'm honestly indebted to her right now. Wow, thank you so much volatileofferings , you're the best!