Freed

Twelve

Harry's POV

Gretchen, and the doctor were quite surprised by my sudden headaches, and nausea spells. Due to which, I've been subjected to another four days in here, which means Mus stays as well.

Mission accomplished, is all I can say. Today is Sunday, and most of the nurses - including Gretchen - aren't here today. Mus has been lingering outside the room; off and on, I can see her shadow. I've been up and about in the room, but whenever a nurse comes in, I act as if each step is taking a huge chunk of my energy. Surprisingly, they buy it. I want to ask Mus to come inside, but I know that she won't, so I don't even bother.

Instead, I open the room door and step out. I glance around the hallway, searching for her. My gaze travels downward, and that's when I see her. She's sprawled on the floor, beside the door, her legs stretched out in a V-shape. Her head is leaning back against the wall, eyes closed. There's a book placed upside down on her lap.

I crouch down on the floor beside her, and stare. Yeah, nowadays my stalker habits are getting worse. Good Lord, I've missed this woman. Seeing her after so many years seems to have shot the hate, and resentment right out of the window, and into space. All I can think about is love.

The sacrifices she's making by staying with me and the love it shows on her behalf. I wish she would simply admit it openly. I tilt my head to the side, as her mouth falls open. A soft snore escapes them, making me grin, and shake my head in amusement.

"I love you," I whisper. Mus sniffs, and shuts her mouth. Is she awake? I wave my hand in front of her face, and move my index finger toward her eye a few times. However, when I get no response, I confirm that she's asleep to myself.

It's almost laughable how a person can be surrounded by company, and yet be so damn lonely. This has frustrated me for years, but now I find the whole situation amusing, and ironic. When I began to take control of certain affairs of the country, I thought that with the amount of people constantly in my presence, I'd never feel alone. However, I was wrong; so terribly wrong.

"I should call the cops right about now, right?" I look up to find Dean staring down at me, arms folded in front of his chest. I don't stand up. Instead, I cock an eyebrow at him.

"And I want to kill you," I smile at him sweetly. "Well, I guess, we both won't get what we desire."

"Oh, I can easily call the cops now and have you arrested for..." He trails off, frowning. I pull a triumphant expression.

"Yeah, I suggest you think of the charges first and then make an ass out of yourself." I stand up and face Dean. He opens his mouth and then shuts it.

"You're the cause of all her pain," Dean begins, "and I hate you for it." I furrow my brows, confused.

"Pardon? Pain?" I question, confused. "Has she...did she tell you how we know each other?"

"She didn't have to," Dean nods his head behind him. "Walk with me." Without waiting for an answer, he turns around and begins to head down the hallway. I follow, simply because I want to hear out what he has to say.

"Mus might think that I don't pay enough attention to her, or her habits, but I do." Dean continues. "Every night she watches the news just because of you. After all, you're the center of attention for almost every news channel. In the first few months, I used to sit and keep her company, but because of me she'd always censor her emotions. I didn't want her to suppress herself even at that time of the day. I mean, that's all she does throughout the day." Dean scoffs, and shakes his head. "I bet you don't even care," he looks at me with disgust.

"You're mistaken," I murmur.

"Most nights she cries," Dean purses his lips. "And some days she simply chucks the tv remote, or any other item close by. Mus thinks I don't even know who she really is." Dean shakes his head, smiling. "She must assume I'm really dense."

"Hiding our identity is kinda hard," I agree. "To be honest, I'm quite amazed no one has been able to recognize me in here."

"You really screwed her over, and you should be ashamed." I lower my gaze towards the floor, because the truth of the matter is that what Dean's saying is right. "She still has a mark, you know." I make eye contact with him, confused.

"Of what?" I question.

"All she told me was that she was in a relationship that was destined to fail. Then came the incident that woke her up, and made her realize that something destined to fail is hopeless, and cannot be saved no matter what. The man used his hands on her," Dean explains. "That's when she packed up and left. But she still has the mark from the time he did throw her down."

I flinch just thinking about that day. Little does Mus know how I punished myself for behaving in that manner.

"It was all you." Dean says matter-of-factly, as if I don't know. For some reason, I have no desire to defend myself, and provide him justification for my actions.

"Do you believe in second chances?" I ask, searching for the answer in Dean's expression. He nods. "Yeah, well, I lost mine, and I don't believe in thirds." He frowns.

"I don't...I don't quite understand what you're getting at," he says.

"I'll be gone from here tomorrow and then you and Mus can continue with your lives. Sorry for the interruption." I offer him a smile, and then head back the way we came.