model call || h.s

96.

I'm so sorry. Please don't hate me.

11:35 P.M — Nora

I'd never heard it before, the sound that pierced our home, late Thursday evening. Harry was awake, his eyes droopy from reading the words of his album contract. I was sleeping soundly beside him, my body nestled cozily against his. As soon as I heard it, I shot up, looking to him for an answer, before we both ran towards the screams. We looked to Rosie first, tears poured from her eyes as she continued to bellow something entirely incoherent. I saw Peter first, writhing and convulsing on his bed. As I took him into my arms, I felt him trembling uncontrollably and it felt like a bad dream, where you can't do a single thing to make it better. "Call 911—Harry, call 911! He's seizing—he's having a seizure! Call 911—oh god!" I didn't know I was crying until some of my tears dripped onto his forehead. I rocked him back and forth, unable to stop his body from shaking, but hoping to let him know that I was here...that I had him. "I'm right here, baby...I'm right here, Pete..." The world was happening in slow motion. Rosie was still crying from her side of the room and Harry hadn't come back. "Oh, god...please don't do this. Please, please let him be okay." I continued to rock him, and though his movements quieted, he still wasn't okay. "Harry!" I screamed for him, wanting nothing more than for this to be over. Finally he came back.

"We've got to drive him, an ambulance won't be here for at least fifteen minutes." His eyes were puffy, but I didn't have time to acknowledge it, and I'm sure mine were the same. He knelt down, taking Peter from my arms. "Go put shoes on, I'll take him down to the car—Rosie, go with mum, baby. Go with mum." I heard her little footsteps behind me as I ran back to our bedroom.

"Mummy, what's wrong with Peter?" She cried, softly.

"He needs to go to the hospital, Rose. We have to take him, okay? Can you go get your shoes on for me?" She nodded and ran out. I pulled a cardigan over my tank top and ripped jean shorts up my legs, then I slipped my feet into flats and went back to Rosie and Peter's room. Just as I got the door, she came out with Bunny and I picked her up and hurried downstairs. The car was ready to go and Peter was in the front seat, so I picked him up and nestled him in my lap as Harry pulled away from the curb. Again, as we drove, everything was happening slowly and I wished that it wasn't real. I wished that none of this was real. The car had barely stopped when Harry pulled in front of the Emergency Room, but I was already climbing out, desperate to get my son the help that he needed. Harry called to me, something about parking the car but I was already running inside. The rest was a blur. Someone took him from my arms as I shakily tried to explain what had happened, and I followed them as they wheeled him away on a bed. This wasn't happening. This is all a nightmare. This can't be real—it isn't real. I was completely unaware of what was going on, and when Harry appeared behind me with Rosie in his arms, I was still just...lost. He did the talking from there on out. The words immediate surgery were shouted at us and Harry was shakily signing his name on the paper. All I could think about was my sweet, sweet boy's face. Was he scared? Did he know we were here? I'm here, baby. I'm here and I won't leave you, I wanted to say. I wanted him—no, I needed him to know. I felt Harry's arms pull me away from the now closed doors, while Rosie's voice called to me as she cried. I was in a fog that wouldn't be so easily broken. I couldn't hear anything aside from my heart pumping through my ears and Peter's cries as he convulsed in my arms.

Harry.

"Mum, hi, it's me...erm, give me a call when you can," As I spoke, my throat ached and I couldn't stop the tears from falling from my eyes. "It's Pete, mum. He's in surgery right now...they said he's got a mass on his brain—" Upon saying the words out loud, it really hit me and I began to sob into my mother's voicemail box. "Nora hasn't spoken a word since we found out...Rosie is here with us, erm...yeah, I just...can you come here as soon as you can? I don't know what's gonna happen, mum. I'm so scared." I wipe at my nose and look over at Rosie who's out cold in Nora's lap. "I love you, mum. Call me when you can." I hang up and rub at my swollen eyes. Peter. He's been in surgery for a good hour now and we're just...waiting. Nora looked completely emotionless. Her stare blank and her frown gaping. What happened? How did this happen? Why did this fucking happen?

"Mr. Styles?" I look up to see the surgeon approach me. "May I have a word?"

"How did it go? How is he?" He sighs and clasps his fingers together.

"He's stable...for now."

"What about the—the mass? Did you get it?" Again, his sigh is deep and sorrowful.

"I'm so sorry to say, but...the tumor is just too large. We can't get to it without affecting his brain function. He'd be in a vegetative state for the rest of his life." I bite my lip hard, quickly tasting blood, but I feel like I need the pain. I need to feel something other than this...this unbearable ache.

"So what do we do—what can we do? There has to be a way..."

"We're going to make him comfortable—"

"You can't be serious!" I pull viciously at my hair. "He's six years old...this shouldn't be happening!" I begin to sob, "He's only six years old..." The surgeon's hand rests on my shoulder, attempting to comfort me, but he has no idea how deep this grief is imbedded. There is no comforting. Comforting is absolutely useless. "Please, don't try and make me feel better...go and save my son." I don't feel guilty lashing out at him. Maybe I should, but I don't. "Please, just fucking save my son." He looks at me, sadly.

"I'm very sorry." As I bury my face in my hands, he continues to stand there. "Right now, he's being set up in a room upstairs. The anesthesia should be wearing off soon."

"So...what's the next step, what do we do?"

"The tumor will continue to affect him. Because we removed some of it, it won't be frequent, but he'll most likely seize again."

"How long?"

"Given the severity and the size...probably two to three weeks." I let out a sound that I didn't know could come from my mouth. I didn't know that this much pain was possible. "Go be with your son, Mr. Styles." He walks away from me and I'm left completely heartbroken.

"Harry?" I turn around to see Nora standing behind me. "What happened? Is he okay?" I can see the fear in her eyes and I know that deep down, she knows by the look on my face, that things aren't good. I look down at the floor. "Oh god..." She shakes her head.

"No, he's stable—he's stable."

"And the tumor? What about the tumor?" Now it's my turn to shake my head.

"They couldn't get it." My voice cracks as another sob breaks through. "Not without affecting his brain function."

"So, what do we do—what can we do?"

"They're making him comfortable..."

"No...no, no, no, no!" I step towards her and try to take her in my arms but she flinches from my grasp. "This can't happen—he can't...oh my god." As she collapses to the ground, I take the time to wrap myself around her, doing my best to cocoon her from this horrid nightmare. "My baby, my baby..." She cries and writhes in my arms, her breath sucking in with each wracking sob. "What happened—what happened!? He's six...he's perfect, he can't be...oh my—god." People stare as she wails in my embrace and I cry into her hair as Rosie sleeps on the waiting room chair.

"Nora, Nora...we have to go to his room. I'm going to grab Rose. Will you stand up, baby? Stand up for me." She struggles, but does so with my help. She's still sobbing as a nurse comes to lead the way. I watch with sadness as she's pulled away and then I pick Rosie up. How do we tell her that she's going to lose her twin brother? And in a matter of weeks...how are any of us going to get through losing him. How did this fucking happen? What did he do to deserve this fate? He was such a good boy. Kind and gentle...quiet and humble. The most loving kid I've ever known, so why was this happening to him? I walked down the corridor, towards the elevator and I tried to imagine a world without my son. What a terrible world it would be. A parent shouldn't ever have to bury their child. There was something so terribly wrong with that...and he's only six.