the cool side of the pillow {styles au}

twenty five

Songs for this chapter:

Thinking Out Loud - Ed Sheeran

Wish You Were Here - Avril Lavigne

Keep On Loving You - REO Speedwagon

Harry's POV:

My ears are ringing. All I hear as the officer goes into detail about the accident is this annoying high-pitched squealing sound. My surroundings are vaguely familiar: white walls, white floors, white lab coats - everything you'd expect to see in a hospital. Just being in one for thirty seconds makes me queasy; the last time I stepped foot in a hospital was the night Seth died. My vision blurs around the edges the deeper into the hospital I get, my mind flashing back to the night my life turned upside down.

-

"Can someone please give me an update on my son?" my mother shouts, palms slapping the countertop at the nurse's station.

The young woman dressed in scrubs holds up a bony finger as she finishes the phone call she's taking. Eventually she hangs up and plasters on the fakest smile I've ever seen, "Ma'am, he's in surgery right now. The doctor will give you an update the second he has one. Now, please take a seat."

My mother mutters a few curses beneath her breath and stomps back to the chairs, plopping down in the one next to me. I can't think straight, my head swimming with thought after thought of 'you could have prevented this'. It's becoming almost unbearable to breathe as my chest feels like it's caving in on itself. How could I have let this happen? Mum and Dad are going to hate me when they find out what happened, that I knew and didn't tell them. Oh God...

I pull my knees to my chest and lean my forehead against them, silent tears cascading down my cheeks. It's eerily quiet in the waiting room, something very unusual for a hospital I'm sure. The only sounds are my dad occasionally clearing his throat and my sniffling. I've completely soaked my basketball shorts with tears by the time the doctor surfaces from the operating room. I don't have to look up to know how Seth is. All I need to know is that my mum is screaming and my dad is throwing chairs.

My mind blanks, only one thought running on a loop through my head: it's your fault.

It takes several hours for me to emerge from my cocoon, my legs numb and my head pounding. By then, it is quiet again. My parents are sitting on the far side of the room speaking quietly with a police officer. I look at my mum's face for half a second and my lunch comes up all over the waiting room floor. I fall out of the chair, palms and knees connecting with the slippery floor, barely holding me up. A nurse rushes over to me, asking me if I'm okay and if I need anything. But I can't answer her, my throat is far too dry and my mind too blank. I can't think, I can't feel, I can barely see. The only thing I'm aware of is that this is my fault.

After several failed attempts at getting me to talk, the nurse quits asking questions and helps me up, sitting me back down in the chair. I think she says something about getting me clean clothes and walks away, but I can't be sure. Moments later she returns, helping me up and guiding me toward a bathroom. She hands me navy blue scrubs and pushes the door open, nudging me forward. My feet feel like they weigh a ton as I take the three steps into the bathroom.

The door clicks shut and I stand there, unsure of what to do next. I know I need to change, the foul odor of my own puke becoming overwhelming, but my body won't move. My arms cling to the scrubs I'm holding against my ribs, and I feel like if I move them, my body will fall apart.

There's a faint knock that I give no response to before the nurse enters tentatively, taking the scrubs from me. She dresses me as I stand there, blind to everything but the pain raging like an inferno inside of me. My eyes follow her movements as she bags up my clothes. I furiously shake my head as my wobbly arm lifts and points to the trash can.