Pretty Please Don't Pinch Me

100. Hope is for the Hopeless

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Harry

How did it ever get to this?

How could I allow this to happen?

I stare at her lifeless form in the hospital bed and go through different scenarios that I could have done differently and maybe she wouldn't be here.

I get up to pace the room, waiting for the doctor to return.

Everything is taking too long. I feel like I'm always waiting on answers, and when I finally get them, that simply leads to more questions, and more answers that take time. It's a never-ending, emotionally exhausting cycle and I would do anything to get her out of there.

Scarlett sits opposite, pale faced and distraught. She seems just as lost as I do in all of this, and seems to stare off into thin air, probably thinking similar thoughts to me.

I clear my throat, and she looks up.

"So what exactly happened again?" I ask, knowing she's already told me, but I need to hear it. I need to process it despite knowing absolutely nothing about medicine.

"Well I put her to bed... and then she started talking gibberish."

"Like what?" I enquire, brows furrowing at the intake of this new information.

"Well she mentioned something about a tea party, and..." she trails off, hesitating midway through her sentence.

"And?"

"And you," she gulps.

"Me?" I question, bewildered.

"She wanted to know where you were," she answers, quite uncomfortable.

Why have I not heard this? Or maybe that didn't matter then to me.

I feel tears brimming to the surface, and Scarlett rushes over, pulling me into a tight hug.

"It's going to be okay," she reassures me, but we both know the severity of the situation. It's obvious by the tone of voice used by the doctors as they deliver more and more updates on her status. We know it's bad. We don't need a degree for that.

"I can't lose her Scar," I cry, letting the tears fall freely down my cheeks, falling onto her shoulder. She pats me on the back in an act of comfort, until the doctor finally enters the room with his clipboard.

"Mr... Styles," he says, after finding my name on the clipboard as her significant other. "Has her family arrived yet?"

"They're currently on the plane over. It'll be another ten or so hours until they arrive. They're from Australia," I tell him, not even bothering to wipe the tears from my face.

"We don't have that much time. Ava has what we call a subdural hematoma. Blood has collected between the layers of tissue that surround the brain and as the blood accumulates, more and more pressure will build," he informs us quite robotically. To him this is all just science and figures, but for us, a life we value with so much importance is hanging on the line.