The only things I remember are in fragments, mixed with what they told me.
Harry's voice screaming my name.
His arms around me lifting me from the bed, carrying me.
The flashing lights of the ambulance. Paramedics and doctors.
Fear.
I remember fear.
Whether it was mine or Harry's I can't tell.
When I came to there was a tube in my throat and machines beeping all around me. I drift in and out of consciousness. When I'm awake I'm fuzzy, like a tv screen shrouded in static. When I sleep I don't dream, waking each time not knowing what day it is or where I am.
"...Respiratory failure."
"Lucky to be alive...."
"...Should have come in sooner."
The phrases seep in through my sparse consciousness, drifting in and out as I fade back to sleep.
I don't know how long I stay this way, halfway awake, halfway not. Every time I wake I long for the painlessness of sleep, the agony of being awake almost too much to bear.
Thankfully, the gods- or whoever might be up there- listen, and sleep wins me over again and again.
I don't think about death. I don't even consider that I might be close. All I think about is the water in my lungs, the deep of sleep, and the pain of holding on.
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