espionage [h.s.]

FIFTY ONE

A.N. I've loved this song for years and I thought it went really well with this chapter, especially the lyrics, so I encourage you to listen to it! Pls remember to be an active reader - vote, leave a few comments, or any other feedback!

HARRY

I know I'm in the infirmary. I can feel the firmness of the bed from under me. I can smell the sterile air. I can faintly hear the murmur of Earl's voice as he tells me my ear drum has been damaged. I can taste the orange juice from the cup he keeps holding up to my lips because I need to hydrate and apparently it's good for shock. All of my senses are alert enough to figure out where I am and what's happening, but my mind couldn't be further away.

I want to scream. I want to shout, and yell, and cry, and ask questions, demand answers. But I can't. All I can do is sit there on the bed as Earl continues to tell me things that I don't have the energy to listen to. I don't look at him, or talk to him, or really acknowledge his presence at all. I think Louis and Niamh came in to check on me earlier, but I can't really remember. To be honest, I don't really care. The only person I want to see and talk to is Rochelle, but I can't, because she's gone.

I know I should be doing something more than just sitting here. I should be searching for her, using our intelligence resources to find out where she is, who attacked us, where they've taken her. But I don't think I'm emotionally or mentally up to it, and it's not really possible even in a physical capacity, because there's no way we could establish any leads to Rochelle's whereabouts yet anyway. All I can do is sit here, all silent and numb, pretending to listen to Earl as he tells me I can go back to my apartment, making me promise to keep applying ointment to my burns and come back if my ear starts to hurt, which I simply acknowledge with a nod.

The short walk back to my apartment somehow exhausts me so much that I barely have the energy to make it to bed, but I just about manage to crawl under the covers where I plan on staying until further notice. The sheets are still tinged with Rochelle's sweet vanilla scent and I feel my heart twist in pain at the familiarity of it, which only worsens when I remember that she won't be sleeping here tonight. Masochistically, I bury my head into the sheets, pulling the duvet up to my nose, inhaling the lingering smell of her presence until I have to stop because it hurts too much.

A few minutes pass before I force myself to crawl out from under the sheets and come up for some much needed air, my head laying flat against the pillows as I blankly stare up at the ceiling. After I get bored of that, I turn my head to glance at the left side of the bed where Rochelle usually sleeps, slowly trailing my fingers along the pillow where her head usually rests, and then running my hand down the space on the mattress where her body usually lays next to mine. I used to love having this king-sized bed all to myself, in fact I used to sleep right in the middle of it so I could spread out my body in any direction I wanted. But that all changed with Rochelle. Without Rochelle here, the bed feels too big, too empty. Without Rochelle here, everything feels wrong.