Annabel [h.s.]

nineteen

Annabel's head is pounding and there's a deep, burning pain in her neck. She can hear the steady beep of machines and smell the thick scent of antibacterial everything. Immediately she knows that she's in the hospital. Which is weird considering the fact that she was literally dying a moment ago.

Was there really enough time for Harry to get her to the hospital before she bled out?

Painfully slowly, she opens her eyes and winces the second that the bright fluorescent lights flood her senses.

Her mouth feels like it's filled with cotton and it takes a ridiculous amount of effort to force her vocal cords to produce sound.

"H-harry?"

Harry practically shoots out of his chair, nearly tripping himself in the process and startling a nurse in the hall. Annabel wants to laugh at how clumsy he's suddenly become, but she feels like absolute trash and she doesn't have it in her.

Despite how worried that he was—that he is—Harry offers her a gentle smile and a soft spoken, "Hi."

Her lips part as she observes how disheveled he looks. In all of the time that she's known him, she's never seen him look so...bad. There are dark circles under his eyes, his hair is all over the place, like he's been pulling at it and pushing it around all night, and his eyes are swollen and slightly bloodshot.

He's been crying.

"Am I-"

Harry shakes his head, reading her mind before the words can make it to the surface. "No, you died once though, on the operating table. Seven minutes and thirty-four seconds."

The room is silent and he's searching her eyes like he's lost something.

Annabel shifts slightly in the bed, his hand still holding hers and his thumb gently running over her index finger like she's porcelain and she'll break if he presses too hard.

It takes her a moment to find her voice again, "What did you tell them?"

He won't meet her eyes anymore, his gaze drifting to their hands and the tubes that snake around her skin. "What I had to."

And he doesn't say anymore because he's angry with himself and she already knows the explanation because it's happened before. What she doesn't know is how he's feeling. Annabel has never seen him like this before and it's alarming.

She closes her eyes for a moment and tries to remember what happened before she blacked out.

Harry reaches for the blade on the dresser. Annabel sees it coming, but she's not afraid of what he's going to do and she knew that this was going to happen eventually. It's different with him this time though. The look in his eyes is distant, like he's not there, and there's not even the slightest trace of a wicked grin on his lips.

There's always a wicked grin on his lips when he kills. Always.

Metal meets skin, digging in deep and slicing with enough pressure to break through an artery. This is it, she's going to die.

Annabel watches him with dilated pupils, pleasure still surging through her and mixing with fresh pain. She expected a rough day and, even though it's a little more than she expected, she's okay with going out this way.

He's stopped adding pressure now and the blade is removed. For a long moment he just stares at her, wondering why she's got the slightest hint of a smile on her lips.

She's happy that she got to learn to love his dark heart and that he opened his defenses and loved her blue heart right back and that's all that matters to her.

Something changes and the recognition is his eyes is enough to let her know that he hadn't intended to cut her like he did. Didn't mean to, really.

He's panicking and tearing things frantically in hopes of patching the wound in her neck.

There's blood everywhere and everything's peaceful again.

She watches him with a soft smile. His eyes are glossy and he's on the verge of tears as he presses something over her neck.

"Annabel...I...no. No! Baby, I'm sorry! Please don't go. I didn't mean it...I didn't mean it! Annabel!"

Harry's quiet, his thumb still tracing over her index finger gently. He looks...sad.

Annabel can't recall a time where he's ever looked sad and it actually kind of hurts to see him like this.

They sit in silence for a long moment as Annabel collects her thoughts.

"Why didn't you let me die?"

The movement of his thumb stops. He won't look at her.

He's silent for far too long, so Annabel asks again, "Harry, why didn't you let me die."

Harry doesn't want to tell her because he doesn't want it to be real. If it's real that means that he's going to slip up and it means that he's definitely going to kill her. Maybe not now, but eventually. He won't be able to live with himself.

"Harry."

Finally, he meets her eyes.

"I couldn't live with myself if you died. You know why."

Now Annabel is the one to look away. He's right, she knows exactly why. It's been obvious for a long time now. The only reason that he rushed her to the hospital to save her life is because he's in love with her and that's the one thing that will ruin the conscious that he pretends not to have.

If she died by his hands it would haunt him for the rest of his life and that's the one thing that he can't handle. That's why he told her to leave and that's why he looks like hell.

But something's wrong with his explanation and he feels the need to elaborate.

"I...I never meant for it to go this far—for us to go so far. Hell, I didn't think that it was possible to feel anything other than that rush from what I do. But I do and it's fucking terrifying Annabel. I'm constantly worrying about being with you, about what I can do to you. And that nightmare. God, that nightmare. All I see when I go out to run is your face, that horrible gash in your neck and the haunted and vacant look in your eyes. I did it to you then and I almost did it to you for real. I did do it to you. That's why I wake up in the middle of the night and lock myself in the bathroom. I can't even look at you after it happens because all I see is the corpse from that nightmare. It's always there, Annabel. It won't go away and I know that it will be so much worse when I lose you. I'm fucking terrified to lose you and I don't know how to stop it from happening."

Annabel doesn't know what to say. She squeezes his hand and offers him a soft smile even though she knows that it won't help.

It's like that for a while. The silence between them is heavy this time, but at the same time it's strangely comfortable. A nurse comes in to adjust her meds after about fifteen minutes. Annabel doesn't say anything, but Harry thanks her timidly, as if he's afraid that she'll catch on to his weakness.

"Please say something."

Annabel's lips lift up in a slight smile, "Something."

Harry normally doesn't smile at things like that, but this time he does. He knows that she did it on purpose and that's enough.

"Annabel."

She grins, "Harry."

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Annabel's smile softens, "I'll be serious now. You're incredibly unstable, and we both know that. It's something that we've known since we started this. I know that you're scared, I have to admit that I am too. But I'm okay with it. When it happens, it happens. Everyone dies eventually, Harry. I'm not afraid of you, but I am afraid of what it will do to you. I can't tell you that it's going to be okay, because it won't be, but that's just how it is."

She pauses for a moment, "I won't leave you until I have to. You can count on that."