You're My Only Direction

Chapter Twenty-Eight

            Louis’ POV

            Oh, this is bad. This is so bad. I paced back and forth in the hallway outside of Harry’s room. As far as I knew he still hadn’t regained consciousness. Oh, this is entirely my fault. Why did I take him out of the hospital?

            I slapped my forehead in exasperation at my own stupidity. Why on earth would I think that’s okay? He has cancer, a malignant tumor at that! He’s so weak that he can barely move and here I am risking his life for my own selfish purposes. I’m such an idiot!

            “Mr. Tomlinson?” A rasping voice called from behind me. I spun around to see the ancient receptionist from Harry’s original clinic.

            “Marge?” I replied, tilting my head in confusion.

            “How is he?” She wheezed, ignoring the question in my voice and inclining her head towards Harry’s door.

            “He has yet to wake up…” I sighed, avoiding her eyes.

            “He’s a special young man; I hope you know that,” she grumbled, drawing closer to me but not uncomfortably so.

            “He really is special, isn’t he…” I sighed, glancing at the door longingly.

            “Louis, I just want you to know what a positive effect you had on him throughout this. I know I’m not a doctor, but I’m not blind. You helped him so much; every time you accompanied him to a treatment he was always so full of life. It’s so hard for a patient that has endured what he has-not only with the cancer but also with his depression-to be so…happy… No matter what happens, you should know that you’ve done so much for him, whether he realizes it himself, or not,” she said, grabbing onto my shoulder with her gnarled hand. “I honestly believe that you saved him that night when he tried to kill himself; I don’t know how you could’ve possibly saved him, but I just have this feeling that he survived because of you.”

            Tears welled in my eyes as I gazed into her sincere, beady eyes. “Thank you,” I murmured, looking down at my hands.

            “No, thank you,” she replied with a twitch of a smile.

            I looked at her uncertainly. It was a little eerie how much she knew about our situation. But, Harry always loved to talk, even to ancient, old women…especially ancient, old women. But what really surprised me was that she knew about his depression; I hadn’t even accepted it enough to call it that. How did she possibly know that much?

            “Why haven’t they begun surgery on him?” She inquired, pulling me from my thoughts as a hint of fear bled into her usually insensate voice.

            “They are waiting for him to regain consciousness and accept the surgery before they begin, because he refused the surgery before,” I sighed.

            “What? That’s ridiculous; the boy will die if they don’t do something!” Marge bellowed furiously. “He’s only seventeen, he’s just a boy! They can’t sit around and allow him to die just because he said he didn’t want surgery! This has become an emergency! I won’t stand for this.”

            And with that Marge barged into the room.

            I would’ve followed her in but there was no point, because she was screaming so loudly that I could hear every word from outside.