Punk One Direction One Shots

Harry for Angel

The heart monitor was a beep of constant reminder that this was my fault. All of this was my fault. Well technically, it was the three jackasses at school, but I couldn’t help but feel the blame. Angel’s sweet face lay sleeping. I knew it was stupid of me to call it that, but what else could I call it? Did I need to face the fact that three punks- such a great term coming from me- put her in a coma? Her chest rose gently falling just as gracefully.

I sat her rising homework on the side table, knowing that would be what she would want to do as soon as she woke up. I just wish I had been there to stop it.

Angel was sitting on her spot. She had sat on the stone wall outside of our school since freshman year, every day. I felt Niall tug on my shoulder pulling me back slightly, his cheeks were a tinted pink as he stuttered out a need for help in Calculus and he wanted to make sure it was fine to have Angel help him. Before I could say that it wouldn’t be a problem, I heard the first punch.

It was quickly followed by the shout of, “You think that you’re something special huh?”

A second one held her down, allowing the other to take the work she had been doing lighting it. The one on top of her pounded her down into the concrete. “You think Harry loves you?”

“You think that it’s okay to date him?”

“You think that you two are going to ride off into the sunset and get married and have kids?” The three cackled in delight.

Sprinting over to her, Niall grabbed them off her, while I picked her up. Angel was limp in my arms like one of my sister’s dolls from childhood. Her hair dangled over my arms. Her neck was snapped back and I was scared. Not of them. Not of what they said. But what they had done. I didn’t know how the human body worked, unless we were talking pleasure, that’s my department, but as far as trauma goes, I’m lost.

I ran to my car, Niall hustling behind trying to dial the medics to let them know I was coming. The ER was an overly clean place that smelled too sterile and had overly optimistic views on life. The quickly carted her away, leaving me to sit in a plastic chair as they hooked her up to a shit load of machines.

Which brings us back to now: me, sitting here, in a similar chair-this one had a cushion- waiting for her to wake up. The amount of times I tried saying, “I love you” in hopes she would wake up were beyond count. It had been two weeks and there were a ton of flowers and balloons in the small room.

I tried talking to her. I tried reading to her. I was running out of ideas until I played her favorite song. Turning up the volume on my phone I just let it play. The harmonies filled the room as her heart rate changed.

“Can we get somebody in here?” I yelled sticking my head out the window. Turning back to the bed, I saw Angel’s eyes fluttering open. “Don’t talk baby, there’s a tube in your throat!”

Angel nodded leaning back onto the pillows. Her eyes seemed to gain its life back. A cute little hum, rasped her throat as I stretched out a hand to stroke her skin. I missed that skin. I missed loving it and resented everyone who took it momentarily away.

“Do you still want me here? I mean, the two of us being a thing still? Nod, honey.” She nodded smiling. “I love you.”

Angel opened her mouth, but remembered she couldn’t say anything, offering a shaky heart with her hands. So maybe we couldn’t go back to school the same, but it didn’t change what we were.