Chapter 2
I'd gone from not being able to breathe to being able to breathe too much all at once.
It felt like my lungs were working for the first time in fucking weeks, drawing in breath after breath, overwhelming themselves at the very notion of what my body was currently doing. There was a glaringly heavy pain in the area of my temple that always acted up whenever I was stressed or had had a little too much caffeine in much too little of a time frame, but I didn't dare open my eyes. Not when I figured that it would send that pain skyrocketing.
What was going on?
My body felt... heavy. Much too heavy. Almost numb, it seemed, for one reason or another. Struggling to rein in my breathing, I instinctively wiggled my toes – or tried to, at least – only to find that the pain in my head snaked to my calves, which tiptoed up to just above my knees. My entire legs cramped up in the matter of a few seconds.
"Jesus," I muttered, but it came out as less of a word and more of a croak.
I'd finally just willed my heart to beat steadily and my breathing to even out when it all came flooding back.
The gallery showing, the warehouse explosion, the shooting – Harry.
That was it. That was what finally possessed me to slowly crack one eye open. And then a second. Only to be greeted by darkness.
My lids felt substantially massive as I attempted to blink, wondering with brief panic if I'd gone blind, thankful at the reassurance that coursed through me when the room slowly started to come into focus. Dark focus, that was. Wherever I was, it was full of boxes. The room's windows were shuttered tight, and the only light was coming from the monitor beside me – attached to me, I realized with a small start, catching a quick glance at the wires popping out from beneath my shirt. It was emanating a gentle hum, beeping occasionally.
Heart rate's steady, I thought with a little laugh, staring at the screen by my side for a second too long before the pain in my head popped back up. Harry'll be happy.
Harry.
"Harry–" I tried to speak again but the word came out garbled. My mouth felt dry. Was he here? Was he okay?
The panic was back, which was especially tough because I could hardly see less than a foot in front of me and my entire body was cramping up. I needed to find him. Did Damien get to him? Did Derek?
Oh my god. This was all my fault. My fucking fault –
Squirming like a little fish, I urged my leaden limbs to move. Move, God fucking damnit. I was not about to sit around wasting away when he could be in trouble, or hurt, or –
"Fuck!" A muffled voice shouted and suddenly my body didn't feel so heavy anymore. I felt... light.
"Oh my god!" The first of my words that finally came out clear were those three. The ECG at my side was going off like crazy, beeping and chirping into the darkness, alerting someone – if anyone was even around – that I was quite literally having a panic attack.
"Riv–?!" That muffled voice said. A voice very, very familiar. Someone was here. "River. Riv. Baby–" And there he was. Harry. Directly in my line of sight in the darkness, hovering over me, looking both terrified, elated, and confused. He was clutching a hand over his eye and part of his nose.
I choked out a noise of relief. We both did.
"Harry–!" I reached out for him, only for the cramping in my arm to start acting up at the very same moment that the wires on my chest yanked me back down. "Fuck," I glanced down. And then back up at him. We both froze for a moment. "Fuck, fuck, fuck–" I repeated, and at the very same time, we both reached beneath my shirt to start yanking off the little sticky wires stuck to my skin.
"Careful–" he hissed, gently removing the few he'd gotten to first, while I fully ripped the others clean off. The adrenaline was preventing me from feeling anything anymore.
After a second, the machine went quiet.
We looked at each other again.
And then his chest was colliding against mine. He was on the bed, curling me into his lap, and slotting his body against my own before I'd even had a chance to do anything.
"River..." he breathed into my ear, his hand sliding up to cup my head. He was crying before his face had even burrowed into the crook of my neck. "Thank God," he sobbed, breathing even heavier than I'd been. "Thank God, thank fucking God. I'll never ask for anything again in my entire life." He hugged me tighter. A pain reared up in my shoulder. I ignored it. "Riv," he repeated. His tears dampened my shoulder. "Riv, baby. My poor girl. Riv, Riv, Riv."
I hadn't realized I was crying until he finally pulled away. "No," he looked suddenly crushed as he reached for my face. More tears fell down his cheeks. "Please, no. Don't cry. Don't cry, I'm so sorry."
For some reason. For some dumb, dumb fucking reason, the first words I was able to say were – "Did I knee you in the face?"
He laughed then, nodding, all the while still crying. With a sniffle, he managed, "Yeah, you did a bit. I was asleep in your lap. But it's fine–"
"You're going to have a black eye–" I instinctively reached for his face, the face I'd tried so many times to touch in my dream, only for the pain in my shoulder to suddenly turn blinding. The noise of anguish Harry made when I doubled over, clutching it with my left hand, would have killed me if the agony hadn't caused my ears to ring and my vision to blur.
Harry seemed at a loss then. In my peripheral, while I nursed my shoulder, I could see him stand up – hands hovering around me – before he sat back down with a small noise of sorrow, dragging his fingers through his hair. He glanced at the door, and I could tell he was debating on whether or not to call someone, when I said, "Can you just..." I swallowed a few times, my mouth still feeling thick and dry, from the misuse no doubt. How long had I been asleep?
"You should lie down," Harry said softly. Way too softly. "Baby, you should rest–"
"Can you just hold me?"
He was silent for a moment, the only sound being the sharp noise his throat made when he swallowed before he began nodding so emphatically I thought his head was going to tumble right off his neck. "Yes," he breathed the word so quickly, so earnestly, I thought I might have dreamt it again. "Yes, of course. Always." He drew me into his lap, cradling me akin to how you would a child.
When a long enough time passed that I was sure things weren't going to suddenly fade away on me again, I quietly asked, "So I didn't dream it?"
Harry swallowed again. He tucked me closer to his chest and kissed the top of my head.
I buried my face into his shirt, refusing to let him see me cry. Though any attempt of this was thwarted when my voice cracked the next time I spoke. "How many people died? At the warehouse?" Harry didn't answer. "Are Zayn and Morgan okay? Where's Derek? Harry, I need to explain to you what happened that night–"
"Riv," Harry cut in softly. He drew an arm around me and urged me to look up at him. His eyes were red-rimmed as well. He shook his head. With a sad smile, he drew in a long breath, and simply said, "Not now, okay? Later."
I didn't argue with him on that. My body wasn't just the only thing that was exhausted. So was my mind, my wits. I just felt a bit... off, in general. I wondered vaguely if that feeling would ever go away again. Normally it did with Harry, yet here I was. Feeling not to completely whole with the person who usually filled in all of my cracks.
"How long was I asleep for?" I chose to ask instead.
When Harry didn't immediately respond to this either, I glanced up, only to see with a stuttering heart that he was already staring down at me –something mixed between disbelief and despair mingled into his expression. He blinked a few times to compose himself and leaned down, placing an extended kiss on my forehead.
I leaned up to catch his mouth with my own before he could fully pull away.
Everything in him melted. His body quite literally heaved against my own. He shifted me in his hold until I was straddling his waist, and cupped my chin, kissing me so deeply that I worried briefly he might fall right through me. He made a noise of relief into my mouth, one I'd never heard him utter before, and broke our kiss just long enough for either of us to catch our breath, before he was back at it– over and over, like he had been worried he'd never get this opportunity again.
"I'm sorry," he sobbed into my mouth. "I'm so sorry. So fucking sorry, my sweet angel."
"Harry..." I urged him backwards, much to his dissatisfaction. He pulled away but an inch, keeping my face tightly locked between the palms of his hands, eyes locked on my own. They were so open, so green, so vulnerable that I almost felt the need to look elsewhere. "It's okay. You don't have anything to be sorry for."
And while normally my words soothed him, I could tell that our dynamic had changed – in this regard, at least. His expression shifted into one of deep sorrow. One that read, without so much of a word out of his mouth, that he felt he was to blame. And nothing I could say would fix that. This was something he had to come to terms to on his own.
"Did you shoot me?" I joked and my brows shot up, attempting to lighten the mood. Harry didn't so much as blink. "Okay..." I blew out a breath. "Tough crowd."
"Riv–" Harry's voice was thick again.
"Harry–" I cut in, and reached up with the arm attached to my not hurt shoulder to cup his face. "I'm here right now. I'm alright. I'm alive–"
"I thought you wouldn't be," he admitted in a small voice. It caught me off guard. The tone was so unlike him. Again, so vulnerable, that I had a feeling he hadn't been this exposed and honest since he was a child. "I thought..." his eyes welled up and he shook his head, furrowing his brows. "Riv, I was so fucking scared." He pulled me into another embrace, kissing the same spot on my neck over and over. His breath was hot against my skin when he whispered, "I want you to know... I... I, uh..."
His words tapered off. When he pulled away, he seemed a bit nervous. Slightly unsure of himself.
"Want me to know what?" I asked and reached to give his shoulder a squeeze. He sagged into my hold when I leaned forward to gently kiss his cheek.
"I'll tell you later," he promised and turned to kiss me back. "It's... I'm not supposed to tell you anything extremely jarring or–" he scrunched up his face, mimicking, "–life-altering the first few hours or even days after you wake up." He nervously scratched the back of his head with a sheepish look and suddenly shoved a hand into his pants pocket, withdrawing a wad of folded up, crumpled, and extremely read-looking set of papers. He unfolded it before continuing, "The doctor gave me a list of things to do and not to do when you came back into consciousness."
"What, like–" I peered over the top of the paper, noting a few of the bits that had been highlighted, before flicking my eyes back up to his, "–don't punch me in the shoulder and shit?" Harry frowned. I gave an attempt at a grin. Even those muscles felt a bit stiff. "Kidding, you big lug. It's cute that you have these all tucked away."
Harry blew out a breathy sigh, running a quick hand through his hair before he began rummaging through the papers. "Well, for one," he mumbled, quite exasperatedly, pointing to a specific sheet, "You are not supposed to have this much energy when you first wake up. It clearly says, 'Patient will show signs of grogginess, being disoriented, slightly confused, be unable to name certain people or things–" his eyes drew up to mine at this one.
We both paused. I chose then to furrow my brows and angle my head to the side. "I'm sorry..." I pursed my lips. "Can I just ask... who you are? I think I'm expecting my boyfriend, sir, and he'll be really displeased to know that this rando is hanging around on my bed–"
"Riv," Harry cut in. He neatly folded up the papers – not before having put them back in the correct order, might I add. His eyes never left mine. That sincere, sorrowful tone of his was back. "I..." he shook his head. "I really was worried about that. That... that you wouldn't remember who I was or something."
Every last joke I'd planned to continue with dissipated. "Harry..." my voice cracked slightly. I pulled him into another hug. "I know who you are. I promise. I always will." A beat. "I'm sorry–"
"What, no–stop." Harry pulled away, holding us both at arm's length in the matter of an instant. His face was filled with genuine concern. "Don't you dare apologize. None of this is your fault–"
"I mean, I'm sorry I don't know how to deal with stuff like this," I admitted in a quieter voice. His eyes never left mine. "I'm not good with these things. I don't know how to... process them properly other than avoidance. I know me being asleep for a few hours must have really freaked you out and I–"
"Three weeks," Harry interjected stiffly.
I frowned. "What?"
He opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking down at our laps. "You were..." he winced, almost mocking the next word, "asleep... for almost three weeks."
I leaned back, swallowing hard. "What?" I repeated again. Harry only nodded. "Jesus Christ," I breathed. In my chest, my heart began to pick up. "Jesus Christ. Three weeks? Are you sure? Like, actually sure–?"
"Oh, god," Harry began to panic. He reefed through the papers again. "Shit. I think that was on the list of things I wasn't supposed to tell you–"
"No, it's fine," I said, but my words were a bit meek. "I just..." my mouth felt a bit dry again. "I don't get... I mean, I was shot in the shoulder, was I not? How'd that...? Why did I fall into an actual fucking coma–?"
Harry looked extremely guilty now. "The doctors... they, uh, did a scan of your brain. You were diagnosed with hypertension. You had an extremely high blood pressure which ultimately caused..." he took a steadying breath, "a bit of a brain bleed. They assume this happened after you were shot." He swallowed hard. "The brain bleed, I mean. That it was from extreme stress... stress that would have..." he winced, not meeting my eye, "accumulated in the months leading up to the accident."
The way he worded 'accident' had me wondering if that's the term they – the team of doctors and Harry – had been using to refer to my being shot, considering the ease with which he said it. I couldn't see him managing so well with multiple people a day bringing up numerous times over that his girlfriend had been shot in the shoulder by a man he worked with. That alone would have given him high blood pressure.
"And..." I put together the pieces, reaching for one of his hands and giving it a squeeze – urging him to look at me. "And am I correct in assuming that you think this is your fault–?"
I'd barely even finished before Harry cut me off with the reprimand that was my name, "Riv–"
"No, Harry, listen," I gave his hand another squeeze. "None of that is your fault, okay?"
"Just... don't do this. Not right now." Harry grabbed me, pulling me back into his lap. He cupped my face. "I'm just worried about you right now, alright? Let me be worried. Let me dote and look after you and make sure you're alright. But you..." he angled his head to the side, pairing it with another soft smile, "Don't try to make me feel better right now. Don't try to make anyone feel better right now. I want you to heal. I want you to be okay. I want to take your stress away, the stress that I caused before you start going trying to worry about me again, okay?" His eyes were directly on mine, begging for reassurance. "Okay?" he repeated, a little more firmly this time. "Let me take care of you now."
I flattened my mouth into a line, teasingly muttering, "Well, considering you don't have a medical degree, will that be the best choice here?"
Harry wasn't having any of it. He didn't so much as give my words even a second thought before repeating just as seriously, "Let me take care of you, okay?"
He was so gentle. Gentle in the way he held me, in the way he looked at me, in the way he spoke to me. How could I prove to him, to the man before me with an earring bearing my initial who would quite literally burn the world to the ground if I asked him to, that he'd done anything but cause me stress? That he was the one who made me feel at ease?
Finally, I relented. With a small smile and a kiss to the tip of his nose, I whispered, "Okay."
He smiled. "Okay."
I smiled back as best as I could. "Okay, baby." His eyes lit up at the words. "Can we turn the lights on now?"
It was still fairly dark in here. Not as dark as it had been when I'd first woken up, given that my eyes had adjusted, and the blinds weren't as blackout as I'd originally presumed, but I wanted to see him. To see his face unobstructedly and bask in the presence that was my boyfriend. My boyfriend who, with a quick glance at the armchair beside my bed, it looked like had never once left my side. Empty cups, plates, strewn articles of clothing, large-print books all sat haphazardly about.
Harry sucked in an apprehensive breath. "I'm worried about your eyes–"
"Harry," I said curtly and gently shoved out of his lap. "Please turn on the lights." When he still seemed against it, I softly said, "I just want to see you."
Finally, with a sigh, he got up from the bed. But before reaching for the light a few feet away, he awkwardly scratched the back of his head and muttered, "I should, um, tell you something before I do."
His words unnerved me just a bit. "What?" I tried to joke, but the word came out a bit flat. "The hospital not pay their hydro bill this month? You grow a second nose while I was out–?"
"We're not at the hospital," Harry cut in quickly. He inched toward the light. It was then that I suddenly remembered the boxes. And... this bed. It was much too comfortable to be in a hospital. My head whirled to the side. That chair, too. It seemed... familiar. Way too familiar. Like I'd seen it before. My eyes flicked up to the blinds, ones I could have sworn I'd had a memory of me cursing many, many years before – hating how much sun they let in in the mornings when I was trying to sleep the days away.
I could have sworn I heard Harry gulp as he finally turned the lights on – which happened to be the very same second, actually, that I finally clued into where we were.
"Oh my sweet Jesus," I reached up with my good arm to slam a palm against my forehead; wide eyes spinning in the direction of my boyfriend, who I could not believe in this very moment had done such a thing. "Harry..." I said as calmly as I could. "Please, for the love of God, tell me we are not at my fucking mother's house."
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i'm baaaaaaaaack <3 - v