Amber Easton
My legs are aching. My chest feels particularly tight.
My lips are too dry. My stomach is cramping. My left temple is pulsating obnoxiously.
The more I think about it, the more I realize my whole body is in pain.
Even when I decide to open my eyes, I have to momentarily close them from the sudden brightness. My sight roams around the white-walled room, and my mind gets clouded with confusion.
I'm aware I'm currently in a hospital, but I've got no recollection of getting here. While I do remember the sequence of events that went down in my apartment, I can't quite put my finger down on what went on afterward.
The more I look around the room, the more details I start noticing —
1) awful blue curtains are failing to cover the blazing daylight;
2) there are dozens of wires and systems connected to my body and almost all of them keep making repellent noises;
3) a certain British brunette is asleep on a plastic chair right next to my bed.
A faint smile tugs at my lips because his head is laid over his crossed hands on the white sheets of my bed.
His barely-audible snores suddenly overpower all the other noise. My free hand slowly and cautiously sneaks into his chestnut curls. For a moment, all my physical pain subdues a little.
The light touch is enough for him to immediately jolt awake. I'm quick to pull my hand back, and silently berate myself for giving into my intrusive thoughts.
I watch as he blinks slowly multiple times to snap out of the disoriented state he's in. "Hi." He stays completely stoic but reaches out for my wired-up hand.
"Hi." It seems to be our thing. I think I heard the heart machine skip a beat.
"How... How are you feeling?" He seems to be careful when picking out the right words.
I don't think I've had enough time to figure out the answer to that. "Honestly?" I ask, receiving a cautious nod in response. "So shitty," I whisper so that the two words feel lighter.
He mindlessly squeezes my hand a little to show his care. Somewhere in my mind, I try to connect all the events to figure out how he got here because I specifically remember being in Liv's car.
As if reading my mind, Harry answers the question I never even asked. "Olivia called me just a little after they brought you in. She was here for the last 3 hours."
I narrow my eyes at his explanation. Even that just hurt. He realizes I'm not entirely following, and adds, "Since you were still asleep, we decided it's best if we took shifts in being next to you. My time's almost up now."
I softly squeeze his hand back. "Yeah?" I faintly smile, but it gets wiped off when another worrying thought sneaks into my head. "Wait, what abo—"
"He's alive." It's like Harry's been waiting for me to ask. "He wasn't at your apartment when the security got there."
I feel my shoulders deflate from all the relief. I can't remember exactly how I hit his head with the bottle. "Are you sure? Because I—"
"Am." He cuts me off softly. He keeps his eyes on mine in honesty. "Seriously. The police have a search warrant on him now."
There is some kind of unfamiliar shadow in his eyes when he sighs. "Besides, I think we should be worrying about something else."
"What?" My chest tightens as I prepare for the seemingly bad news. I try to think of all the possibilities that it could be. Maybe if I hold my breath, they won't hit me that hard.
"Baby," He whispers, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "They discovered you have diabetes."
I grimace in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"Well, maybe we should wait for the doctor to come and explain it to you better, but from what I gathered, it's Type 2." He states and I blink in something like indifference.
I'm not sure what to answer to that.
He's quick to fill the silence. "I already did a bit of research, and found that there are tons of advanced dieticians who would be happy to give you advice on how to make it better, you know."
I open my mouth to speak, but I'm not sure if I should even say anything.
When Harry takes note of my lack of shock, his eyebrows furrow in skepticism. The more time goes on with me searching for the right words, the more disbelief takes over him.
"Amber." His tone gets colder as he leans back in his chair, which distances him from me in a way. "Don't tell me you knew already."
I blink once again, not sure what kind of response he wants from me.
"N-No, I just—" I try to steer in the clear, but the heart monitor gives me away.
"Don't lie to me." He shakes his head in denial. When he realizes I'm not fighting back, he covers his face with his palms.
"You knew..." He quickly rises from his chair, pointing a finger at me. "And you just let me spoil you with sugar every day?"
He turns his back to me while his hands get lost in his hair, his fingers pulling at the roots.
"Harry, I just..." I start but have no idea what to say in this situation.
"Amber." He takes in a deep breath. "Every pack of sour worms you let me buy or every plate of pancakes I made, you knew they were killing you in a way." He paces the room as he lists all the seemingly wrong things I've done.
"Harry." I soften my tone, sitting up as well as I can with the wires restricting me a little. A huge stab of pain overtakes my head immediately. "Well, don't you think it's my choice whether or not I consume it?"
He stops his paces for a moment. He looks at me intently before dropping his hands to his sides in defeat. "But why?" His tone lowers but his brows furrow. "There are hundreds of sugar alternatives in this world, yet you choose to consume the most dangerous one for you."
I'm a little quiet for a moment. My head pounds with something like a hangover and frustration. "Listen. Why don't we talk about this later, okay?" I rub my temples, trying to ease the ache.
He lets out a defeated sigh, timidly shaking his head. It takes a couple of seconds for him to compose his emotions, so he draws his fingers through his hair multiple times.
"Sure. Sure." He continues to move his head in a disapproving manner. He quickly looks at me, blinks, and his cheeks gain a pink tint. "I'll go get the doctor, and tell them you're awake now."
He finally stops his ridiculing head movements and turns around to head straight for the huge white exit.
Within seconds, he's gone out the door without uttering a single word.
Fuck this shit.
~~~
When Harry went to call the doctor, I assumed he would get back right after.
He didn't.
I can't recall the exact moment I realized he wasn't planning on coming back to my room, but I guess it must've been somewhere between the moment I had an unpleasant hospital lunch and when the doctor told me I was free to go home after he'd made every test necessary, and signed me up to a couple of appointments next week.
I must say, I thought they would make me stay here for a little longer, but I guess the hospital's capacity isn't that big to be keeping people in with trivial issues.
I pace around the room a little lightheaded, the anxious feeling gnawing at my chest. It shakes me from the inside out and leaves an alarming stroke.
'I'll be in the car.' He texted around noon, and the tiny sentence has sent me spiraling.
I don't know if it's the aftermath of the overdose or if it's the new normal of how I'm going to feel every day, but I'm just so out of my element right now.
All my thoughts can revolve around is how I don't know what to do from here. I don't know what I'm supposed to do now that I'm meant to move out of this room.
I don't know what bags I'm supposed to take because I wasn't the one that brought my stuff here.
I have no idea what clothes should I wear when changing out of the hospital gown.
Somehow, burying the anxious tears down, I manage to make myself ready to go.
I even managed to packed a small suitcase I found somewhere in this room. It's pink. Must be Liv's.
I probably should call her. She's probably sleeping. She'll probably start worrying then. I'll probably feel guilty about it.
Probably. Probably. Probably.
Not even an hour later, I'm out of the hospital.
I focus on the sound of Liv's suitcase's wheels to the familiar Harry's Mercedes. Placing the case into the trunk, I start wondering if I didn't just steal perfectly fine baggage from somebody. I think about going back all the way into the hospital to check.
With apprehension, I get into the white car's front seat but set my sight straight ahead to avoid looking Harry's way.
I hear him purr the engine alive on the first try, and expertly maneuver out of the parking lot without uttering a single word. He doesn't even tell me to put the seat belt on.
Even though the light of the radio is turned on, it plays a broken cracking sound instead of music. Now that it leaves us to listen to the familiar poetry compilation, we never turn the CD on.
"I really needed you, you know." I've realized can't stay quiet for long when something's bugging me. "I called you 9 times last night, Harry. Why didn't you answer then?"
He clenches his jaw and closes his eyes for an obnoxious second. "Don't try to turn this around, Amber." He pulls the car onto the road and surrounds us in the quick traffic. "We didn't finish talking about you."
"Because there's nothing to talk about. I can't get rid of diabetes, Harry." I'm so quick to answer, drawing my fingers through my messy hair. "Just deal with it, and let's move on."
"Oh, for fuck's sake." He says the phrase under his breath, making my anxiety tighten my chest even more. "This isn't about being able to cure it or not. It's about you self-destructing, yet somehow me ending up feeling guilty about it."
"Then don't." I cut him off, chuckling through this madness. "What do you want me to do?"
He switches lanes in order for us to turn into the suburban alleyway. "To take care of yourself." He realizes how loud his tone has gotten, so he drops his voice quickly. "My heart just won't be able to take seeing you at a hospital again."
I breathe out, feeling my cheeks redden. "Okay." I rub my tired eyes with the palms of my hands. "Thank you for caring."
I watch him ease into the car seat a little. I take notice of how both windows of the car are cracked down, even though the roof of the convertible is back up. The corners of my mouth instantly tug up a little because of the sense of safety he's trying to create even under these circumstances.
The road underneath the wheels of the car changes from smooth asphalt to one with gravel. My fingers nervously drum against the handrest.
There is a certainly long pause and a tinge of hesitance before he utters, "Amber?" He keeps his sight glued onto the road, and I can tell this is really bothering him. "You'd tell me if you were hurting, right?"
The question catches me off guard because I'm as honest with him as I've ever been with nobody else. "Of course?" I push out, unsure of how exactly he had meant it. My answer makes him shake his head the tiniest bit. "I love you, Harry."
Another long pause follows after he lets out a pained sigh. "I love you too."
My heart instantly breaks a little.
We never say 'too'. It's always been 'with my whole heart' instead.
Apart from the county in Maine, there is a smaller town 'Rockland' which holds the suburbs of our home. Right as Harry turned the steering wheel in the direction of that sign, my nerves spiked up quickly.
For a moment, a thought ran through my mind and sent shivers down my spine.
The way Harry's expression changed means he thought about it as well. It was just for a moment, but I felt it. It lingered in the air like an old perfume.
The question was heavy on his tongue. I heard it even in the silence he never broke. "Where do you want me to drop you off?" I heard him think it.
It's a tricky thing, really. Even though I've been living with Harry for over a month, and all of my clothes are at his place, I never officially moved in.
I received the key but never had an agreement about how long I'd keep it. The difficult part is that our apartments are only a block apart, so we never found a reason to make things hard.
He turns his head to look at me with doe-eyes, and I'm about to ask if I can stay at his place for a while, but his ringing phone interrupts my train of thought.
He stops the car on the side of the quiet road, and his eyes widen a little when he reads the caller ID. "It's the police."
So many questions immediately pop into my head, but he's quick to attempt to explain while the device is still ringing. "Olivia put my number down in case the police found something out." He says, and I'm about to ask additional questions, but he answers the phone instead. "Good day, detective. Anything new on the case?"
13-second silence from Harry's side. "Yes, sir. She's checked out of the hospital. Hopefully, she'll feel better soon." More silence. A worried, yet grateful sigh continues. "All right. We'll be right there."
I sit there in awe and try to comprehend everything happening. One second Harry's turning on the engine, the next he's already speeding out of the suburbs into the huge city.
"They've arrested Nate."
~~~
Harry Styles
I'm not annoyed. I'm not angry. I'm not upset.
Actually, I am upset.
I know it's quite ego-centric of me to feel this way right when we're both sitting at a police station, but I can't help it.
I know it's never my place to blame Amber for ignoring her illness, but shouldn't I at least have known about it? How am I supposed to act when I find out she's intently been putting herself in danger?
"You're doing so well, baby," I whisper quietly enough just for her to hear despite my abundance of emotions.
"Ms. Easton," The police officer gains her attention by turning around a freshly printed piece of paper. "You must revise your statement before we can add it to your file."
Her eyes scan over the five-page document filled with her report of Nate's attack. She explained in detail how the stalking messages began, and how he revealed he was behind them. She told how he forced pills and heavy liquor down her throat, and what exactly happened between the moment she hit the bottle over his head and ended up at a hospital.
The more she explained this situation to the police officers and investigators in the interview room while they wrote it down word by word, the guiltier I started feeling about ignoring her calls.
She was an inch short of going into a drug-induced coma, and I could've prevented it all from the beginning.
It would've made this situation a tiny bit better if Nate had figured out a way to cut off my phone, therefore preventing Amber from being able to contact me — but in reality, it's only my fault Amber couldn't reach me.
I give her hand a tiny squeeze under the table and come to realize she hasn't lost her stiffness the whole two hours we've been here.
"Y-Yeah. Everything's correct." She breathes out and closes her eyes as if nausea is fogging over.
Analyzing a different kind of nervousness she's radiating, I discern how traumatizing this must be for her.
I assume it mostly isn't the assault situation that sets her on edge — it's the place.
I can't imagine how hard it must be for her to return to an interrogation room, even though the circumstances are completely different.
I take notice of how her eyes constantly scan over her wrists as if she's checking if there haven't suddenly appeared any handcuffs. She has to blink three times quickly to remind herself she isn't the one getting arrested.
The detective across the table takes another picture out of his folder and flips it over for us to see. "You must confirm that this is the attacker — Mr. Thompson."
My eyes fall down to Nate's off-putting mugshot, and I wince at the photo. My eyes flick to Amber, who's analyzing the photograph for longer than necessary. She keeps looking at it with a vacant stare, and I search for any emotion on her face, but she allows to display none.
The only point giving away that she's frightened is the way her leg starts nervously bouncing up and down. I slowly lay my hand on her knee to soften the outburst with a gentle touch.
She seems to snap back into reality when she looks up at the police officers and nods. "That's him, yes."
"Wonderful." He tucks the sheet back into his folder. "We got a confession from him, so it will make the court's process easier. Nate pleaded guilty to the blackmail charges, as well as the latest murder attempt." The policeman pauses. "Interestingly enough, he was adamant about another person being at fault beside him."
"Hayley?" I think this is the first time I've spoken in this room. Amber's breath hitches at hearing New York's real name.
I'm not exactly sure why they even let me into this interrogation room in the first place. I think it had something to do with me being involved in the creepy messages.
"Indeed. Mr. Thompson insists Hayley was involved in this felony as much as he was." He draws his fingertip over his mustache. "Did you have any idea about this?"
I squeeze Amber's hand to show support. "We suspected, but never had any proof."
I feel Amber stiffen a little more as the officer states, "We've taken her into custody, and are in the process of getting her to confess. There are multiple phone calls shared between the two, proving she was involved in the blackmailing."
The other detective adds. "We'll be offering her a plea deal if she doesn't confess immediately."
"Okay," Amber mutters, drawing out a shaky breath.
There's a second of awkward silence. "Okay. I guess that will be all for now." He stands up. "I'll notify you as soon as new information comes in."
"Thank you." I share a farewell handshake with everybody in the room, while Amber rushes out of this eerie place.
Just as I exit the room, and start going after her, I'm soon stopped in my tracks because Amber's standing in the middle of the hallway completely frozen. Her sight is glued to two other police officers.
It's only when I realize another person is getting dragged by the policemen that my breath gets swooped out of my lungs.
Blond hair, blue eyes, spiteful glare.
It's Hayley.
I stand next to Amber completely dumbfounded, watching the scene unfold right in front of my eyes. I stare at Hayley trying to squirm free from the officers' hands, while they keep dragging her through the hallway to the interrogation room.
It only takes about 12 seconds for Hayley to notice us two standing just a dozen feet away from her. Once she recognizes Amber's face, her whole demeanor changes.
"Hollywood!" She yells out the harsher she gets dragged across the hall.
Amber visibly flinches at the nickname, but her eyes stay glued to the person we both used to have a connection with.
"Amber!" She tries again, thrashing around in panicky motions as they pull her away. "I don't know what's happening."
I stare ahead in awe at the same person I knew for a short period. The same blond hair, and the same spite, but something seems off about her demeanor.
"Tell them I didn't do anything!" She yells at Amber in what seems like a panicked tone. "You know me."
Amber's expression is stoic as Hayley cries out again. "I swear, they've got the wrong person." She wrestles against the handcuffs. "You know I'd never hurt you." The words come out a little muffled and hard to understand.
The more I look at her glossy eyes, the more my thoughts get all scrambled. Sure, she's in her element by throwing a tantrum, but I've never seen her beg like this.
It's so strange to see her in despair when she's never one to lose her self-respect.
Watching her plead for freedom, I start thinking maybe she actually isn't guilty. I mean, there's no solid evidence.
The only way she's connected to this case is the accusations everybody sent her way, and apparently some phone calls she shared with Nate.
"Don't make me go back in there." She aims the words straight at Amber, and I watch as her cheeks tint with hot pink. "I haven't finished college yet."
That last sentence immediately makes Amber's breath hitch, and she closes her eyes as though trying to block out this whole event.
This is one of those moments I wish I knew what happens in that mind of hers because I don't think she entirely realizes what's happening.
When Amber opens her eyes again, she doesn't dare to look at the tantrum, rather she chooses to stare at one point in the hallway.
"Please!" Hayley yells out louder because the police have almost dragged her out of the hallway completely.
Even though Amber's eyes are drilled only at the floral wallpaper, I notice a few tears silently slipping down her cheeks. From a distance, Amber may even seem stoic because of the straight stance she's taken.
In the following 10 seconds, I watch as Hayley's chin trembles at the realization she might actually get locked up again. Through this chaos, Amber shakes her head extremely slowly to decline the cry for help.
It's not long after Hayley gets dragged into the interrogation room that we're both left to stand in the hallway, feeling as though she's laid multiple bricks of guilt on our shoulders.
I turn my head to look at the uncertainty in Amber's eyes. I scan the puzzled look on her face, and it only validates my jumbled thoughts.
I don't think Hayley's guilty.
***