I'm probably going to update again tomorrow or the next day! The next few chapters will be really fun :)
Also I want to say a big thank you to everyone who has commented on the story, or sent me a message saying how much you liked it. Those are honestly the kinds of things that make my day!! Hearing people tell me that they like my writing is the best thing ever because this is something that I've loved to do forever and it's so lovely when something you enjoy doing is appreciated by others
~
Clara woke up to a murky sky outside her window, the expanse of thick clouds looming over the sun to conceal its brilliant rays. She stretched her arms over her head and felt a subtle ache in her limbs, but the pain only brought pleasant memories of the night before. Harry's birthday had gone better than she expected. She didn't think she could have asked for a better night, from the way his face had lit up when he unwrapped his gifts, to the absolutely obscene things she had done with him. Clara had never dreamed of doing those kind of things with any other man before, but somehow the boy with cherry lips and a warm tongue managed to make her want to do everything in the damn book.
Clara uttered a good morning to the cat and reached for her phone as she padded out of the room. It was 8:30 sharp, meaning her scheduled job interview was in an hour. With that in mind, she scrolled through her phone while simultaneously reaching for the cereal from the cupboards for a light breakfast. She noticed a missed call from Harry as she spooned a bite into her mouth and grinned. She typed out a message to him with her free hand.
*Already using your phone? I thought you didn't need it... Sorry I didn't answer. Knocked out right when I got home. Wish me luck on my job interview!*
She added one of those hearts at the end but then quickly deleted it before pressing send. Clara finished her breakfast before preparing for the interview, her nerves beginning to boil in her belly as she dressed into a chartreuse blouse and slim skirt. The restaurant, Blue Hill, wasn't quite as fancy as The Lone Hour, but it was definitely still worthy of the butterflies that were fluttering within her. Clara needed a job soon because the bills were beginning to stack up and her savings were running short, especially after she had splurged on Harry's birthday.
Clara stared at her final reflection in the mirror for a minute before glancing at the drawer. "Why not," she mumbled to herself, then rummaged around in it and retrieved the diamond necklace. She wrapped it around her neck, hoping the precious jewels would give her the extra confidence that she needed, and then went out to her car, the necklace feeling like ice against her skin.
The job interview went by smoother than Clara anticipated. She was guided around the kitchen and the scent of sizzling beef and steamed vegetables flooded her nostrils- she had missed this during the past month. She missed the busy kitchen and constant savory scents that lingered in the warm air. It did some to ease her nerves, and she ended up relaxing by the time the man began to ask her questions about her previous occupation. She told him of her job at The Lone Hour, mentioning the details that made her appear experienced without adding the bit about her feud with Janice. That probably wouldn't sit well with them.
"I've had the grilled trout there a few times," the young man told her while scribbling something down on the clipboard he had kept tucked under his army the whole time.
"Yes, that is my favorite dish there," Clara nodded in agreement and her mouth watered at the memory.
"Ours is better," he smirked at her. He scribbled something else down before looking up at Clara with a dazzling smile that made her stomach do leaps of joy. "Well, Ms. Byrne, I think you have proven to be more than qualified for the position. You would make an excellent addition to our kitchen."
Clara felt her heart burst and broke out into a grin; she thanked the man profusely while her mind raced. Everything was finally beginning to fall in place for her, she thought, and it was only a month into the new year- Harry was slowly but surely revealing his sweet soul to her, and now she had a job that she knew was going to be a million times more fulfilling than her last one. She waved goodbye to her new boss and thanked him one last time before she pushed through the doors of Blue Hill. The chilled air sunk its teeth into her exposed skin, turning her nose and cheeks a rosy pink, but she ignored it while sauntering to her car.
The smile didn't falter from her lips as she drove to Harry's house. He hadn't responded to her text message yet, so she was betting that he was still asleep; the thought of him snoring into the pillow as he slept well into the day only made her smile widen. A belated birthday breakfast would be the perfect way to share the news of her new job with him; hopefully, it would inspire him to pursue a new career of his own. It would be nice for him to have a job that didn't involve bruises and blood-smeared shirts and potential trips to the police station. Clara was so grateful for not having to worry about Harry's well being anymore, that she was almost urged to thank Jackson for it. Almost.
The windows weren't illuminated when she arrived, which meant Harry was definitely still asleep. Clara stepped onto the yard, the dead grass crackling beneath her feet as she padded to the door, taking a glance at one of the shrubs that she passed by. The yellow roses were only lifeless buds, resting during the cold temperatures, but she could still recognize them from when her mother had her help plant some in their garden one spring.
Clara rose her hand to the door and knocked. She waited a moment before knocking harder, hoping the sound would travel to his room and wake him up. It was already past noon, why was he sleeping so late? Clara huffed to herself and stepped back from the door, her eyes drifting down to her feet.
Under her black heels, was a dark stain in the concrete. Was that there before? Her eyebrows furrowed together and she felt her heart involuntarily begin to race. Beside the dark discoloring was a phone, Harry's phone, with a thick crack right down the screen.
"Are you looking for the young man that lives there?"
Clara's head lifted and snapped towards where a middle-aged man was standing beside the shrubs which acted as a barrier between Harry's house and the next one over. She placed her hand over her heart, startled by his voice, and nodded feebly. "Y-yes. Why?"
The man shook his head slowly and wiped his hands against his dirt-covered jeans. He seemed to have been picking at some of the weeds. "He's not there. He's at the hospital. Took him there last night myself."
"Sorry, what?" she sputtered. Clara blinked in confusion and glanced back at the burgundy stain on the ground. Her heart seemed to stop.
"Hospital," the man repeated solemnly. "He was just about bleeding out when I found him. Wrapped a towel around his leg and took him to the hospital. It wasn't easy getting him into my car- the kid is a lot heavier than he looks," he forced a quiet chuckle but she wasn't listening. Her ears were flooded with the loud pulsing of her blood through her veins as she stared at the stain again. Her mind raced to collect her thoughts and make sense of everything.
Hospital. Blood. Harry.
Her Harry.
An audible gasp cut through her throat and she clamped her hand over her mouth. The man watched as her eyes widened, the understanding smacking into her so hard she nearly stumbled to the cold ground. Clara didn't waste another moment before clutching her purse in her trembling hand and practically sprinting to her car.
With his words echoing through her mind, she gripped the steering wheel tightly until her knuckles became starch white, and swerved out onto the street. The sun had completely left the sky and the streets were grey as she recollected the shortest route to the hospital. She hadn't even noticed she had begun to cry out of worry until her vision blurred and she retracted one hand from the wheel to wipe at the moisture. I just saw Harry last night! How could something like this have happened?
Images of him laying on the cold ground with blood staining the concrete seeped into her mind as she drove. It was her worst nightmare; the moment she began to think she had nothing to worry about, and it comes right back to laugh in her face. She could feel herself sink further down into her own personal hell with each second that passed without seeing for her own eyes that he was okay. Her foot gradually pressed down harder against the gas pedal as she neared the hospital, her speed eventually exceeding the limit. The man had said something about his leg, but in her panicked state, Clara's mind convinced her to expect the worst. He's dead, it told her bitterly.
When she finally veered into the practically empty parking lot, the adrenaline surging through her blood urged her to slip her heels off once she stepped out from the car. Clara's bare feet padded against the concrete, the gentle breeze turning into a violent tugging at her hair as she ran as fast as she could. She pushed through the entrance and let her eyes dart around before they landed on a nurse who was speaking with an older woman.
"Excuse me," Clara panted upon approaching the nurse. "I'm looking for someone. Harry Styles. Can you tell me what room he is in?"
"I'm speaking with someone else right now, miss. If you could just-"
"Tell me where he is," her nostrils flared slightly and she didn't care if she was being rude. When the nurse ignored her and resumed speaking with the older woman, Clara shoved a hand through her hair before glancing around and taking off into one of the halls. The emergency section of the hospital was only one floor- she would have to stumble across his room at some point.
The white hall seemed endless as she checked door after door after door. She reached room 116 and knew he had to be in there because it was the last room. Clara stared at the handle for a lingering moment, catching her breath and preparing herself for whatever was inside. She screwed her eyes shut while opening the door, tears cascading down the slopes of her cheeks as she quietly padded into the white room filled with complicated machines and the unpleasant scent of soap. Inside, she saw a bed against the center of the wall with Harry lying in it. His eyes were closed and his chocolate hair was fanned against the white pillow.
She would have sighed in relief since she had finally reached him if it weren't for the sight of his right leg. It disappeared into a swell of white bandages, and the lower half of it was concealed by the white sheet draped over him. She clamped her hand over her trembling, salty lips and approached the bed, the only sound in the room being the occasional beep from one of the machines. She wanted to vomit- how could this have happened? Clara sunk to her knees beside the bed and hesitantly reached her hand out to graze her fingertip over his bottom lip. It was cold under her touch.
"Who did this to you?" she whispered, disbelieving the sight before her. He had been smiling and laughing and kissing all over her body just the night before, and now his eyes were closed and the rise and fall of his chest was so subtle that it took her a minute to notice it.
There was a light blue gown adorning him but it seemed to disappear against his milky skin. She observed the entirety of his body and saw that there was a needle stuck into the crease of his arm, an IV probably. There was another one penetrating his thigh, right above the bandages. He looked damaged but peaceful, the softness of his cheeks only comparable to the few times she had woken up in the morning and peered beside her to see his face still slack with sleep. Clara felt her face become sticky with tears as she grabbed his limp hand and entwined their fingers. Harry's skin was always cold, and she loved the way it felt as he trailed his hands over her body, but now it felt too cold and she hated it. She wanted to rub his hand between hers until some warmth sparked in it.
The sound of the door opening and closing brought Clara to her feet. She looked behind her to see a nurse walk in carrying a tray of sterilized syringes.
"Are you an immediate family member of this patient?" The nurse raised an eyebrow and Clara found her herself nodding quickly.
"Well, uh, I'm his girlfriend," she clarified. She didn't know if it was true or not.
"Girlfriends don't count as immediate family members, miss."
"Did I say girlfriend?" Clara let out a forced, numb laugh and reached for Harry's cold hand again, lacing their fingers. "I meant wife. We're newly married, I forget sometimes."
The nurse nodded skeptically but didn't question it. She padded over to the other side of the bed and reached for Harry's arm.
"What are you doing?" Clara asked, flickering her eyes between the syringe and Harry's pale skin. The nurse stuck the needle into the crease of his arm and the capsule filled with the red liquid.
"Blood test," the nurse replied monotonously. Clara nodded again and leaned back down to look closer at Harry's face. Her Harry. She decided in that moment, as she stroked her thumb against the back of his hand, that she was going to tell him she loved him the second his eyes opened, so she would never have to fear him not being able to know it. She lifted his hand up to her salty lips and kissed one of his knuckles.
"Can you tell me what happened exactly?" Clara questioned the nurse quietly. She sounded like an innocent, fragile child who could easily be shattered to pieces.
The nurse glanced at her briefly before placing the syringe back on the tray. "All we know is that there was a bullet wound on his right leg, just above the knee. He's alright now. He will have to tell the police what he remembers when he wakes up," she spoke professionally, but there was an underlying tone of sympathy in her voice as she assessed the sheen of tears that was slick against Clara's reddened cheeks. Her black eye makeup was smeared and her loose curls of hair had turned into limp waves. She looked as much of a mess as she felt.
Bullet wound. Clara nearly whimpered and screwed her eyes shut. Who would want to shoot her Harry? The memory of his previous career came to mind and Clara's stomach churned, bile filling her hoarse throat.
"He's okay," Clara said. She had already been told this by the nurse, but saying the words aloud felt like confirmation. "He's okay," she repeated, needing to remind herself. It was the only thing that mattered to her ever since her eyes landed on the blood staining the concrete. It was chilling how someone who had only been in her life for two months could be the back bone of her entire being; Clara couldn't imagine a world without Harry's blunt remarks and rare, dimpled smile.
"Yes, he's okay. It was very lucky that his neighbor had been there and wrapped a towel around the wound. He could have bled out if he was left there for too long," the nurse explained.
Don't you dare say that kind of thing to me, Clara wanted to yell but she swallowed down the urge along with acidic taste of whatever she had last eaten.
"The bullet did a lot of damage to his femoral artery," she continued. "The doctor was very concerned about the lack of blood flow to his calf when he arrived here last night." Clara listened while moving her hand to splay against the top of his chest. Under the blue gown, was his cold skin; under that was his rib cage; and under his ribs was his heart which was pulsing at a slow, melodic rhythm against her open palm, but pulsing nonetheless. She heard the nurse continue to explain everything to her, but her jumbled mind had difficulty stringing the words together: "vastus medialis... above the knee... traumatic amputation... very lucky... wake up soon..." Clara had seen enough of those doctor shows to understand what the nurse was telling her, but somehow none of the details mattered. Harry's heart was beating, and that's all she cared about.
Another nurse came to the room half an hour later. This one wasn't as lenient and ordered Clara to leave; reluctantly, she untangled her fingers from Harry's hand and padded out to the waiting room. That stupid fucking waiting room. She definitely understood why Harry hated the place now that she was the one having to wait around in it with a heavy heart.
Clara sunk into one of the chairs and her cheek rested in the palm of her hand. Now that the adrenaline and fear had subsided, she felt exhaust overpower her body and her eyelids became heavy. She ended up falling asleep within minutes, her tangled hair draped over her shoulders and the mixture of her makeup and salty tears coating her cheeks, a sign of the ache in her chest that didn't go away as she slept, back arched against the back of the chair. It wasn't until the sun had gone down that she woke up, a hand shaking her shoulder gently. Clara's eyes fluttered open and she looked through her hazy vision at a familiar, soft face.
"Liam?" Clara slanted an eyebrow in surprise and yawned quietly. She straightened her aching spine and the brown eyes stared at her in worry.
"Clara," he seemed out of breath as though he had just been running. "I was picking up antibiotics for my sister when I saw your car in the parking lot and I panicked. Is everything okay? Is it Jackson?" His eyes searched hers and he wrapped his fingers around her wrist to cup her hand in his. Clara rubbed her forehead, a subtle ache in her skull, and shook her head.
"No, it's not," she croaked as though someone had scratched the walls of her larynx. "It's my friend." She had referred to Harry as he friend and boyfriend (and husband) in the past four hours and she didn't even have the energy to ponder over which was most accurate.
"The one you were telling me about?" Liam lowered to his knees before her so they were eye level, and cupped her jaw in his warm hand. Clara nodded, her eyes beginning to water again. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into his strong build, fingers gripping the fabric of his coat. The homey scent of his cologne invaded her nostrils and she found comfort in the familiarity of being in her friend's arms.
"Someone shot him," she whimpered into his neck while he rubbed her back. Her eyes screwed shut as if to relieve the pain twisting around in her gut. "Why would anyone do that, Li? It's just so weird."
"I don't know," he mumbled, his face void of sympathy now that she couldn't see it. "That sounds intense. You have so much stress in your life already, Clara... Maybe you should give yourself a break. Let me take you to my house and you can have a hot bath. It's closer to here than your apartment."
Clara let a sigh blow from her cracked lips and pulled away from his neck, wiping at her dampened eyes. Liam's face softened when she peered up at him and shook her head firmly.
"No, I want to be here when he wakes up."
Liam tucked his lips into his mouth and brushed his fingers through her knotted hair. "Okay. Let me get you some dinner at least? You must be starving," he frowned just as his gaze floated down to her neck.
"Yeah, okay," Clara agreed, watching as a smile curled on his plump lips. He reached his hand out to graze over the diamonds.
"You're wearing the necklace I got you," he beamed at her. Clara peered down to look at the necklace she had put on for her job interview and nodded slowly.
"I wore it for my job interview this morning," she sighed, feeling like it had been so long ago, when it had only been about five hours. The excitement from earning the new job had disappeared, replaced by the numb need to see Harry's eyes flutter open. It made her head hurt even more to think of how the day had taken such a drastic turn.
"Good," Liam said before standing back up. "I'll go get some Chinese food, okay? It shouldn't be too long."
Clara gave him another short nod before relaxing her back into the cushioned seat. Once Liam left, she was truly alone in the waiting room except for the lady at the front desk. Her heart rate had returned to its normal pace and despite the lingering worry in the back of her mind, Clara was able to think a bit more clearly now that she had slept- uncomfortably, yes, but sleep in any form did wonders to her ability to think. She pinched her bottom lip between her fingers and wondered about the night before. The whole thing must have taken place after Harry dropped her off at her flat. She was in bed with Maggie curled by her feet while Harry was bleeding on the front porch of his house, alone and enduring more pain than she could imagine. Clara's eyes screwed shut as she remembered the missed call she had from him. He had tried to seek her help, and she had failed to provide it when he needed it most. She sniffled and ran her hands over her face, palms dragging against the sticky skin; she would never allow anything like this to happen again. She didn't think either of them would be able to handle any more of it. Harry already had his dad to...
His dad. Clara whimpered again at the thought of Des not being able to come visit his son when he knew something was wrong. Surely the nurses would have informed him of what happened, but due to his own critical condition, he probably wasn't allowed to leave his section of the building. Clara rubbed her temples and made a silent, unheard promise to go see him after Harry woke up.
Clara waited for another ten minutes, though it felt like hours, when the nurse who she had spoken with before padded down the hall and into the waiting room, a clipboard tucked under her arm. She looked around before her eyes landed on Clara, and smiled softly.
"He's awake," the nurse said, approaching her. Clara quickly stood up, eyes wide in relief.
"Really?" Thank God.
The nurse nodded. "Yes, and he's looking a little lonely," her tone was suggestive and her eyebrow raised.
Clara gulped, "I thought I wasn't allowed to go in there, though. The other nurse kicked me out."
"Did she? Well, I'll have a word with her. Spouses are allowed in at any time," she smiled again and something about the gleam in her eyes informed Clara that she was well aware she wasn't married. Clara's insides became warm with gratitude and she smiled back at her before hurrying down the hall, her heart rate picking up again. Why did they have to put him in the last damn room? She was panting by the time she reached room 116, and mentally scolded herself for never getting her ass to the gym, while clutching her purse with one hand and twisting the door handle with the other.
Clara had always suspected love to be an explosive emotion, similar to fireworks or the infamous butterflies in your stomach. The denotative meaning of it was nothing compared to what she felt when she opened the door and her enlarged eyes caught sight of his face, his eyes hooded but open, and a splash of color on his previously ghastly cheeks; she felt the most intense affection she had ever experienced and it didn't confuse her or overwhelm her. Clara embraced the love she felt. Love was Harry. Love was the sight of his ruggedly handsome face and the steady beeping of the machine, meaning his heart was beating with as much strength as her own. Love was the way his eyes became round when they flickered over to her, a tired hint of a smile twitching on his pale lips.
Love was the way she practically ran to him, stumbling to the edge of the bed and bending down, her purse dropping to the tile floor with a thud as her arms latched onto his broad shoulders. She didn't care that another nurse was on the opposite side of him, sticking a thermometer under his arm and watching them with humor and adoration. Clara scooped his face in her hands after pulling away slightly and sponged relieved kisses all over his skin, which didn't feel nearly as cold as before.
"Clara," his voice was low and scratchy but it sounded like the richest sound to her ears. "You're here?"
"Of course I am here," she kissed his lips endearingly and drew back, crying. "I've been waiting for you to wake up. How do you feel? Does it hurt? Do you remember anything? What are you thinking?" She searched his face frantically for any sign of his current state of thought, but all she saw was the bags under his eyes and the flush of his cheeks. Harry sat up taller against the pillow and heaved out a breath.
"That's a little overwhelming, all of those questions."
Clara nodded quickly and dropped her hands from his face, resting them on his shoulders instead. The nurse had already taken his temperature and was now refilling his IV.
"Sorry, sorry," she blushed and cleared her throat. "Let's start with how you're feeling."
"I feel fine," he responded truthfully. "I can't feel anything below my hips."
"Oh, that's good. I don't think you would want to feel anything there right now," she gnawed at her lip and took a brief glance at his bandaged thigh. "How do you feel about... about that?" She looked back at him hesitantly. She feared the cold expression that would pass over his face once the weight of everything settled on his shoulders, but it didn't come. Harry shrugged passively and his hand drifted towards hers.
"I don't know, really. It will take some getting used to," was his answer. He cupped her hand in his. His grasp wasn't as strong as usual and it seemed like he could barely clasp his fingers around hers, so she met him halfway and tightened her hand to keep them clasped together.
"I can't believe you're here," Harry furrowed his eyebrows and coughed into his fist. "How did you...?"
"Your neighbor," she explained. "I went over to your house and he told me what happened."
"Oh."
"Yeah," she licked her lips. "Are you sure you are okay? I mean, this is a lot for you take in. And you already have so much on your plate and-"
"I'm fine," Harry cut her off before she rambled on endlessly. He didn't think he would be able to handle that at the moment; the anesthesia was only in his leg, not his head, which felt like someone was pounding a mallet against. Clara's shrill rambling would surely worsen the sensation.
"Okay, good." She smiled in relief and the tears kept coming. "I was- I was so worried." She wrapped her arms around him again and nuzzled her face in his neck, sobbing. She was happy but for some reason crying was the only thing that eased the tension in her body. "I didn't know if you were... were..."
"Gone?" Harry weakly lifted his arm to drape across her lower back. She nodded against his shoulder and sighed.
"Yeah, that." She grimaced and then inhaled his scent. He didn't smell like his usual musk, but rather a subdued metallic scent of blood and that doctor smell. But she basked in it, breathing deeply and letting him consume her senses. She couldn't hear anything other than his rhythmic breathing as the air traveled up his throat and fled his round nostrils. She peered at his face and made note of every detail, as though she feared the day when she wouldn't be able to revel in the light hairs peppering his jaw or the barely noticeable freckles that were on his temple. The position they were in was a little awkward, her body bent down so her chest pressed against his and her head stuck in the crevice of his neck, Harry's arm limply laying across her waist to keep her securely against him. But they were okay. He was okay. Nothing else mattered.
Harry couldn't believe that she was actually there, close enough for him to taste the perfume rolling off her skin. He had woken up only ten or so minutes ago, but his mind felt clear as the memory of the night before replayed in it like it was fresh. The nurse had explained everything to him about his leg and the extraction of the bullet from the wound and the surgery, before running a few preliminary tests- his temperature, his urine, his memory. And then his girl had come bursting through the door like a mad woman. He swore he had been dreaming when she ran to him, enveloping him in her warm arms and gentle embrace. Harry thought that he would gladly take a chainsaw to every single one of his limbs if it meant he could relive that moment over and over again.
"I love you," Clara whispered in his ear a minute later, soft and sweet. The words tasted divine on her tongue. Harry heard her clearly, and he would have thought of something to say in response if it weren't for his gaze wandering to the figure standing in the doorway.
~