A Shot of Reality [Harry Styles]

XXX. Catharsis

A/N: THANK YOU A MILLION TIMES TRILLIONS FOR YOUR ENDLESS PATIENCE AND BEAUTIFUL WORDS OF ENCOURAGEMENT. Seriously, you guys are the best. I will edit this tomorrow. Love you all to pieces, and thanks for the 900 and counting followers.

"And she starts to sob, the kind of sobbing that refuses comfort, and all I can think is, 'Life is hard. Life is hard.'"

- Anna Quindlen

Hospitals are an interesting concept.

The main purpose of a hospital is simple; you come here to feel better. From whatever your situation may be; car accident, cardiac arrest, clinical depression or just a severe case of the common flu; you come to a hospital to get better. But if that's the case, why are the walls such a sickening white? Why is the stench so gravely horrid? Why is there so much ridiculing sorrow stored between the same walls and repulsive scent?

These are the things Harry Styles, international pop star, found himself thinking in New York City's Sinai Grace Hospital at 4:32 A.M. With the hospital's intercom blaring in the background, his hands yanking laggedly at his brown strands as he sat himself at the blue pleather chair with his arms planted on his shaky knees and weary hazel eyes staring blankly at the white and muted confetti tile floor beneath him. Besides him, are three of his four bandmates.

The blonde Irishman clicks his heels together, the small one with newfound stubble paces from one white wall to the other, the one with the signature quiff leans against one wall the small one paces back and forth to while the newly buzz cutted one exhaustingly shoves the coins into the soda vending machine five feet down the hall. Throughout these different actions, all four did one thing that was the same.

All stared at their fifth part, wondering how he was still alive with the thought that Sydney might not make it through the impeeding daylight.

The middle-aged, salt and pepper haired doctor announced the grave news approximately forty-eight minutes before, someberly adding on that she would've be "a goner instantly" if she had taken only a mere one and a half more of the pills. Before nodding at the five boys and turning back down the corridor, he also murmured that at least the boys; "now had a chance to say a proper goodbye."

It had been approximately thirteen minutes since Harry had stopped passionately screaming, loudly wailing and violently thrashing. in his best friends arms. But now, at 4:32 A.M in New York City, Harry Styles might as well be a "goner" too.

"Harry," Louis started slowly. "You know you can go in her room, right?

A few moments of pin-drop silence appeared and vanished and even with Harry's constant locked stare on the ground below him, he answered.

"I know."

"Then why aren't you in there, mate?" Niall peeped out from the farthest corner of the room.

Harry, without even the slightest blink of an eyelash or twitch of a muscle, answered one of his bandmates question once more.

"I don't know."

Silence smothered the five men as more words buzzed against the speakers above them and the sound of stretcher wheels clicking and squeaking against the linoleum floor interrupted. The silence, albeit was only temporary as a normally mute Zayn whispered the sentence that would provoke a more than three- word answer amongst the curly and bow headed boy next to them.

"She needs you, Harry."

And just then Harry's green, blank stare that was once held on the floor now locked onto Zayn's face.