Lone [MATURE HS]

Chapter 37 (Part 2)

"What's so bad about talking to him? He's your best friend."

I sat at the edge of my bed, green with a sickness I haven't felt before, not even in the relentless pain and discomfort my stomach was putting me through. All while Harry reassured me, coddled me into preparedness to speak with Charlie, who had arrived a few minutes ago.

My mind was elsewhere however, feeling the nausea trickling up my throat, watery salivating glands in my mouth perpetuating the urge to vomit all the contents in my stomach. Blinking slowly, I turn to look up at Harry, standing a few feet from me now, silent, observing my own silence.

"You okay?"

"I need to throw up," I gag.

He reacts effortlessly, swinging the trash bin with the plastic bag placed inside over to me. I bend to eject the contents out of my stomach, feeling instant relief. Moaning in distress, I feel him sit beside me, the bed dipping with his weight. He placed an arm around my waist, the other generously raising my shirt to wipe at my mouth. "You need to visit the hospital. I'll take you. You're ill."

I shake my head. "No, no. It goes away with time. I haven't felt it this bad, though."

"Come on. Up you go," he demands lightly, helping me stand although I didn't need much of his help. "We're going," he firmly asserts, hand rubbing my side. I'm left without a choice, slipping my feet into my fluffy slippers as he grabs my jacket. Placing it over my shoulders, he leads me out and down my stairs as I softly insist he needs to stop worrying, his increasing pace a visible effect of his anxiety.

There was barely a second downstairs where I wasn't bombarded with Charlie's attempts. Brown eyes watching me carefully, with concern, disregarding our previous conflicts. I wanted to talk to him, but I ran back into the bathroom to throw up some more, feeling my stomach pain double in pain. My clammy skin is felt by my mother, who is now incredibly worried about the devolution of my health.

"Okay? Are you taking her, Harry? She might have the flu," my mother worriedly whispers to Harry, and Charlie who has inserted him into the conversation. Nathan sits at the living room, quietly staring at the commotion. Harry reassures my mother that he'll call her as soon as he knows anything. I grab my jacket, zipping it up and lazily grabbing my house keys from my bag. All the while Harry waits by the front door.

At the hospital, I'm given a pinkish, plastic container to regurgitate in as we wait. However, my nausea settled and I've gone through two water bottles already from dehydration. I insist that Harry sit a seat away to avoid getting sick. But as usual, he stubbornly resists and strokes the back of my head, tugging gently and soothingly at the roots of my hair. Sighing to myself, shutting my eyes, I lean into him and cease my initial concerns.

"Are you feeling a bit better?" He whispers into my ear hopefully, stroking my ear with his thumb, then my cheekbone. His touch is comforting and soothing, calming me even as I begin to overthink.

I nod slowly. "Yeah...the nausea stopped. I just...I'm tired," I admit softly, grabbing his hand, clasping it in both of my own smaller ones, rested against my lap. The waiting room was pretty empty if it weren't for a few stomach sick kids from all the candy and a few broken, sprained bone injury patients, and so I was hopeful I was going to be next. I was convinced that my issue was most likely indigestion or some kind of stomach bug, especially from eating so much.

"The cop investigating told me they haven't found anything," he informs me drearily. "Katherine has been a bit quiet lately. Have you heard of Keth?"

Groaning, I mutter, "I'm getting sick again just thinking about it. And no. Keth has been avoiding me on campus. And Katherine...I want to tell the cops about her and watch her rot. I'm tired of all of this, Harry." My confession doesn't surprise him. I'm sure he had dreaded telling the cops everything, but there is nothing more that we could lose. We can arrange for our families to be safe, and we both know that. I want him to see it, and in my ill mind, I'm exhausted of the panic and anxiety.