Beautiful Nightmares (Larry Stylinson)

Chapter 10

            HARRY’S P.O.V

Present Day

 

Ghosts. They’re everywhere in the hospital. I can feel their presence, the anguish that seeps through the layers of jumpers piled on my body and into the core of my soul. Like a trail of smoke, the distressful and miserable mood they carry is absorbed into anyone that enters the building. They may not be deemed real, but the everyday demons that people lug around inside of them are proof enough that they can exist. They’re even more common in here. Whether it’s the death of a loved one that a mother is burdened with or the mistake a surgeon made that cost someone their life, the ghosts travel aimlessly beside their assigned person in silent depression.

I’m sat in the main waiting room of level 5’s ICU center, in a rather uncomfortable metal chair that seems to like the fact that it sends painful tingles up my cramped back, as its structure isn’t the most suited for my needs. It feels like I’ve never stood up; never felt the sensation of walking before, due to the amount of time my butt has been firmly planted in the seat. I have refused to move - other than doing my business - for what seems like years and I was suffering the consequences terribly. I run my hands through my unkempt hair and my fingers immediately get tangled in the knots and snares. My masses of chocolate brown curls have lost their usual healthy sheen and bounce, and seem to droop over my face in shadows. I suppose the rest of my appearance isn’t too easy on the eyes either, as I hadn’t had the time to take care of myself properly when I’ve been entirely consumed with waiting. Waiting for him to wake up. It had been two full weeks since I had seen those gorgeous sky blue eyes and that adorable smile that made my insides churn with feeling, and to be quite honest, I wasn’t taking it very well. The lads tried their best to get me to eat, but the unsettled nerves and worries that filled my stomach left no room for food to satisfy. The most I had was half of a Twix bar from the vending machine down the hall from Louis’ room when the boys had stopped pestering me and the hunger simply became too much to handle - but other than that, food was just something I didn’t have time to deal with. I was in a state were nothing other than him mattered anymore, not even my own health.

 A searing pain ripples up my backside and I almost topple off of the chair in a spasm-like movement. I fight back the urge to scream, and bite down furiously on my lower lip to cease the agony from escaping my mouth. I shift my balance slightly to the side where the throbbing is less uncomfortable and exhale slowly through my clenched teeth. I didn’t care how much discomfort I was in, as long as I was as close to him as I possibly could be, I was in the clear. Originally, I had taken to “living” in a plastic chair in Louis’ hospital room - just off to the side of his bed - but the nurses ended up kicking me out, saying it was unhealthy for me to be spending that much time sitting and waiting. I completely ignored their heartfelt advice and took to awaiting his return to consciousness in the chair closest to the door. Now I was only allowed two visits a day, each time being after his latest shot of antibiotics was injected. Although he wasn’t awake to see or feel them administer the sharp needle into his skin, I felt the need to be by his side as a source of comfort. Even the simplest of lacing my fingers with his might signal to his unconscious mind that someone was there, that someone cared. I often imagined that he could feel my touch and knew that I was there and supporting him. In my wildest fantasies, when he woke up, he knew it was me devoting all my time to sitting beside him and thanked me over and over again.

But those are just the incomprehensible thoughts that my mind creates when I’m running on an hour of sleep each night. I could barely bring myself to shut my eyes – even for the slightest moment – as the stress of sleeping through him waking up kept me alert. The fact the nightmares would resurface as soon as my eyelids fluttered shut for a mere second of relief did not help with my case either. They were slowly consuming my life, filling in the gaps where performances and promotion work were now absent. They struck my emotions with such force I believed they would break from the pressure and crumble away until feeling was of no importance to me anymore.