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Seventy Nine

Aubrey Hart

I hate hospitals.

Hospitals remind me of my dad. They remind me of Elora. Of the car crash she and I got into last year. Hospitals remind me of the three worst things to ever happen in my life. Now, I have a fourth thing to add to that list, this moment right here being scribbled down on my imaginary list as the fourth worst thing to ever happen in my life.

I'll put all of my own personal issues aside to make sure Harry's okay, though.

Like clockwork, the ambulance showed up the second Harry was breathing again. He was completely shocked, needing a sedative so he didn't overwork his newly beating heart. I only caught a glimpse of his eyes for a moment, but it was enough. Now I know he's going to be okay. My hope has been restored.

They treated me in the ambulance, too, giving me a dulled version of what they gave Harry. A version that wouldn't make me fall asleep like him, but would ease my anxiety a fair amount since I was hyperventilating like a maniac the entire ride to the hospital. I was blabbering to one of the paramedics sitting near me in complete shock, but nobody was listening to what I was actually saying due to my state.

I was holding the empty coffee cup I found in the trash in my hand, talking about how Harry had to have gotten drugged. How there's no way he started using again, the fact that he's around me at all times making that literally impossible to pull off. I trust him completely, and after the initial shock of finding him like that, I realized it's absolutely impossible for him to have been using again.

Why else would I get a text about the code to the safe? The cocaine was planted, the bag was planted, Harry was set up. I don't know if their intention was to make me upset with him or what, but I'm so sick of everybody thinking they can push me around and manipulate me, and that's not what's going to happen here.

Yes, I can be painfully oblivious to things at times. That has more to do with my need for validation and internal self-doubt than anything else. A lot of people mistake my naivety for stupidity, but that isn't the case. I connect the dots a lot more than I actually express, I just doubt myself and fail to share my opinions a good amount of the time. I can never simply think something and be confident of the fact that I'm right about it. I always need someone to confirm it.

I'm positive that the cause of Harry's loss of consciousness wasn't from a cocaine overdose. His nose didn't look like it had been busy snorting enough to do that. Last time when he was on the brink of overdosing, he threw up and his nose bled. This situation was completely different, and I'm nearly positive it was more than coke. Much more serious than that.

I was too shocked in the beginning to even connect any dots, using what was directly in front of me and nothing else. There's no way he's using again, though. He would've been acting more irritable like he used to. He's been the complete opposite of irritable, softening more and more around me by the day. I trust that he would tell me if he was struggling again. I have faith in him over some potential setup by someone who despises both of us and has proven to be out for blood on multiple occasions.

So, I'm choosing to rely on my trust in Harry instead of some planted evidence clearly put in front of me to intentionally make me upset.

Now, my hand is interlocked with Harry's as I sit in a wooden chair I moved next to his hospital bed. Jade, Zayn, and I are waiting for his drug test to come back and tell us that he hasn't, in fact, been using. I also asked the doctors to test the coffee cup I found in the trash since something tells me there may be a clue in there. I'm trying to go with my gut for once instead of questioning myself. The doctors drew his blood and swabbed the cup to be tested, and we've been waiting for the results for the past three hours.