Mission Impossible

Chapter 62 ~ Speechless

CLARA'S POV

  I'm not sure how long I sat there before Zayn gently scooped me up off the floor, and carried me upstairs. He brought me straight upstairs into the room we had slept in, and laid me down onto the bed. I heard Zayn and Damian talking, but their voices were droned out, like they were miles away. I wasn't even aware they had left until a plate of food was slid onto the end table next to me, bringing my attention to the night sky out of the window.

  I had spent the entire day laying in bed. Not moving, not talking, not even thinking. Just... existing.

  Something Harry could no longer do.

  There was a dull ache in my heart as I thought that, but all I could do in response was blink. The next time I blinked, the sun was up the sky, and Zayn was taking away the untouched plate from yesterday, and replacing it with a cup of what smelt like tea and a small plate of eggs.

  "At least drink something," Zayn whispered before leaving my side. Some amount of time later, Damian was in front of me, his face in....pain.

  He sat next to me and put his hands underneath my torso, pulling me up so I was sitting in bed. I watched as his hands reached towards the cup of tea, which had long since lost its trail of steam. He brought it towards me, but did not try to get me to take it. Instead, he carefully placed it to my lips and tilted it back, allowing the room temperature liquid to flow down my throat. After a few sips, Damian lowered the cup and reached for the fork on the plate. He shoveled some eggs onto it and turned back towards me, but I had already sunk back down into the bed. Damian lowered the fork and left the room, speaking to who I assumed was Zayn.

  "She still won't eat, but she took a few sips of tea," he reported.

  "Alright," Zayn sighed. "Thanks, mate." I still was not processing what they were saying, but at least they didn't sound miles away anymore. I blinked again, and the moon was shining once again. 

  I felt the bed sink next to me, and realized Zayn was coming to bed. It was then that I wondered if Zayn had slept somewhere else last night, or if I just had not noticed when he got in bed. Having this thought brought me out of my trance a little, and I realized I had not slept in two days. It was then that my eyes started to feel heavy, and sleep came easily.

  As I closed my eyes, I was greeted with my favorite pair of green eyes, and my favorite mop of brown hair. And then there was that smile. I admired that breathtaking smile for as long as I could, before it slowly faded. His pink lips dipped into a frown, and his eyes pinched in pain. I looked down, and saw as blood started to pour out of four holes in his chest. His white shirt slowly got stained with red, and he slowly sank to the ground, dead.

  I snapped awake, my breathing patterns heavy and jagged as my mind processed it was just a dream. And then my heart ripped into shreds as I realized, it wasn't. It wasn't just a dream. It was reality. A sob broke through my mouth, and before it could fully erupt, Zayn's arms were snaked around me, holding me close to him and supporting my body as it tried to go limp.

  "It's okay, Clara," Zayn's soft voice assured me. "I'm here. I'm here."

"But he's not!" I wanted to scream. But the only thing my mouth could produce was cries of pain. Zayn slowly laid me back on the bed, stroking my hair and cradling my body as he soothed me back to sleep. I fought it for so long, so afraid that I would see Harry again. Eventually, my fatigue won out, and I let sleep take me.

  When I woke next, the sun was back out, pushing its way through the curtains and giving me warmth. I was also getting warmth from Zayn, who still had not let go of me from last night. I could tell by his breathing patterns that he was awake, but still he would not stop soothing me.

  "Good morning," he softly said as he separated himself from me. He got out of the bed and I heard him getting dressed behind me. "I'll be right back." Zayn left the room, leaving just me and the sun, which was drawing me in. For the first time in days, I moved.

  At first, I just flipped the covers off of me. Then I swung my legs out of bed, propelling my body up. With what little strength I had, I stood up. My legs ached from not being used for so long, but I refused to buckle. I slowly walked over to the reading nook, and sat back down on the bench, looking out the window, right at the sun.

  It was...beautiful. But how could it be so beautiful, when the world was anything but? My mom was dead. My dad was dead. My Harry was dead. And I wasn't. Me, who killed people for a living. Who lied for a living. Who manipulated and betrayed people for living. I get to live, when three of the most selfless people don't get too. What's beautiful about that?

  An even worse pain encompassed my whole body as I remembered what I had thought a few days prior:

  "I almost wished Harry was dead. That would be easier."

  Tears that had been building up for days finally spilled out. 

  I was a monster. 

  I had wished for his death, all so I wouldn't have to deal with him moving on. 

  I had wished for his death, just so I wouldn't have to miss him. 

  I wished he was dead, and now he was. 

  What's beautiful about that?

  "I made you some tea-," Zayn said as he entered the room. "Oh, you got up. That's great, Clara."

  And then there was Zayn, who comforted me last night as I mourned Harry. I know he didn't like Harry, but he was there for me, allowing me to grieve him and playing a part in it. Just like he had done when my parents died. He was by my side through all it. Each and every time. He was my rock. My anchor. He was my person. And that was beautiful.

  My head and my heart were at war with each other. Fighting back and forth, pushing, shoving, and kicking the other. Eventually, my grief and my guilt tipped the battle in their favor, and I couldn't stop the words that left my mouth. I just needed something beautiful.

  "Let's get married."