The Writer (AU)

Chapter Forty One-

Harry had gotten sicker. No matter how much treatment he'd been through, he was right. He was going to die from this. We just didn't know when. Now on bed rest 24/7, I'd switched to online school so I could stay with him during the day. Even on the really bad days when he'd scream out in anger or be throwing up, I was right there with him.
It was all fine for two months after that. No episodes, a few coughs although he was slowly weakening.

It was fine.

Until April 10.

"Ellie," Harry croaked. I immediately sat up from his stomach.

"Ellie, I can't breathe."

"Hold on, baby. Hold on." Getting up, I ran down the hall, tapping on Anne's door and rushing back to him. His chest was heaving up and down and I could tell he was struggling to breathe.

"Harry," Anne's voice was full of panic.

"I c- brea-" he sputtered, grabbing at his chest.

"We've gotta get him to the hospital," I sniffled, tears falling down my cheeks. Helping carry him to the car, everything after that was a blur. Getting to the hospital, the doctor immediately rushed off with him, my long legs carrying me behind them.

"Get her out of here," he demanded to one of the aides.

"No!" I fought, "I can't leave him."

"Ma'am," one of the nurses said, grabbing my arm.

"I'm not leaving him," I cried, fighting against their strong grips. I couldn't leave him. I clattered to the floor, finding his hand that laid off the side of the table and his grip tightened between my fingers.

"Harry," I sniffled, standing up. "I love you, please stay with me. Keep those beautiful green eyes open for me, baby." I rubbed his sweaty forehead as the doctor began to work on him and I tried to calm down.

The x-ray said it all. There was fluid in his lungs.

"7 hours at the most with how much fluid he's got and the cancer," the doctor sighed, looking at the linoleum floor. My heart felt like it had frozen and shattered in my chest, the pieces stabbing me.

Six hours before:

"I love you," I repeated constantly, stroking his hand.

"You'll be okay, Ellie. You're strong," he managed. "I loved you when we first met, I love you now, and I will love you even when I'm not here anymore."

Four hours before:
Harry's breathing had slowed, his eyes eventually lulling from sleepiness. I sat there with him. The tick of the clock mocking me.

Three hours before:
Harry had woken back up.
"I have something for you, it's in my room, locked in my desk and the key is in my Spider-Man piggy bank. Find it for me, okay?" I nodded, boy of us beginning to cry.

It wasn't long . It was two and a half hours after that, his smile slowly faded along with his breathing. His body looked peaceful as I sat there, sobbing. There was nothing else to do. I pressed a kiss to his hair. The familiar scent of his shampoo making me cry even harder. I kissed his forehead, his eyes, cheeks, every inch of him I could.

One last time.
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They say real loss was only when you love someone more than you love yourself. Harry was the realist loss I would ever experience in my life. No one at our school no matter the text, post, or tweet, could even begin to feel what I was feeling. We'd planned to bury him on the 17th and today was the 16th. Finally sighing with fatigue, I slept in his clothes, in his bed, with his beanie on.