“Are you cold? Too hot? Should I turn the heating up or down?” His English accent made all those words sound jumbled up and I giggled. Shaking my head, I tenderly wrapped my fingers around his wrist, bringing him down to my level. The ocean in his eyes was beautiful, causing me to gasp for air. The green in them was unimaginable, only the greatest of the great can actually mimic this color, but it, like any other drawing, is a false hope.
“Harry, I’m fine. It’s fine. There’s no need to rush, or panic over.” I said, smiling as his face lit up slightly. But like any other time I spoke, his face dropped knowing what I was actually going to say, ‘I’m not going to die’ but in fact I am going to die and Harry will have to live with this… but I hope he doesn’t.
“{Y/N} , you know that it’s not going to be just fine.” His voice trembled, something I heard quite too often for my liking, “I just want everything to be perfect.”
I felt his cold fingers leave a warm trail over my cheeks, something I found funny. His minty cool breath hit the exposed part of my neck and I enjoyed it very much. “What if it’s already perfect? What then?”
He inhaled back in, dropping his fingers so they found my pale ones. His large hands captivated my own and held them inside their warmth, causing me to go like jelly and conform into him. “Then I’ll try my best to make it your nirvana.”
“Thank you.”
I sighed, content with his words. As we both lay in the couch, cuddling with one another I thought over the course of the year and wondered if this was just a dream, am I dead and in Heaven? Are they giving me some false hope of what could have been? Am I dead, and Harry is alive, happy? Or miserable? What could have been? Either way, I thank him for every happy detail.
Harold Edward Styles
It hadn’t taken long before we both drifted off into sleep. Since I was always awake, I stared at her. She once showed me of her long hair that she loved, now it was just very thin hair but cut very, very short and I actually loved it. Her pale skin was cold, like any other time so I wasn’t surprised when I held her and took her to our bed. She didn’t speak when I accidently stubbed my toe, and I worried. I didn’t think much of it, {Y/N} was always a heavy sleeper.
Setting her down into the plush bed, I sat beside her, fiddling with her cold fingers. It also didn’t take long before I drifted off into sleep.
Night had struck and a dark blanket rolled over the England lights, stars sprinkled over the dark blue blanket. I looked at {Y/N} who still hadn’t moved from her position. Twisting around, I gently poked her flat stomach. “{Y/N} , wake up.”
I nudged her nose, but there wasn’t any response. “{Y/N} , you have to wake up.” I said more loudly. Even though she was stricken with this bad disease, she knew how to scare people.
“{Y/N} , wake up!” I screamed. I got out from my side of the bed and went around her side. I shook her gently. “{Y/N} !”
I began to shake her, harder than I had before. The tears began to roll down my eyes. “{Y/N} wake up! Wake up! Wake up now! {Y/N} !” By then, I became what she most hated.
I became what she never wanted for me to be, a crying mess.
“When I die, don’t you dare cry. I don’t care if you love me, you can’t cry. You have to be strong, show them you can get through this. Crying is for those who can’t move on, for the ones who cannot handle what is being thrown at them.”
“Crying is for the weak?” I asked, smiling but then feeling sick to the core.
“No, crying isn’t for the weak, because the weak can get better. Crying is for hopeless, the ones who cannot get out from the ditch.”
“I’m sorry,” My hands wrapped around her terribly cold wrist. “I’m so sorry. {Y/N} , this isn’t funny, please, please wake up…”
She never had woken up.
Several Days Later
“She died happy. She died loved, she didn’t go a day without love being given to her. Sometimes, she would get sick of it because deep down we all knew this wasn’t love. This was sorrow filled pity that she despised, and yet we given it to her. We all thought she didn’t know, but she did and we all secretly knew she did. It’s sad isn’t it? But forgetting about the sadness, I will quote her, ‘When I die, don’t you dare cry. I don’t care if you love me, you can’t cry. You have to be strong, show them you can get through this. Crying is for those who can’t move on, for the ones who cannot handle what is being thrown at them.’ She was only 18 and had much more wisdom then I will ever have. Also, she didn’t die happy, she died contently. She will always be loved, and please note this love does not consist of pity. She would have never wanted this.” I wiped my eyes and left the stand, leaving the church.
I went outside, were it was raining. I went to her opened grave, dirt already covering her sleek brown coffin. Several white roses set across her grave. “Tulips, she loved tulips.” I spoke to No One. “She actually hated roses.”
I took the red tulip from the inside pocket, it had yet to blossom. “The last words you said to me weren’t I love you, or anything of that. It was a mere Thank you, but I know you died content because I know you better than you actually did. You were happy but sad. You were aware of death lurking over you. You always told me t-that you were happy, and that everything was fine… Nothing was ever fine! You left me, and I blame myself because I could have saved you. But I didn’t.” I stopped talking and grabbed the roses planted on her grave and set them on the open space beside her grave.
“I’ll be there soon, if not in a couple of days.” I began to walk, warmth spreading through my back, and I knew she was there. I just did.
