Promise Me (N.S.)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

His words washed over me like a tidal wave, obliterating everything I was in their path. I could feel my insides churning in their wake, threatening to expel any moment. I couldn't hear myself think; all outside sounds faded as the background stood at a standstill. All I could see was Niall standing in front of me, his emaciated body whittling away as I stood there. His eyes filled with tears as I watched his mouth open; he was screaming at me but I couldn't hear a thing.

I didn't want to hear his screams. I couldn't take it. I was surprised I hadn't evaporated into thin air yet from the pure fact that I felt like I was burning alive. I tried breathing for a moment, my inhales and exhales dangerously shallow; I thought I was going to see black wash over my eyelids.

I couldn't take this.

I made a break for the door and pushed my way outside, the cold air immediately nipping at my overheated skin, threatening to pull it from my aching bones. I lurched over suddenly, my stomach spilling its contents all over his dying lawn. My head hung low as I wiped my mouth, my throat now singed.

A shiver traveled up my hunched spine as Niall's hand graced my back lightly. I stood up, scared to look at him for the fear that he might crumble into a pile of ash and bones if I did. I lifted my head slowly and was met with his grey eyes, the life barely holding on inside of them.

He grabbed my hand slowly, leading me cautiously back into his disheveled house. He sat me on the couch and hobbled to the kitchen, arriving in front of me moments later with what was probably the only clean cup in his kitchen, filled with water. As I drank it, I could feel his eyes on me. But I was still scared to look at him.

As I set the cup down, I wiped the last few beads of sweat from my forehead, pushing a few stray strands of hair from my face in the process.

"Harry?" Niall asked, his voice barely audible to the human ear. It was scratchy, like it hadn't been used in ages.

I still couldn't look at him.

"Harry, look at me," he pleaded, his voice cracking as I could hear the tears forming by the sound of his voice. He sounded broken, his voice matching his gaunt appearance.

I opened my mouth, my lips parted slightly, struggling to say the words that just couldn't slip out. I was choking on everything I couldn't say, the words getting caught in my throat. I felt constricted.

"Harry please," hushed, desperate cries pushed through his cracked, pale lips. I finally dared myself to look at him once more, my stomach dropping when my brain finally made the connection between his appearance and his morbid announcement he had sprung upon me earlier. I couldn't do this; the sight of him made me want to take it from him, whatever he had. I wanted to swallow his sickness and take it upon myself. This once beautiful human before me would always be beautiful. But me, I was damaged. He was radiant; he didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to be rushed to the grave, prematurely doomed to a tomb beneath the dirt. Me, I should be the one there. I wanted so badly for it to be me instead of him. He was the light; I couldn't bear to watch him walk into it.

"I—I can't, Niall. I can't."

"You...you can't what? Harry?" Fear brought his eyes back to life for a brief moment before dimming once more to the muted grey they had been transformed into. My heart cracked in my chest. The butterflies that usually resided in my stomach when I was around him were digested, sending a crippling hollowness to fill me up.

My head fell into my hands, tears sticking to my palms as my eyes spilled their contents.

"Harry..."

"Niall...Niall I—I can't—I can't do this. I can't watch you...I can't watch you d-d—"

Tears spilled onto his cheeks as he let out a small yelp. He sat there for a moment, eventually rocking back and fourth where he was perched. He heaved and twitched in a fit of sadness and despair; as I watched out of the corner of my eye, I felt as if I were the one who was dying. This was Hell's true place, its true identity.