||Taylor's POV||
It was almost four in the morning on a Wednesday. I am in a pair of sweats from middle school, Harry's Pink Floyd t-shirt, and a black zip up over it. I was sitting in a pale grey chair, waiting for an explanation as to what was going on.
"Your dad is on his way." my mom gets off the phone and sits next to me.
"Why?" I asked her.
"Because, Taylor, he wants to be here for you." She was stressed and I knew why.
"Just a few weeks ago he was trying to throw Harry out, now he wants to be here to see him?" I shook my head. "Look, I'm already nervous enough. I don't need him here mom."
"Taylor, I'm tired of this argument you guys have going on, it's gone on long enough don't you think?"
"No." I look at my lap. "Please, just call him." I begged her. She rolled her eyes and typed on her phone.
"Do you think...?" my mom looked up at me.
"No. It's not possible." I shook my head. The thought that Harry could be slightly affected by this accident makes my heart strings tug just a little harder than they ever have.
"Taylor, he was hit head on." She started playing with my hair.
"He's not dead." I had my arms crossed and a deep scowl on my face.
"Sweetie, please just-"
"He can't be dead, mom." I shut her up finally.
After waiting for another hour or so, I finally saw Harry's dad walk out. I immediately stood up and walked towards him.
This was it. The moment of truth.
Somehow I knew. I knew just by the emotion in his eyes, that what everyone was suspecting is true.
"I'm so sorry." I said to him and hugged him tight. He was like putty in my hands after that. He started balling his eyes out and apologizing so many times.
"Can I see him?" I asked, feeling tears at my eyes as well. He nodded his head and I walked behind the doors to his room.
My stomach began to knot itself and my throat got tight. I felt my palms dripping with sweat, but also I could feel my eyes swell up with tears.
He's gone.
Just like that a life was taken.
I finally got to his room and saw it was dark. He was laying there on his bed, a tube in his mouth, so many cuts on his face. There was a bandage wrapped around his head, a cast on his neck. He had so many needles in him. His shirt was ripped open and I could see the outline of the electric things, shocking his chest trying to get a heartbeat.
"Harry." I sat beside him in the visitors chair. "What happened?" I grabbed his hand that looked the least damaged and held it to my face.
I moved my fingers over his chin, then past his lips, then to his forehead, and then moved the hair out of his face.
"If this was your way of telling me you didn't want to go to my dad's for dinner.." I started laughing.
But it slowly turned into tears. And I was crying into the empty part of his bed. Right next to his waist, still holding his hand. I waited for him to wake up and laugh at me, telling me he loves me and that he would never leave.
All I felt was cold hands.
And I waited for him to come back to me and kiss me a million times.
And I waited for some type of movement, waiting for him to wipe my tears away, waiting for him to grip my hand, waiting for him to breathe, waiting for him to move.
I waited to hear his heart beat, but the room stayed silent.
THE END.
