The Artist [h.s.]

fifteen

Harry woke to bright lights, beeping machines, and tears. He tried to lift his head, but the world tilted on its axis and sent his head spinning.

Harry groaned lightly, his eyes closed as he took low breaths to stop the nauseous feeling he'd gotten from trying to sit up.

Cater straightened in her chair, clutching Harry's hand tighter before leaning against the rails of his hospital bed.

Her voice trembled and cracked, "H-harry?"

He tried to smile, but it turned out more like a frown. Everything was heavy and he still felt like he was asleep.

"Hi." It came out as more of an exhale, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Carter started to cry again, her tears heavy on his hand, and she gripped his hand like it was her anchor and she was lost at sea. Something was obviously wrong, but he couldn't tell if it was because he had been shot or because of something else.

Even on heavy doses of drugs, he knew that it wasn't just him. Carter was full out sobbing, her chest heaving with each break, tears flooding her eyes and falling down her cheeks like rivers, and her lips trembling more with each passing second.

Harry couldn't help but to ask, "How...how long have I been asleep?"

His mouth felt like it had been packed with cotton and his tongue felt foreign. Harry grimaced slightly and tried to ignore the pains and strange feelings in his body to focus on Carter.

A heartbreaking sob passed her lips, "Three days. T-they said that you shouldn't b-be alive."

Carter watched through blurry lenses as he absorbed what she'd told him, his eyes falling down to his chest and all of the tubes that covered his body. He lifted his free hand slowly and carefully, bringing it to the heavy gauze on his chest, hidden by the hideous hospital gown.

Harry took a good look at her, focusing on everything that was going on aside from the beeping of the machines that he was hooked up to. Something was very different and very wrong, but he couldn't figure it out with his mind in such a haze and he was starting to worry, his heartbeat spiking slightly.

He swallowed heavily and continued to look at her, determined to figure out what else was wrong.

"What else happened?"

The tears that had slowed only for a brief moment returned like a tidal wave. Carter's lips parted, she was about to tell him, but the flashback hit her hard.

. . .

A good number of the staff rushed Harry back and into the operating room and she was left alone, to wait in uncomfortable chairs with strangers staring at her like she was some sort of display.

Left alone to wonder if the love of her life was going to die in a sterile room, with strangers who knew nothing about him except his name and the blatantly obvious fact that he had been shot and lost a lot of blood.

She was left alone with her thoughts. Depressed became dangerous and, the longer she sat in the infuriating chair in the lobby, the deeper the cuts became. One by one, her thoughts shredded and ripped everything apart.

Harry was dying, or already dead, and she wasn't allowed to see him, and something was so very wrong with her baby. She felt detached, like she was no longer pregnant and, left alone with her thoughts, she started to panic.

Only ten torturous minutes passed before she stood up, no longer able to face her thoughts alone, and made her way over to the front desk.

Someone gasped once she was on her feet. She needed to know why and turned around as fast as she could manage.