Rebuilding Zerrie

Second Thoughts

KLOE'S P.O.V.

I wasn't sure how long we were holding hands. It could've been minutes or hours or eons or maybe it was only for a few seconds, but that was all I needed, really, to be sure about my feelings toward him. I just wasn't sure, though, if they were the right ones.

When I pulled away, it wasn't in an unkindly way. More of an uncomfortable way. I let out an awkward, shaky laugh-breath and so did he. Was it possible that he felt it too? The "thing" I felt?

After we visited Spring, whose room was only a few hallways down from where I stayed, we headed to the ICU which was on the other building. Once we stepped in Building B, we immediately felt an air of depression. This was where the patients with gravely severe conditions stayed and there was absolutely no glimpse of light.

Except for the guy standing next to me.

It was only when he turned to face me when I realized I had been staring. I turned away quickly as I felt the blood rush to my face. I dared myself to take another glimpse of him, just to see if he was still looking at me. He was. His smirk grew larger, "What is it?"

Crap. He asked. What the hell should I say? That I was just thinking about all the people who've got stage three tuberculosis and died right where we were standing and how he made me smile? Wasn't that a bit too...self-centered? "It's just," I shrugged with one shoulder and turned away, "Your hair reminds me so much of Leigh-Anne's in Wings."

"And you remind me of that hooker I dated once," Harry retorted quickly, as if he'd been thinking of it for quite some time. "Blast, what was her name again?" He looked around for any clue of remembrance with his finger rubbing against the skin on his chin. His face suddenly lit up. "Taylor Swift."

My jaw dropped in disbelief. I pushed him harder than I should have and he stumbled to the side, crashing into an empty bed on wheels that disassembled from his weight plus the force applied. I let out a loud screech of laughter and smacked my mouth once it got out. I looked around and everybody was staring.

"Sorry," I mouthed before turning back to Harry. He was already up and assembling back the legs if the bed. I was still silently laughing when he finished.

"Shut up," he crumpled his forehead, obviously mortified.

When we got to the room, we stood in front of the door for a while. Every single thought flooded my mind again. It's my fault. She'll never forgive me. I ruined all her chances. She almost died because of me. If I hadn't made that stupid mistake, hers wouldn't have been broadcasted.

Harry squeezed my hand. I looked up at him, eyes glistening with tears. He didn't tell me it'll all be okay. He didn't wipe away my tears and say that crying won't help. Neither did he comfort me with consoling words like, "I know you're strong enough to handle this" nor kiss me on the forehead to make me braver.

He just looked at me and I knew that everything will be alright.