Lightbulb (h.s.)

4- Death

The drive with Harry was slow and quiet, although every time a dreadful tear would stream down my cheek he would whisper a few calming words, and once at a red light he gave me a kiss on the cheek.

Sometimes he stroked my back comfortingly and, overall, I was slightly more relaxed by the time we parked at the hospital. I got out, carrying Georgie, while Harry held Taz and Liddie followed behind.

We filed into the hospital, almost instantly being stopped my an army (truthfully only two or three) of nurses.

"Ohmygod it's you," one said in an annoyingly high-pitched voice.

~*~Harry~*~

"Ohmygod its you," a blonde nurse said obnoxiously.

I felt the anger trying to boil over, though I kept it down well enough to bark, "Her mother is dying."

I saw the hurt flash across Em's face before she covered it. Reassuringly, I placed my hand on her shoulder and rubbed up and down several times.

Two of the three nurses departed and a younger one looked me in the eye with shock.

"You're Harry Styles. I-is she your secret girlfriend or something?"

"No, she's a family friend," I lied with annoyance. I hate when people recognize me in times of stress, even more when they ask stupid-ass questions like that.

I know I'm not dating this girl.... Emmilee.

But I feel like... she's someone I need to help. And right now, I doubt saying that I'm helping her out would be as quick as saying she's a family friend. If I said that I'm helping a random fan out it'd have so many repercussions... ahk.

Do I like her?

I know I kissed her in the car, and laid on her bed with her. Hell, I even fell asleep with her in my arms!

But.... Do I mean it? Or is it just pity talking, controlling my actions?

I can't even tell anymore.

She's not that perfect shade of beauty, she isn't thin, graceful or perfectly curvy.

Do I even want to love her, is the real question here.

I do feel bad for her, and I can tell the kindness she's receiving from me is completely new.

What was I even thinking when I told her I liked her?

Dumb, fucking pity.

The young nurse nodded, biting her lip, and I knew she wanted to say something else; probably ask for a picture or something.

I'm happy she didn't; I would've lost it then and there.

"Which room?" she asked timidly.

I looked to Em questioningly.

"Ms. Susanne Gilmore's."

"Alright."

We were led to a room, just another hospital room. I found myself absentmindedly stroking the back of Emmilee's hand with my left, easily able to lightly rest the other on her shoulder.

She turned to enter the room. I backed away and Em looked me in the eye,

"You aren't coming in?" Her eyes glistened.

"Do you want me to?" I took a small step towards her, lifting one of her hands and cradling it in both of mine.

Emmilee nodded weakly, biting her lip and swallowing against tears.