The Beginning of the End (Editing)

Fourteen : Doctor?

To be numb is to bare a feeling of deprivation of feeling and unresponsiveness. That is what the dictionary says. But now... Now I can't fathom the words to describe what I'm feeling. I don't even know if I'm actually feeling. Is it possible? To not feel a thing at all. To not feel the rip in my chest as I await news that I don't want to hear. To not feel the pounding in my head that was infused by clouds of smoke and death. I wonder if she can feel anything, or if that's just it. She could have blood thats run cold and can't feel a goddamn thing. Maybe that's what I'm feeling- death. The feeling I feel is the feeling of being dead. I'm in an environment overcrowded by weeping families, screeching machines and swift-moving footsteps and yet I couldn't give less than what I already am. I'm only aware of one thing- it's all my fault.

My once clean bandages are painted in both her blood and mine, as well as the odd trace of black soot left by the fire that engulfed her, not me, but her. The nurses insisted on giving me a check up but I instantly refused- my Eleanor was lifeless and they were concerned about the living, breathing, bleeding boy in bandages. I couldn't let them help me, they had to help her. They need to help her. I don't know what I'd do with myself if I didn't have her by my side.

Right now I regret what I did. I regret it more than anything else I have ever done. I regret a lot of things, but this tops it off. I just couldn't help but vomit out my feelings for her, right? I am the walking, breathing vision of pathetic and I won't even deny it. Look where it got me, us, her. She's been in there for hours.

Lochie hasn't spoken a word to me, he even felt the need to put four seats distance between us. I really shouldn't complain, by now I thought my head would be on a stick. He's been tapping on his phone as well as impatiently tapping is foot against the ground in this basically empty ward. It's getting to four in the morning, now. I've not even dared to close my eyes.

I've tried to call Eleanor's Aunt Hannah, the one that she lives with, but she's not answering her phone. Of all the times she doesn't answer her phone. I never seem to catch her at the right time of the right day, not that I ever really need to. But now, at an urgent time on an urgent day, she needs to be here.

I've seemed to have lost track of the days. It appears that I have spent more time in hospital than I have at school. I think it's a Friday. I had it mapped on a calendar that Dad was coming on a Wednesday, and since its early in the morning it's fair to call it Friday, right? I've fallen so far behind in school. And for what? Really. What have I fallen behind for, why? All my teachers are gonna have shit to say, but theres one in particular that comes to mind.

Mr Walker and his tale of this beloved friend of is lingering. She died, but he kept everything of hers- especially the memories. He didn't tell me, but I can feel that he keeps them safe in the back of his mind because why else would he have become so worked up that say?

But now as I sit here, in a situation that I imagine he would've too, I wonder what he was feeling. That is if he was feeling anything at all, like me. I guess he may not have had much more of a guilt sitting in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't have caused the brain tumour in his friends head, but I caused the overdrive in Eleanors.

"What did you do!" A yell booms through the hallway along with heavy footsteps. A voice I didn't think I would hear, I am hearing loud and clear. I look down the hallway and watch as Harry approaches me with a crimson red face and a clenched jaw. "Don't just stare at me, answer me!" His voice raises even louder once he's stood right in front of me. He repeats the words and I hastily stand up.

"I don't know, Harry I don't kn-"

"Don't lie to me you prick! What did you do to put Eleanor where she is now!" He shoves me back down into my seat and I cast a glance to Lochie who is seemingly unbothered by Harry's presence. You messaged Harry, didn't you.

"I don't know!" I yell again, throwing my arms in the air. You're bad at lying, aren't you. "Why do you care anyway?" I yell.

I don't really know of any logical explanation to why he would become so worked up. As far as I know, his main intention with Eleanor Lilliman is nothing but to bang her. Those evil green eyes of his glue to her shamelessly whenever she's anywhere near him, even if she's with a guy. Other than his thirst for her body I know no other reason why he's so defensive about her.

"That shit doesn't matter okay? You don't need to know about it. But Eleanor is in that room because of you, and I know it," He pauses stepping back and staring intensely at me. "I just know it" He finishes before sitting across the hall directly opposite me. My head turns to Lochie and he still seems very unbothered. Dickhead.

Harry Scott is a person I don't like to think about often because he's a person that thinks about my face beneath his fist, for reasons that I can only link back to hurricane Eleanor. She touches a person and she damages them. But Harry hasn't really had a chance with her, to be damaged. Beneath that greasy blonde hair and those sharp jade eyes theres not much other than a heart that likes to see mine beaten and bruised. That's why she's never really given him the time of day, he's so full of fire and she can't be bothered trying to extinguish it. Part of me thinks that he has some backstory to him, but the other, well.. The other part just thinks he's a natural at being an asshole. Like he was born for it.

Eleanor's room door opens, room 143, with doctors and nurses filing out. They all go different directions with gloves removed and masks ripped off once they're out of the room. I stand up and at the corner of my eyes I notice the other boys do too.

I feel the anticipation in my blood, I need to know if she's okay but these doctors are so silent and ignorant. I want to know, I need to know. I can't wait. In my mind I see the images of her skin painted in black with eyes glued shut and a heart without rhythm, actually, without anything at all. I don't know what to expect. Could she be alive?

"Doctor?" I ask shakily, approaching the last uniformed person to come out of the room. He looks at me from behind his glasses, carefully and cautiously. I watch as his mask is removed as well as his gloves, followed by the slow and painful wait as he sanitises his hands. "Please, is she okay?" I push, rubbing my ,what I assume are, puffed and red eyes.

A moment of silence falls upon us, he looks into the room then back to me. "Well, the good news is shes breathing," He exhales and I release the air that I didn't realise I had bottled up. A smile finds its way to my mouth, but the look on this doctors face doesn't reassure me. There's something else, isn't there?

"And?" I push further, wanting more information- more answers. The fact that she's breathing doesn't tell me that she's okay. I need him to tell me that she's okay.

"Well, Sir, we just don't know how much longer she will be breathing for or even if she'll ever wake. I'm sorry, Sir."

Authors Note

Okay so I was sick in hospital, hence a later update :,) But I'm okaaaay

So what do you guys think Harry's deal is? I know there is extremely minimal information about him, but is kind of, underline KIND OF, significant :) So keep that in mind.

Okay so, once again, a big fat ugly beautiful loving thank you to the readers xx Y'all are appreciated <3

All the luuuuh xo