Suicide // Haylor AU

Chapter 29

FRIDAY, APRIL 5
2 days left

I've been sitting in the hospital waiting room for hours. I stare up at the pulsing fluorescent white light, trying to get the image of Harry's limp, unconscious body out of my head. The waiting room smells like burnt coffee and disinfectant and salty tears. You never think fear or sadness has a scent until you spend a long time in a hospital.
I wonder if guilt has a scent—a stinking, foul odor that Harry's parents can detect. I'm sitting between the two of them and they haven't said anything to me, except to periodically ask if I'm okay. How can they still be worried about me? Don't they know that I was a part of the problem, in on the plan? I'm sure they'd hate me if they knew the truth.
Both of them have been back to visit Harry. Thankfully, he's stable. He floats in and out of consciousness. I guess he hasn't had a chance to tell them what a traitor I am, to him and to them.
I squirm in my chair. The plastic seat is damp from my sweat and sticks to my thighs. I should have worn jeans instead of shorts. As I pick at the skin around my fingernails, I find myself getting more and more angry at Harry. Maybe I am a traitor, but he is, too. He went ahead and tried to die without me.
Harry's mom puts her hand on my shoulder, pulling me back into reality. "Sweetheart, the nurse says Harry should be awake soon. I explained who you are and she said that you can go visit him in a few minutes, if you want." Her voice is soft, almost like a lullaby. "I told her how you are the one who saved Harry's life. If it weren't for you . . ." She pulls me into a hug to suffocate the sound of her own tears. "We're so grateful for you."
She lets me go and gives me a sad, small smile. "How will we ever repay you?"
My breath catches in my throat. I can't find any words—it's like my mouth is full of quicksand and every word I want to say gets pulled back into the pit of my stomach.
"It's okay, sweetie." She pats the back of my head with her perfectly manicured nails. "You don't have to say anything. I know this is a lot to handle." She tilts her head so she can look me in the eye. "You do want to see Harry, don't you?"
I make myself nod. I want to see Harry. I really do. It's all I want.
But at the same time, I don't know how I can face him.

I sit with Mrs. Styles for a few more minutes. Mr. Styles returns from the hospital cafeteria with a coffee for her and a cookie for me. I place the cookie on the side table beside me. I don't touch it again.
Eventually, a nurse with hair the color of cinnamon approaches us. Mrs. Styles gestures toward me and the nurse nods. As I stand up, my legs stick to the leather cushion of the waiting room chair. It's like the chair is begging me not to go, warning me not to go.
The nurse leads me down the tiled hallway to Harry's room. I study the cards and words of encouragement that have been taped on the other doors. One door has a whole bunch of yellow balloons tacked on it. I wonder if I should have brought balloons. That's probably a stupid thought. This doesn't seem like an occasion for balloons.
Finally, we reach Harry's room. The nurse turns the metal knob and walks inside. I stand out in the hallway for a few moments, squeezing my hands together, taking deep breaths, humming Mozart's Piano Concerto no. 15.
"In here, darling," the nurse encourages. I wonder if she deals with this all the time. Visitors who can't bear it, who can't face reality.
The sight of Harry lying in the bed makes my heart stop. His tall, lean body is too big for the hospital bed—his toes hang over the edge. The hospital lights make his skin look almost translucent, and there are big dark circles under his green eyes. They don't look bright at all now. Just a muddy dull green.
"Taylor," he says. His voice is hoarse and strained.
The nurse gives me a hopeful smile and reaches out to touch my shoulder. "I'll be right outside if you guys need anything."

I look around the room because I can't stand to look at him. I see his mom brought his collection of Jules Verne novels and his sketchbook, and there's a vase of marigolds that's been placed at the side of his bed. No Captain Nemo. I guess that makes sense. Hospitals probably don't let you bring in your pet turtle.
But besides the flowers and the books and the sketch pad, the room is sterile. Nothing like Crestville Pointe. It's not like the place he imagined he'd die in. He can't die in this place. He can't die at all.
"Taylor," he repeats. This time his voice is louder, but it still sounds impossibly sore.
I blink back the tears that I can already feel building in my eyes. "How could you?"
"You didn't want to," he says. "I know you didn't. And I didn't want you to. I care about you too much to watch you die. I want you to live Taylor. So I did it alone because I wanted to save you."
I jut my chin out and look him straight in the eye. His face is so pale. I can see his veins. He looks too fragile, like any second his body is going to give out on him. "Save me? If you were at all worried about me, you wouldn't have done this."
I move closer to the side of his bed but keep standing. I watch him try to shake his head. He can barely move his neck. As I get closer to him, I can see that his throat is bruised. Purple and swollen. "I had to do it, Taylor. I'm not like you. I don't deserve to live." He lets out a heavy breath. "I can't live with myself. Not when I know I'm the reason Jade is dead."
"But what about April seventh? And dying in the water?"
This time it's his turn to refuse to look at me. "I didn't want to jump from Crestville Pointe without you. It seemed wrong. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized it wasn't right for me to die on the same day as Jade. Or in the same way. It would be like I was taking something from her." He tries to shake his head again. "I don't know why I picked the car. I just got this feeling in my stomach that if I didn't do it now, I was never going to be able to."
I lower my face so he can't see my eyes, pressing my chin against my chest. I suck in the sound of my sobs, but the tears still dribble down my cheek in silence.
"Don't cry," he says. "Come here."
I don't move.
"Taylor, come here."
I take a deep breath and sit down in the chair next to the bed.
He puts his hand out and I grab it. His grip is weak and loose, unlike when he squeezed my hand at the carnival. And this time, I can feel my hand. I can feel everything. And I want to keep feeling everything. Even the painful, awful, terrible things. Because feeling things is what lets us know that we're alive.
And I want to be alive.
"I can't lose you," I finally manage to say.
"Don't say that," he whispers.
"No, it's true. I can't lose you. Harry, you have to decide to live. I know that nothing can ever erase what happened to Jade, but you can't give up."
He moves his face to make a frown. It looks painful. I can practically see his muscles aching under his skin. The skin around his eyes looks so dark and bruised, like someone punched him repeatedly in the face.
"I'm not asking you to live for me. Even though that would be nice because I'm in love with you. And yeah, yeah, you can tell me I'm misusing that word, but I don't care. That's how I feel. But this isn't even about me, or how I feel about you. I want you to live for you because I know there's so much more waiting for you. There's so much more for you to discover and experience. And you deserve it, you might not think you do, but you do. I'm here to tell you that you deserve it. And I know I sound cheesy as hell. Believe me, six weeks ago, I would've slapped myself for saying shit like this, but knowing you . . ." I trail off for a moment. "Knowing you has helped me see things differently. See myself differently. And all I want is for you to see yourself the way that I do."
After I say all that, I feel drained, deflated. I know most people use "deflated" in a negative way, but today, I feel deflated in a positive way. Like I've kept all these secrets inside of me for so long, and now, I've let them all go. I feel lighter. I feel free. I told Harry I loved him; I put that positive charge out into the universe. And now I'm just waiting to see if it sparks—if it puts us in motion.
Harry makes a sputtering noise like he's about to say something, but then his eyes close and his breathing steadies. He's fallen asleep. I sit there for a while, my left hand still holding his right. I feel creepy watching him sleep, but I can't help it. I'm scared that if I take my eyes away from him, he's going to disappear.
His chest rises and lowers. He looks so frail, but he's still alive. And that's what counts. As I stare at him, I find myself wishing that I could see through his skin, see inside him. See if there's only emptiness, darkness, or if there's more.