Still Into You | Horan

1.

     ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. COPYRIGHT © 2 0 1 4  TWYLA RIVERS

                                                                1.  

     His feet matched the rush of the doctors and paramedics pushing her stretcher. It was the fastest he’d ever run in his life, and it still wasn’t fast enough.

     The warmth of her skin was the only thing which would reassure him that everything would be okay, but that was also only thing he couldn’t give himself now. No matter how much he wanted to reach for her cheek, he couldn’t. He feared that she’d break even more under the pressure of his touch, and Niall Horan had already screwed her up so much that day. But when it came to her, Niall was selfish.

     So he grasped her hand, instead. It wasn’t a cheek, and it wasn’t that warm, but it was hers, and it was comfort enough. The corners of her lips tilted up, yet she looked everywhere but at him.

     “Hey,” he called out, frustrated that her focus was on the walls of the corridor, and not on him. “L—lo—please. Please. Just look at me, will ya?”

     She drew a shaky breath, then elicited a giggle that was anything but happy. “I—I would.” Her brows scrunched up, creating creases on her forehead. The tears continued to slip from her eyes, mixing with the blood which trickled down from the gash on her forehead. “I would . . . if I could . . . but I can’t.”

     “Wh—what?”

     “I—I can’t see you. I can’t see you, Niall, a—and it’s scaring me.” Her voice cracked, and she erupted into sobs once again. “I . . . I don’t . . . wa—want to die—”

     “You’re not going to,” was said rather forcefully. His grip on her hand tightened as he searched for words to say.

     “You’re not gon’na die. You’ll—you’ll be fine, see? You’re gon’na be alright. We’re gon’na get married someday, and we’ll raise those little Horans you said we’d have—” he cast her bulging belly a look. “—a—and . . . and we’ll laugh. We’ll laugh about this, be—because you’re not gon’na die.”

     “Ni—Niall . . . I’m so s—sorry,” she managed to whisper out, yet her crying drowned out her words.

     He looked up from her face, letting out a sigh of relief as he saw the doors of the operating room, signaling the near end of the longest run of his life. Niall looked back at her face, raising a hand over her forehead as he brushed the strands of hair from her forehead and tucked them behind her ear.

     “Don’t,” he told her gently. “It—it’s my fault. Don’t waste your breath, save it. Please. You’re—you’ll be fine.”

     As the doors of the room opened, and Niall struggled to break free from the hold of the nurses who were prying him off of her stretcher, she smiled. It was twisted, broken, and showcased her crooked teeth, but to him, it was hauntingly perfect.

     “Wi—will you . . . marry me?” echoed the room, and resonated through the halls.

     The doors closed, and he was being dragged away from the one of the only things in the room which separated him from her.