Reticent (h.s fanfic, punk Harry)

Chapter 23

I held his hand-well he held my hand, and I just squeezed his. It felt as though the walls around us were closing in, slowly crushing everything in its path to pieces. I felt darkness close in, but it avoided me, it went straight for her. The dark claws latched on, refusing to let go. I felt as if I were watching a live lobster squirm in boiling water. She looked quite embarrassed, and I wondered why. She was quiet, so why was did she look so humiliated? Her feet crawled up, her nails slowly pulling the hospital bed sheets with her as her knees snuggled right below her breasts.

Her face bloomed with a red glow, a very shy red glow. She looked down with wet eyes, sniffled and nodded. Why was she nodding? What was she agreeing to?

In the very depth of my memory, I rummaged until I found a very disintegrated patch of her life that latched to my brain. The part of her life where her face stretched to accommodate her smile, the one where the corners of her eyes crinkled with her laugh. I tried to remember the times I ran my fingers through her dark hair. I could feel my fingers tickle with the memory of every strand that slipped through like soap.

Her eyes were void of all light, just two pupils and irises covering the edges. They were just eyes, I could see nothing past them, and nothing in front. She gave another nod and I waited because it seemed as if the doctor would open the door now. They had been in there long enough, two hours would be long enough.

And so he opened the door and let me in, but Louis stayed out. Mom was perched on the hospital bed with a blue gown loose around her, two flimsy strings tied behind her neck for modesty. She crossed one small leg over another and stared at me almost apologetically.

"Hello, there." The doctor smiled with a slight wince.

I let myself walk towards her to be pressed to her side. I needed to feel that glowing in my heart, that type of feeling where you think your heart will slither out of your mouth. She gave an awkward one arm hug and went back to wringing her fingers together, cracking them, stretching them.

"Harry. Could I call you Harry?" The man stretched a hand towards mine.

"That's my name." I slid my hand into his and shook it. I felt older like this. I felt interconnected in this adult conversation, it made me feel important. "Is my mum dying?" I cut to the chase, but I wanted to laugh. I couldn't imagine a life without her. She wasn't-couldn't be dying. God wouldn't be so cruel.

The doctor looked at my mother then at me. His eyes clouded over with desolation. He took a deep breath-so this was a heavy conversation. I knew quite a bit about those. Mum always told her friend she had something heavy to say. It reminded me of the time she spoke about my father leaving her and her confessing that she still loved him. Was this about something like that? Was the doctor confessing to something?

"Harry, darling-he doesn't need to know. I'll find a way later to let him know," My mother pleaded. I didn't want to see her like this-I never wanted to see my mother in a state of begging.

"Mrs-"

"She's dying-my mum's dying isn't she?" My stomach seemed to coil in, I could almost feel an animal in there devouring my organs one by one. I couldn't allow myself to hear her sniffling or to hear her cries. She brought a hand to her eyes and sobbed. I had an unhealthy urge to knock my fists over my ears and block that noise. I hated hearing it. It was one thing to see her large eyes plead with the man in front of me, but it was something completely unbearable to listen to those cries. "I want to know!" I screeched to the two.

The doctor waisted no time. He set the chart in his hands down on to the bed. "Yes-and no. There may be some miracle that she'll make it. You're mother is weak. She's not feeling well."