shadow [h.s.]

s e v e n t e e n t h

The sound of the gun ricocheting through the building reverbrates through everyone's bodies and I fall back into Harry's arms. He cries an anguished scream; loudly bemoaning the fact that his lover; his light. His only reason for keeping alive has just been shot.

Blood seeps through my shirt; shadowing myself and Harry's knees in red tears from my body. It's over, my thready heartbeat tells me. You've won, but now you're going to die. 

But the door to the centre swings open, and Mr. Denton- along with four gunman, two sergeants and even a police dog- burst through it's doors. "You're under arrest," Charles shouts loudly, pointing at Leighton. "For murder."

Harry shouts something towards the paramedics that followed Denton, but I cannot hear him. The world is fuzzy and dark; blank. I see Harry and I call to him; yearning for his touch and his voice to tell me it'll be okay.

Harry turns to me; tears dribbling down his face. He is an absolute mess; tears and blood mixing in with dirt and sweat. He runs a hand over my face, breathlessly calling my name in a prayer that is half insanity and half pure fear. "I can't lose you," he whispers. 

"Sshh," I soothe, coughing a bit and wincing as the roaring pain takes over my body. "It'll be okay."

The paramedics come and quickly loosen my grip from Harry. I cry out in fear and desolate anguish, but Charles nods. "He'll be okay, Sky," he promises. "I'll take care of him."

I nod, succumbing to the gas the paramedics give me. The last thing I see of Harry is him crying into Denton's shoulder like a little boy, saying, "I can't lose her. I can't lose my Hildegard."

-x-

HARRY'S POV

I hate hospitals.

The smell of antiseptic and the way the staff are either overly cheery or overly grumpy makes my stomach turn. Besides, hospitals are never a good thing. If someone says, "I went to the hospital on Wednesday," you don't throw a party and pop champagne bottles. You ask why.

Mostly because you usually die in hospitals.

They had taken Sky into a surgery room; I sit in the waiting room, unable to feel. I stare at my feet; willing them to move. To do something. But I was drained; I was exhausted. I couldn't feel. Couldn't think. Couldn't even breathe.

I don't know if I want to.

The first time I saw Sky was in third grade. She and Leighton were swinging on the swing set together. A few days later, she was drawing with chalk on the school sidewalk. I approached her and asked if I could draw with her, too. She agreed, and we drew together.

We drew purple flowers.

The memory fades with another sob slash hiccup and I grip the edge of my seat to gain control. Skyler Marie Jacobs. She had always been Leighton's, always been the unspoken partner of the man who had killed her father. My mother told me about the murders and the rape when I was ten. "You take care of her," Anne had warned. "She needs you, even if she doesn't know it."

So I had. I had been there when her brother took her pink balloon from her; been there for her high school graduation. I had been there at her officiation as Detective for the NYPD; and all along I had known Leighton would try to frame me. 

Still I had been there for her.

I hear doctor's footsteps approaching me and Charles Denton, and we both stand to greet him. He is a wiry man; with greasy hair and thin glasses that make him look like a snake. "Denton," the doctor greets him and then looks with disdain upon me.

I shuffle my feet.

"Skyler is absolutely fine," the doctor explains, and I can finally breathe. "The bullet grazed her chest; so she will be required to keep a bandage on for a few months and have someone with her at all times to make sure the membrane does not implode," he explains and then bites his lip. "We need someone to do that- either we can send a nurse or-"

"No," I interrupt, louder than I imagined I would. "I mean, it's okay. I'll do it."

The doctor glances at Denton, who nods. "Fine," he sighs. "She's in 296 if you want to see her."

I take off running down the halls, searching wildly for the room 296. I finally spot it and race towards the door, bursting into it and seeing her on the bed; weakly opening her eyes at the sight of me.

I can breathe.

I give a little cry of joy and advance towards her slowly. She grasps my hand and smiles beautifully, in a tragic way that says we made it, but also in a way that shows me she is sad and perhaps regretful of what occured at the rehab centre.

"He was a murderer," she murmurs drily, a sort of weak and feeble attempt at making light this situation.

I smooth my fingers over her forehead. "I know."

Her eyes lock into mine, smiling a bit through cracked lips and glassy eyes. "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

The words, which I had wanted her to say to me for so long, now seemed suddenly like a tonne of bricks hitting me harder and dropping down all my defenses until it was just me- just Harry Edward Styles, who had drawn purple flowers with Skyler on a Wednesday afternoon- standing in front of the beautiful, flawless and absolutely perfect Skyler Jacobs- who was one fifth tragic and four fifths a mind boggling explosion of colours I never dreamed were part of the palette of life. 

"I love you, too, Hildegard."

She giggles and pulls at her hospital gown so that it covers her shoulders respectively. I smile like a little child when I see the colour. Locking our hands together and pressing a kiss to her fingertips, I say softly, "You look good in purple."

--

okay so there's only the epilogue left and WHY YES I DO HAVE PROBLEMS ENDING STORIES.