twenty nine

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EMMA'S POV:

Harry sat with me encased in his arms for a good while after I arrived. No one tried to speak to me or get me to converse with them. They simply left me alone because I was obviously guarded with my personal pit bull.

Many people came in the private room, sitting on opposite ends of the space, waiting on news of their own loved ones.

Most of the families crowded together and spoke with each other, each sharing their own tragic story.

No one came to us though. We were clinging onto the other with a death grip that eventually relaxed into a soothing comfort. Alerting me that I wasn't alone.

Maybe it was minutes, hours, days, months. I don't know how long we sat on that hospital floor. Time seemed to stand perfectly still for me. The hands on the clock coming to an abrupt halt, signaling the end of yet another life. At least, that's the way I was looking at it.

Niall was sprawled out on a chair, playing on his phone. Eleanor and Paige were both fast asleep in the chairs next to him, with their jackets placed over them to serve as a blanket.

Harry's skilled fingers weaved through my tangled, unruly hair with a smooth glide, twisting out the knots one by one. It was still a frizzy mess by the time he had finished, but as he claimed, it was "knot free," which I guess is better than knotted and frizzy.

Part of me felt sick due to the realization I had come to, being in love with Harry and all. I couldn't tell him. Would he laugh in my face and just want his money? No, he isn't like that. Still the thought is absolutely terrifying. I just wish we could call that stupid ass bet off. It was a drunken mistake that I would take back if I could.

Actually, I wouldn't. Because of it, I was forced to grow closer to Harry and henceforth, I fell in love with the dork and the way his raspy voice somehow comes out smooth over his pink heart-shaped lips. And the way he breathes puffs of air into the cold and watches it turn white in front of him with this little glimmer in his eye. The way his eyes light up when he sees me, or when Friends comes on the TV. His little dance he does when he's right about something, or right before he flops down onto the bed next to me. All of the little compliments he gives me and moments shared behind closed doors.

But despite all of this, I couldn't risk making it awkward.

We had work we would have to attend together at the beginning of next week and for God knows how long after that. Possibly forever.

The thought alone of never being able to actually be with Harry, kills me. Screw Shawn, this horrible agony of loving someone and not being able to do a damn thing about it might take my life before he gets around to doing it himself.

Harry couldn't love me back anyways. He doesn't truly know who I am. He's told me his stories and what he's all about, and that's who I'm in love with. I'm in love with him. But, no. He can't love me. He doesn't know me. And that fault is completely on me for being too scared and living in constant fear of being hurt again or messing up my life for a second time.

I want this torture Shawn is putting me through to be over. I'm willing to do anything now to end it. We're one step closer to finishing it all now that we actually successfully secured the tracker on his car.

Time doesn't literally stop and wait for you unfortunately. It might feel like it has stopped, but it's still going at its normal rate.

Still in Heidi's clothes, I lift myself from the cushion of the hospital chair and stretch my throbbing limbs. I can still feel the phantom burn of running in my legs and the jolt I received when the bullet hit Louis, almost knocking me off of my feet with the force.

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