I Can't Change - Larry Stylinson

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

It was the worst night I believe I had ever experienced, pacing around the waiting room, pausing every once in a while to rush to the bathroom, sobbing, looking at my haggard appearance in the mirror. I couldn't bare to look at his blood on my hands anymore, so I washed it off, watching as the crimson liquid washed down the drain.

I got sick several times, feeling my heart drowning away in a putrid feeling. Anne wasn't much better, but she stayed stationary, sitting in her seat, pale and silent.

We stayed up all night, and I felt weariness growing on me, my eyelids growing unbearably heavy, but I couldn't sleep. Too much was on my mind.

“What time is it?” Anne croaked out quietly beside me, and I weakly looked at my watch.

“5:23 am.” I sniffled, rubbing my raw eyes yet again, glancing over at her, a muscle in her jaw twitched.

“Why would he do that, Louis?” She questioned raggedly, looking at me. The breath was drained from my mouth and I shook my head, my throat ached painfully and I pulled her into my arms.

“I don't know, Anne. I'm so sorry.” I whispered against her hair as she cried. I glanced over at the swinging doors to the ICU, a doctor walked out, nodding at the new nurse on duty, before walking back into the ICU. The nurse looked over at us, pointing at the door.

“You can visit him now.” She stated, and I nearly jumped out of my skin, my heart leaping into my throat as I looked down at Anne, who was quickly shuffling to her feet, wiping away the tears. I grabbed her hand and we nearly ran through the swinging doors, looking in every room, darting around a corner to find the doctor standing outside of his room. The man's dark brown eyes turned on me, and he smiled gently.

“He's in a stable condition now, he lost a lot of blood, and we had to stitch his arm back up, along with pumping his stomach, he had overdosed on painkillers. He's sleeping now.” The Doctor's voice was soothing, yet a lump burned in my throat and I clutched at Anne's hand tighter.

He really had wanted to die. My chest ached even further, and it took all of me not to burst into tears again. I nodded at the man as he propped open the door, allowing us in. The room was dark, besides the meters, the steady beep that reassured me that he was still here. The faint dripping of the IV, his ragged breathing.

Once my eyes focused to the darkness, I saw him. His body frail and gaunt, nearly corpse like, his hair was matted to his head in sweat, his cheeks sunk in. It didn't look like my Hazza anymore. I gulped dryly, standing in the door, watching as Anne ushered herself to the boys side, quietly whispering things to him, pushing his hair out of his face, her sobs quietly echoing about the room. I looked back at the now closed door, letting out a breath, before walking to the edge of the bed, studying his arm, which now had a long stitched line running vertically up it. My eyes grazed the tattoo on his wrist and the tears came again. I wrapped my fingers around his, rubbing his clammy palm over and over, sniffling dejectedly, wiping away the tears streaming down my cheeks.

Anne whimpered gently, kissing her son's forehead, before stepping back. It was deathly silent, besides the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor. I squeezed his hand a little harder, looking back at Anne, who was looking at her hands.

“You love him, don't you?” She whispered, and a broken sob etched its way up my throat, and I nodded frantically, feeling weak all over again. I hated seeing the boy I loved so much so broken and near death, because of something he thought I did. I hobbled towards the woman, and she wrapped her arms around me again, crying into my shirt.

“H-He talked about you, y'know?” She pulled away gently, gazing up at me, sniffling. “He bantered on about you all night one day, and I guess that's when I realized he really loved you, not as a best friend anymore. He's not a suicidal kid, but when it comes to not being able to have you--” Her words were cut off and she bowed her head, her hands pulling to cover her face. I stepped back, startled. This wasn't necessarily helping, and I weakly sat myself down in a cushy chair in the corner, my head spinning quickly. I dared a look at the boy, his eyes twitching in their dreaming state. I wanted to hold him so bad, wanted to kiss him, tell him how much I loved him, how I never wanted to leave him, and never would. But how was I supposed to convince him of that if he had nearly ended his life?