AT LAST, I COULD BREATHE | billy hargrove

my girl.

chapter song: Hold On - Chord Overstreet

my girl.

Billy's POV

"Those here for Bernadette Hughes?" A feminine voice rang out, pulling me away from the storm of thoughts I was immersed in. I immediately stood, Harrington next to me, and we followed the nurse down the hall and into a hospital room.

I heard the nurse speaking, but all of my attention was on the girl hooked up to the EKG machine a few feet away. The right side of her flawless face was covered in black and blue bruises and there was stitching near her temple along her hairline and up the upper right side of her head. It looked like her head had been split open. She looked so peaceful, so beautiful—like she always did when she slept: there was no worry lines or furrowed brows, she was relaxed.

Relaxed but near-dead. All because of me.

"Sir?"

"Hmm?" My attention was drawn away from Bo slightly.

"Do you have her parents' contact information?"

FUCK.

"Uh, yeah, I got their house phone number, hold on," I walked over to the table next to Bo. It had a pen and a small notepad on it, so I quickly scribbled down the Hughes household number with surprising difficulty and handed it to the nurse. She thanked me, but as soon as she left the room, my hands went back into my hair in exasperation.

"What's wrong with you?" Harrington asked out of the blue.

"I'm going to die tonight."

"Yeah, Shawn Hughes is gonna kill you," Harrington replied sarcastically.

"Not funny, Harrington. He said if harm ever came to her at my hands—"

"But you didn't purposefully do this, dude. He'll understand that."

I sighed at his naivety. "Yeah but she's close to dying and it's my fault. Don't try to argue with me and say it isn't because it is and you know it."

"I agree with you—this is all your fault. Fuck you for it, actually. Suck it up and fucking sit down with your girl who's damn near on her deathbed and talk to her. People in comas can hear the things that go on around them, so apologize to her and tell her everything you need to, because you might not get a second chance if she gives up."

And with that, Harrington left the room to go sit in the lobby, waiting for Bo's mom and brother to show up.

I grabbed the nearest chair and sat down in it, scooting as close as I could to the hospital bed while interlacing our fingers. My other hand gripped the other side of her hand and I held it to my forehead like I was ready to pray—which I pretty much was.

"I hope you can hear me, sweetheart, 'cause I need you to stay with me. And you can quit playin' around, I know you're just pretending while the doctors are here, right, dollface?"

The heart monitor was deafening while I hopelessly expected her to open her eyes and smile at me and crack some stupid joke.

"I, uh, I think you know by now that I'm not really all that great at handling, y'know, like my feelings or whatever 'cause I normally just get really drunk and high like you do...but I think you deserve more than that from me right now. I'm—I'm sorry, Bo. You need to hear that and I hope to God you do. I'm sorry for puttin' you in danger and now you might be on your fuckin' deathbed. Sorry for yelling at you when all you're tryin' to do is help me out. I'm sorry for being a part of your life 'cause all I've done is hurt you.