Drifter | (Harry Styles AU) • COMPLETE

Chapter 64.

A/N: Just a little fyi for this chapter.

Cancer affects everyone differently. The way Harry's father thinks and how he is suddenly sick to the point of dying is something I'm writing inspired from my own personal life. My father was diagnosed with Cancer in September 2010, he passed away December 2010 despite showing signs of getting better, it came out of nowhere.

Cancer is something that works in it's own way on it's own time. Remember that in this chapter please. ]

Harry's POV

"Your eyes look like you're all doped up," Martin says firmly, staring me down,"How do you explain that?"

"I sat on a plane for half my day without sleep, that's how I explain it.So are we done here? Or do you want me to piss in a cup too so you can make sure," I tell him tugging at my belt.

"Stop getting defensive, it was just a question," Martin sneers, getting out of the car.

"You lost the privilege to ask me questions a long time ago," I tell him, slamming his door.

"Also, before you start getting comfortable talking to me I'll tell you this: if it doesn't have anything to do with dad, don't fucking talk to me. Got it?"

Martin purses his lips at me, and I can tell he wants to respond with something just as snarky, but instead he simply leans back on his car and says,"Okay."

_____________________

I go into the hospital alone, Martin staying behind in the parking lot since dad won't let him into the room anyway. For a second I forget I'm not in America anymore, but once I see the hospital signs inside I remember. I walk up to the first nurse desk I see and hope she speaks English.

"Kali̱méra pó̱s boró̱ na sas voi̱thí̱so̱ ?" The blonde smiley nurse says to me.

"English?"

"I speak little," She nods shyly,"What I help with?"

"Visiting a patient, I'm visiting my dad," I say keeping it simple.

"Name?" She asks, her fingers hovering over the keyboard of her computer.

"William Styles."

She gives me the room number, giving me a few shaky directions to navigate the foreignly marked halls. I purposely walk slower in order to get it right the first time so I don't roam the halls like a lost puppy.

I knock on the door, before throwing it open, gulping down the lump of nerves I've created in my throat on the walk over here. The first thing I see is my father lying in bed looking in a state I have never in my life seen him in.

The room is dark, all the small windows covered with thick curtains. The only thing illuminating my father's face for me is the heart monitor along side his bed. He is connected to a variety of machines just like I was during my coma and I can't help but to compare him from then to right now. Then he was strong, he was in shape, his face full of color and warmness, and now his appearance is everything but.

"Dad?" I croak, approaching his bed slowly, making myself deliberately blink because I cannot believe my eyes.

I've always saw my father in a way that made him seem invincible, he could do it all. He was everything I know I could never amount to being even on my best day. No matter the amount of years I went through my life hating him for being so hard on me there was no denying the fact that I loved my father.

When everything went down hill after mum's death he was the only one that defended me. He argued with Martin countless times for me. He pulled the very needle I overdosed with out of my arm. And even though he was pissed at finding out I was addicted to heroin he never kicked me out or cut me off like Martin told him to, landing my father on martin's shit less for a while. And when I finally decided to sober up and quit, he held me tight on the bathroom floor, reminding me I had to do this for myself when the withdraws became so unbearable all I wanted to do was die. He gave me this life I didn't deserve.