OCD ➳ Larry Stylinson

Chapter Twenty Nine: Final Part One

Warning: Minor character death!

Louis's POV

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I got the call at 6 AM on Saturday morning. Half asleep, I answered my buzzing phone with a yawn.

"Hello?" I slurred, confused and disoriented.

"Louis?" It was Harry. He sounded scared.

"What's wrong?" I asked, sitting up.

"I just... she... I don't know, just, I can't... I don't... I don't know," his voice was shaky and uneven.

"Where are you?" I asked frantically, swinging my legs over my bed and finding my shoes.

"H-hospital. I'm okay, I'm fine, it's not me... I just-" Hospital? Harry was at the hospital? Oh no.

"I'm on my way, Harry, don't worry, you can tell me when I get there," I said, cutting him off.

"O-okay, but don't worry. I'm fine," his voice was filed with something, something I've never heard in him before.

"I'll be there in 10 minutes, Haz," and with that, I hung up, already making my way down the flights of stairs.

The drive there was stressful. He said he was alright, and I wanted to believe him... but how could I know? He's fine. He's fine. The sun was beginning to rise as I drove to the hospital. Orange and reds blended together, a bonfire in the sky. It was beautiful, but my heart was beating a mile a minute. He's fine. He's fine.

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Harry's POV

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I didn't know how to feel. My mind was numb. My body was numb. Everything was just numb. But it wasn't the kind of numb I was used to. It wasn't painful and it didn't leave me weak and helpless. It was hallow and cold, like I was missing something.

I should be happy.

I should be sad.

I should be crying.

But I was just sitting there, on a hard blue chair in a white room. A phone went off in the background. Someone knocked over a cup of coffee. People rushed in and out of the door, causing gusts of cold air to make the hair on my arms rise. I should've brought a jacket.

The waiting room was nearly vacant. I hate hospitals, but I didn't even care. I didn't care.

Minutes passed by without me knowing. I still felt numb, empty. The door opened and I looked up. Louis stood there, clad in plaid blue pajama pants and a sweater. He had a jacket tucked under his arms.

"Harry," he said, walking towards me, examining me carefully, as if I was the one dying.

"I'm fine, Louis, I..." I didn't know what to say. A tidal wave of guilt hit me. I made Louis drive all the way over here at 6 am for my own selfish reasons.

"What happened? What's going on?" Louis sat on the chair next to me, his eyebrows knitted together.

I licked my lips. After a pause, I found the right words. "My mum," I breathed. "She... tried to kill herself. She swallowed pills...like an entire bottle... and she... she almost died."

"Oh my god," is all Louis said. There was another pause. "I'm... I'm sorry Haz," Louis said softly, taking one of my hands. I didn't look at him. I couldn't look at him. I was lost. A part of me wanted to cry, and the other part wanted to just stand up and walk away. I should be crying, I should be angry, sad, mad, everything else. But I wasn't. The doctors said she may not make it through the night, but I couldn't get myself to be sad.