You Can't Sing Without Air- Harry Styles Fanfic

28. Stubbornness is No Substitute for Strength

My eyes open slowly, adjusting to the dim lighting. I glance around the room, taking in the dark walls, the ugly tile floor, the machines coming from my bed. Coming from me.  

My eyes drift to the chair by my bed, a figure is slumped over in it, asleep. 

Harry? 

I move my hand up to my mouth, feeling the ventilator pumping air into my lungs. For the first time in my life I don't struggle to breathe, the machine doing all the work for me.  

The figure stirs. 

"Ayd, you're awake." 

Niall. 

Where's Harry?

"Thank God Aideen. How are you feeling, are you okay?" 

I stare at him.  

"You scared the fuck out of me." He leans forward, kissing me on the head.  

I turn my head away. 

"Hey," he says, his voice soft. "I'm sorry I wasn't here for you. I should never have left." 

My eyes shift down.  I watch my chest rise and fall with air. I don't remember the last time I breathed deep enough for it to do that. 

"They said it was respiratory failure." he says, sitting down on the bed next to me. "Your antibiotics weren't working so the infection just got worse and worse. Your lungs just couldn't take it." 

I nod. 

"They intubated you in the ambulance on the way here." 

I touch the tube again. It scratches in my throat.

"They weren't sure if you would pull through." His voice catches. "....I didn't know if you would pull through." 

I meet his eyes. To my surprise they're glistening with tears. 

"Why didn't you say anything Ayd?" He's crying now, I don't know how to handle the sight. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"  

He wipes his eyes. 

"Did you want to die? Were you ready to die?" 

I can't meet his eyes. The pain is too much to bear. 

No.  

No I didn't want to die, I want to say. I want to yell it at him, to stand on the bed and scream for the whole hospital to hear. 

No, I didn't want to die. For the first time in my life, I think I really wanted to live. 

Harry gave me that.  

Harry. Where is he? 

I turn my face to Niall, realizing he's still waiting for an answer. 

No, I shake my head.

His face dissolves into relief. He wipes the tears from his eyes again. 

He regains his composure, his face immediately breaking into his usual soft smile. I know him well enough so see the fear behind it. My heart sinks in my chest, knowing I am the cause.

Why didn't I say anything?

Niall thinks I don't know my body, but I do. I just don't know how to tell myself no.

In spite of everything I've been through, I still want to be like everyone else. When I was in university I wanted more than anything to fit in, to prove to everyone that I was more than just Niall Horan's little sister. I partied, slept around, and lived life like I was indestructible. Smoking weed was just a part of that. Everybody did it, so I did too. Yes, I could have just taken edibles or shrooms for a high but I didn't want to be different or needy. I told myself it wasn't a big deal.

I didn't smoke often at first, just on the occasional night out with friends. Then school got stressful and I started turning to it more and more. I knew what it could do to me, but I ignored it.

Then one day I went in to hospital for a routine visit and didn't come out for almost six months. After that, nothing was the same. I lost most of my friends, my health, and worst of all-my purpose. Some of my friends were planning a post-grad trip to Australia. They ended up going without me. 

I moved in with Niall because I had no other place to go, and couldn't hold a job with my health in such distress. I had wanted to be like everyone else so much but in the end I became more of an outsider. I pushed everyone away so I didn't have to see everything I was missing out on.

Being with Harry was nothing like that. Harry made me feel like it was okay to be me. Not just Niall's little sister, or a girl with CF , but all of those things and more. He made me feel comfortable in my own skin. So why didn't I tell him I was sick? He would have understood. I wasn't afraid of him abandoning me.

The truth is, I didn't want to say goodbye yet. I knew as soon as Harry left, everything would change. When tour started it would be late FaceTime calls from foreign places, short texts and the occasional phone call. I was savoring the closeness of our lazy days together. I didn't want it to end.

I thought I could hold it together for two more days. My body was weak and tired, but I'm stubborn as hell. I thought I could conquer my sickness with sheer determination, despite the long list of times I've tried to and failed. There was just something about Harry that made me feel like I could do anything.

Apparently not.

The reality hits me like a sharp blow to the face. I'm in hospital, and this time it's serious. I'm on a ventilator. 

I move the blankets to the side to see my feeding tube running nutrition into my body. By my bed hangs four different bags of IV fluids, containing who know what. A heart monitor to the left of my bed flutters up and down with my heartbeat. My hand reaches up to my hair, brushing it from my face. It's gross and greasy.

How long have I been here?

I motion to Niall the universal symbol for 'phone'.

"You want your phone?" He says.

I nod.

He gets up and walks to the other side of the room, grabbing my phone from a haphazard pile of my belongings. That must be all he thought to bring from home.

How long have I been here?  

I type into my notes when he hands the phone to me.

"How long?" He pauses, thinking. "6 days, I think."

Six days? I've been out for six whole days?

I look down at my phone. Thirteen missed calls- ten of them from Sean and three from my mum. Twenty-six texts- from the same people. There's a few random Instagram notifications and Snapchats, but nothing from Harry.

My heart sinks. If it's been six days he must have had to leave for New York already. He's been gone for a while. Still, not a single message.

Where's Harry?  

I type, turning the phone so Niall can read it.

"Harry? Gone. I don't know where."

It takes everything inside me to keep my eyes from welling up with tears.

"He left this for you though." He says, grabbing a folded note from the table next to my hospital bed.

I unfold it quickly, my eyes soaking in the familiar script of his handwriting.

"Aideen. I can't do this to you. I'm sorry. All my love, H."

I can't do this to you.

I'm sorry.

This time I can't stop the tears from streaming down my cheeks.