The Auction Sequel


6. Room 406

"Harry Edward Styles. Room 406, on the third floor- Ward eight." A simple yet friendly enough receptionist said, explaining to me in a simple manner where Harry was situated, a small smile stationary on her lips.

I bit my soft lips, wondering whether I was making the right decision by doing this. Was my whole entire life about to flip upside down- again? Because if that was the case, then I couldn't go through that again. Despite my head and it's understandable interjections, my feet carried me up the gone- off white stairs that would eventually lead to the third floor. I knew, from the moment my foot took the first step- one that felt like a leap- that this experience would be etched into my conscience for a long while. As I made it to the third floor, I noticed it was a floor was dedicated to dealing with the problems that the two previous floors dealt with separately. It was a place dedicated to physically and mentally sick patients, so to speak. My heart dropped in my chest, plunging into my stomach- which felt empty and hollow. Bile rose in the back of my throat. It really was bad. 

Soon, as I approached Ward Eight, a small signpost stuck to a chipped magnolia wall caught my attention. It read, 

"Diagnosed Depression and Suicidal Behaviour,"  My mind was a blur, dark spots forming in the corners of my eyes. My whole body was in a state of temporary paralysis, I couldn't even think straight. I was slowly breaking from the inside out, had I caused Harry this much pain? To the point where- to the point where- where he'd- do something like this? Even my conscience stammered, I didn't trust my voice as my mouth opened and cracked closed dryly before getting a chance to scream. I felt like a black fog had swallowed my entire being, coating my lungs in a thick layer of inescapable tar, dampening every good thing I had ever accomplished in life. My whole world came crashing down. I pictured Harry's frail, weak state and trembled in fear. What if he hated me? What if he never wanted to see me again? I would not think twice before dismissing someone- in a heartbeat- who'd put me through this much pain, to this extent. I needed to reassure him, I needed him to know that everything was going to be okay and that I was here now. But, could I be there for him in the way that he wanted and needed me to be? I couldn't just abandon my life ... Was I going to fuck up his mindset even more- by walking into his life and torturing him with the fact that I would never be his? 

"Excuse me Ma'am. Are you okay, there? You look lost." A friendly member of staff approached me, although her otherwise friendly demeanour seemed bleak to me- my mind soully focused on the fact that Harry was in this much distress. I nodded, as she trudged away awkwardly, a sour expression on her once happy face. Then, I pictured Harry's once joyous face, and I could only imagine what it had morphed into. 

Room 404. 405. 406. It dawned on me, as my feet carried me to face the outside of Harry's white washed door. I sucked in a breath: I had to appear strong, for him. I couldn't possibly break down- make him feel worse than he already did. This whole entire mess was all my fault, I owed him at least that. 

Without knocking, I stumbled into the room, already dazed. My eyes scanned the particularly small place before I heard a gentle whimper coming from the adjoining room, which I imagined to be a toilet. Instinctively, I ran over to the door, pushing it open. My eyes went wide at the sight. The boy I had once loved was strewn limp on the floor, clutching his stomach, his hospital- provided robes dulling the usually radiant colour of his eyes. He was attached to a drip, he groaned in pain, his gaze still locked solemnly on the floor. I felt the seams of my heart rip, thread by thread. My knees weakened, and I felt sick to my stomach. I was experiencing feelings I couldn't even begin to explain. 

"Nurse Sara, it's not what it looks like, I swear- I had a bad reaction to the medica-" Harry rushed, his voice faltering the second he glanced up groggily and his eyes locked with mine. "L- Li- L." Harry stuttered, his breaths shortening the more he spoke, tears brimming his eyes almost immediately, gracing them with a glossy coat. I tried to calm him desperately, by rubbing my hand over the exposed skin on his shoulder, though it only made his erratic breathing worsen. He stared up at me in pure horror. I sobbed, my strong façade crumbling,

"Harry, I'm so sorry." 


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