SONG(s) FOR CHAPTER:

♬ Iris by Goo Goo Dolls ♬

♬ Tomorrow Never Dies by 5 Seconds of Summer ♬

CHAPTER 19

❀ GRACE WALKER ❀

I WAS STILL stuck in awe at the fight that had just ended when Evan and Frank jumped up to cheer together. I would've thought the scene of them bonding over something after last night was miraculous-beautiful, even.

But no one else was still watching the television like I was. The camera that followed Harry as he gaped down at the man on the ring floor. His eyes were filled with a terror I'd never seen in him. You could just barely make out Jacob and Josh beside him, trying to pull him along. He won, after all. There was no reason for him to still be standing there.

The camera also caught Harry walking up to the man now on the gurney afterwards, looking to be rambling and sweat was visible on his forehead, even through the screen. But his opponent had laughed and waved him away, looking as if they were best friends rather than enemies by default.

When the commercial came on, I was still in a bit of a daze. I couldn't get over how... angry Harry appeared while fighting. And yes, I understood that that was the concept of the conference, but it still seemed off to me somehow.

Frank made a comment about how Evan and him should watch another match together, and get to know each other like they should have before. Evan looked like he could've cried, but obviously didn't. He glanced over to me, a bright smile on his face that I couldn't resist but to give a small smile in return.

"Your boyfriend," Frank said, pointing at me with his own grin, "a true champion."

"I've never seen anyone get knocked out so fast," Evan rambled. "And did you see how Harry took that punch like it was a slap?"

Frank was nodding ecstatically and I excused myself, heading to the bathroom. Still, the hype of violence was beyond my knowledge. Of course I was proud of him, but...

That's when my phone rang, while I was in the middle of walking up the stairs. I pulled it out my back pocket, noticed Jacob's caller ID, and clicked talk.

"Hello?"

He was breathing so rapidly and uneven, he must've been crying. "Oh my God-oh my God. Grace, you need to... you need..."

"Jacob, what is it?" I was worried now. My voice must have gave me away because Frank and Evan had stopped their cheering to stare at me.

"It's Harry," Jacob cried. "I don't know why he did it but-"

"What did he do?" I hated to sound pushy when Jacob was clearly a mess, but I needed answers if I were to be beneficial.

"He stepped in front of a car, Grace!" he shouted, as if mad at me but it was clear he was merely frantic.

Jaw falling agape, heart freezing in place, I already feel a lump in my throat. Thankfully, Jacob continued before I could muster any words to leave my lips.

"He's alive and they're taking him to the hospital but... it looked like he did it on purpose, and I don't know why, and I'm scared, and I'm mad because he's putting me through this crap, and-"

"Jacob, Jacob, breathe." But I was choking up myself, already scurrying up the stairs to grab my suitcase. "I'm coming, okay?" I sounded a lot calmer than I felt.

"God, Grace-" he sounded so pitiful, I ached for him and me simultaneously "-please hurry up."

I didn't bother hanging up the phone, just tossed it onto the bed so I could shove the few clothes strewn on the floor back into the suitcase. I fumbled to zip it up, my hands shaking. A million thoughts ran through my mind at once and the air seemed thinner.

Had it really been a suicide attempt? Why? He just won a fight. Shouldn't he be celebrating? Did he lie to me yesterday (like I thought he was) when he told me he was fine? Did his depression get worse? Is he keeping more secrets from me even after I told him I couldn't help unless he spilled the beans? Did he want to leave his disorders behind or everything?

I never was a patient person. Always anxious. Worry, worry, worry. All the time. That's me. That's what I was doing.

Hardly noticing Evan's presence in the room, I pulled the suitcase off the bed and nearly ran right into him with my haste to leave. I would call a cab, or I would walk if I had to. I just needed to be there with him. I needed to.

"Grace, why are you crying? What's going on?" The concern in his voice made me cry harder for some reason.

"I have to go, Evan. I-I'm sorry, but I really need to..." I couldn't finish my sentence, dragging my hands through my hair to try and soothe the anxiety filling me like helium does a balloon. Any moment, I was sure to burst.

"Hey, hey." He put his hands on my shoulders. "I'll take you wherever you need to go, okay?"

I nodded helplessly, letting him carry my suitcase down the stairs and I hurried after him. Frank was still cautiously watching the stairs as we descended, and I couldn't tell if it were mere curiosity or a hint of concern that crossed his features. Either way, he asked no questions and I was thankful for that.

Eliza did, however, emerging from the kitchen. "What's with the hurry to leave?"

Evan's mom and Paige were behind her, leading me to presume Todd was outside. Paige frowned and said, "We're supposed to be friends. We can't be friends if you leave now."

Wiping the tears from my cheeks as quickly as I could, I knelt down in front of her while Evan talked to his mom and Eliza. "I know, Paige. We are friends, okay? But I have some... big kid problems right now."

She huffed, folding her small arms across her chest. "I'm a big kid, too. Why can't I know?"

I tucked her hair behind her ear and gave her a small smile. "I'll see you again soon, okay? I promise."

"Pinky promise," she said, sticking out her small finger.

I managed a chuckle and locked my pinky with hers for a brief moment, then said goodbye to everyone. Shockingly enough, I got an invite back. I guess when you find out your son is an abusive coward, you start to lighten up with sympathy for the victims and friends of said victims.

Or maybe they actually turned out to like me. Who knows.

Evan quickly put my suitcase in the backseat, then started the car and spun out the dirt driveway with haste. He glanced at me a few times, but I was focusing on my fingers or the window or the way my leg wouldn't stop bouncing in it's nervous habit.

"Back to Baltimore?"

I nodded, taking in a shaky breath. "The hospital."

He raised his eyebrows, but-bless his heart-asked no questions.

Almost two hours after driving down nearly barren highways close to midnight, the hospital came into view. I didn't know what to expect when I walked inside, but I was an intern and surely someone would enlighten me on what was going on. Maybe Doctor Miles would be on call and he would be tending to Harry.

"Do you want me to wait for you and drive you home?" asked Evan as I got my suitcase out the backseat.

I gave him a soft smile. "No, thanks. Go back to your mom and sister, Evan. If you need anything, you can call me, okay?"

"Same goes for you."

"Got it."

"I hope everything is all right," he said before giving me one last smile and driving away.

I felt guilty then, realizing he just drove me two hours only to drive back by himself. I made a mental note to buy him something as a thank you, or just repeatedly say thank you over and over. I had a tendency for redundancy when expressing my gratitude.

Wishing I didn't have the suitcase with me, I tugged it behind me like I was on a serious mission. To a certain degree, I was. The hospital was fairly empty at this time of day. Was it considered morning or night since it was midnight? Such an odd thing that has never crossed my mind before, and it definitely had no place distracting me now.

Hurrying to the receptionist, I began speaking before I reached the desk. "Harry Styles was admitted a couple of hours ago. Can you tell me what room he's in, please?"

The receptionist looked up at me, chewed her gum, then asked, "You are?"

I gritted my teeth. "His girlfriend. And I would really appreciate it if you told me where he was."

She rolled her eyes, but looked to the computer nonetheless and clicked a few times. "Room 21B in the Psychiatric Center."

I hardly processed the word Psychiatric at that specific time.

I gave her a quick thank you before catching the elevator and riding to the fifth floor, which I was sure held the psychiatric wing. I'd never been in that direction before, but there was a first time for everything. I just wished that first time wasn't to see my boyfriend who maybe-purposely stepped in front of a moving vehicle.

Practically running down the hall with my suitcase still rushing behind me, I asked a nice nurse which way the Psychiatric Center was located. It was at the end of the hall, sealed off in a completely different wing. I walked through three doors and one security locked door just to get there. (Convincing the night security guard to let me through was like wrestling with an alligator, honestly. He bit my head off with every question he could think of.)

Jacob was in the waiting room, head in his hands until he heard my shoes gliding against the tile and my suitcase's wheels. He jerked up, his cheeks red and eyes puffy, but the relief on his face when seeing me did it's justice to hide the fact that he'd been crying.

"Oh, thank God," he muttered into my shoulder, squeezing me tight. "They moved him over in this wing about an hour ago and I don't know why and-"

"Breathe, remember?"

He sucked in a sharp breath and nodded, but his eyes were still petrified. "Grace," he whispered, "what's wrong with him?"

I squeezed his shoulder. "It's not my place to tell you, now is it? Plus, even I don't know all of it."

Jacob pursed his lips yet nodded again.

"Has a doctor come out or anything?" I asked.

He folded his arms as if he were shivering. "The one in the hospital wing told me it was a mental breakdown, but that's it. Then they sent him over here and he's got..." Tears welled in his eyes again. "He's got cuts all over him, Grace, from the pavement. A part of his right arm's skin got scraped off and..." He shook his head.

I pulled him in for another hug, trying to keep myself composed for Jacob's sake. I couldn't imagine what scene he had probably witnessed and how long it would scar him. I couldn't imagine witnessing anything near that terrifying, and if I'm honest, I think Jacob was doing a lot better than I would have, if it were me. Hysterically crying or not, he's stronger than he looked.

After a few moments, we planted ourselves in the waiting chairs. Apparently, visiting hours ended at midnight and I had somehow just made the cutoff. We weren't even supposed to be here, but no one came to kick us out and we didn't dare try and chance it by bringing attention to ourselves.

My hands were still shaking, increasingly so when a doctor stepped into the hallway, right in front of the waiting room. He saw us, making my eyes widen and my heart stop. Was he hear for bad news, good news, or simply to tell us to get out and go home?

Fortunately, he was nicer than his stern expression led me to believe.

"Visiting hours are over," he said softly. "Who're you here for?"

"Harry Styles," Jacob said, voice wavering.

The doctor nodded, smiled some. "Lucky for you, I'm the on-call doctor tonight. I can assure you, he's definitely alive."

I let out a breath and Jacob asked, "Yes, but is he okay?"

Looking back and forth between us worriedly, the doctor's voice lowered to a whisper. "He's in a very troubled state right now, I'm afraid. He won't speak or move or eat or anything."

I pressed my cold hand to my forehead as if it would help coo my knotted stomach.

Jacob wouldn't back down. "Let Grace in there, at least. She needs to see him and he needs to see her."

The doctor shook his head sympathetically. "I'm sorry, but I can't let visitors-"

"He'll talk to her," argued Jacob. "It only has to be for five minutes. But I need to know if he's okay and Grace needs to know-and Harry needs to know that he has people that care about him a hell of a lot."

The doctor looked stumped, yet somehow he looked proud. As if he weren't used to seeing someone put up such a fight to see their loved ones. As if he wanted to see said behavior much more often. He looked down the hall as if about to tell us a secret, then looked back at us.

"Agree," he said quietly. "But no more then ten minutes, understood?"

Jacob patted my back as if to jump start me. Truthfully, I had been sitting there submerged in my own thoughts to really process what they were saying. Just because I heard it, doesn't mean I grasped it. A weird concept yet it happened to me almost daily.

I stood, my heart picking up pace a bit. Jacob gave me a smile, said he'd be waiting, and then I followed the doctor down the hall. I knew I wanted to see him, of course I did. But did I want to see him in such a terrorized state? It would be hard to see him in such pain. Yet I also knew I had no choice. He needed me, right? I would always be there whenever he needed me.

"Here you go," said the doctor as we stopped in front of room 21B. "Ten minutes." He gave me a soft smile before walking away.

I mustered all my courage, all my strength, and knocked lightly on the door. I don't know why. I wasn't expecting him to answer and he didn't. So I pushed the door open quietly, stepping inside as if entering a haunted house. I couldn't see him with the corner of the wall jutting out, but then I did.

Sitting on the floor in a hospital gown in the corner, knees to his chest, face buried in them. He was rocking just the slightest, a barely noticeable action that somehow made the whole ordeal worse. Soft sniffles left from his direction, what sounded like mumbling following, though I couldn't be sure.

Then I noticed his arms wrapped around his legs, and how he was digging his nails into his bare calves, scraping them like he had claws.

I sat down in front of him, hating to see him in such a condition. Gently, as if picking a petal off a rose, I grabbed his hands to pull them away so he couldn't harm himself any further. He flinched when our skin made contact, but I squeezed both his hands in mine, holding them as if he were drowning in a lake and this was the only way to save him.

Slowly, he lifted his head and his green eyes locked with mine. I gasped unintentionally upon seeing the slight bruise on his jaw, the cut above his eyebrow and one diagonal across his left cheek. They weren't severe, but they were there. They were reminders that Harry was more fragile than he'd like to ever admit.

"Grace," he breathed, his eyes gleaming as he hurriedly pulling me against his chest. He pressed his face into my hair, held me tightly, and even then, I could feel him shaking.

"What happened, Harry?" I whispered, holding him equally as tight. My hands slid across his back where the gown wasn't tied together, my fingers running over what felt like scars mixed with fresh cuts.

He didn't pull away, didn't bother to attempt speaking. I didn't want to push him, but it was agonizing. The waiting. The not-knowing. The mere thought of Harry attempting to throw everything away.

It took prying just to pull myself away from him, but I kept us close for his sake-and for mine. "You have to talk to me about everything sooner or later," I said softly, my vision blurring. "I can't have another scare like this, Harry. What if you wouldn't have..." But I couldn't bring myself to finish.

He swallowed. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I didn't... I didn't mean to."

"You didn't mean to?" I repeated, as if I hadn't heard. He looked down, blinking quickly and refusing to meet my stare. I placed my finger under his chin and gingerly made him look at me. "What else are you hiding, Harry?"

"I can't tell you."

"Of course you can."

He shook his head, his voice beginning to shake and crack between words. "I'm afraid, Grace."

I had never seen him so vulnerable, and the moment made sure to tear at my heart little by little every second that ticked by. "What are you afraid of?" I asked, as if speaking to a toddler that had woken up from a bad dream. "Afraid of what you'll do?" Did he think he might try to step off a building next?

He shook his head, his own eyes appearing watery.

"Then what?"

I had only ever seen Harry cry once before, and that was terrible enough. But now in the situation with fresh tears rolling down his cheeks, I concluded that this was worse. This was much worse. Watching someone lose their grasp on sanity and hating themselves for it-that was the absolute worse.

I pulled him in again, squeezing him tightly with my chin on his shoulder. His face was buried in my hair again, his next words so quiet, so cautious, that I almost didn't hear them over the sound of both of us crying.

"I'm afraid of what you'll think of me."

(I'm so obsessed with writing this book right now and finding songs for it, y'all don't even know omg. hope you don't mind my constant updating. I'll probably update tomorrow, too, lol. love you lots x

p.s. pardon mistakes because I was too excited and in-the-zone writing this that I didn't bother to edit, oops. forgive me haha)