The next week went by painfully slow, my mom showed up every other day to check up on me, but the days that I was alone were the worst. It drew all the more attention to the wound in my side, the needles in my arm, and the boredom of being stuck in this plain room every day. Emily would bring me my homework, but leave right after. I knew hospitals freaked her out, but the least she could do is stay for a few minutes. I finished all my homework, due to the time on my hands, no Community Service, or my job at the bookstore.

Harry didn't come back, and I haven't heard from him, but I chose not to worry.

Just kidding.

It was getting harder and harder for me to breath, every passing second, the weight in my chest grew bigger, heavier. All I could see was the heartbroken look he gave me as he left the hospital room. He was in tears when I didn't talk to him, and now I completely pushed him out of my life.

I wondered what he was going through.

Was he up all night thinking of me, wishing he could have convinced me to listen?

Or had he moved on? Had he found another girl to love?

I couldn't bring myself to look in a mirror, knowing that I probably had puffy, bloodshot eyes, tangled hair, and the hideous bandage still wrapped around my head. The bandage was changed each day, of course, along with the one around my waist.

After I passed out, Jace must have pulled out a gun and shot me. Thankfully, the bullet missed my vital organs, and because of how close he was to me, the bullet passed right through.

I was given loads of meds each day, preventing infection, painkillers, stuff to help me sleep, and to eat.

Speaking of sleeping and eating... I rarely sleep, and when I do, the nightmares seem to squirm there way into the most innocent dreams. I can't eat, I had no appetite whatsoever, I was now 92 pounds, and I wasn't proud of it. I was starting to look anorexic, my ribs sticking out so far you can count each one, my hip bones protruding noticeably, and you could pour water on my stomach without any of it dripping off. Believe me, I tried.

The extra skin on my arms, face, and legs had gone, as if someone had carved the flesh away from the bone, only leaving one small layer.

My skin had paled as well, leaving me looking like a sick child.

I. Looked. Horrible.

I did have some good news, though. I could come home tonight. They said that as long as I took the meds, I would be free to go. This was amazing news, because I was dying to get out of here.

---

***HARRY'S POV***

The days without Meadow were starting to wear me down. The day that she kicked me out of her hospital room, I came home and broke. Turned into a complete mess. I was sobbing, and even punched a few holes in the walls.

Niall tried to calm me down of course, but I ended up almost putting a hole in him.

When I fell asleep at night, I dreamed of Meadow. Imagined how she was doing, wondering if she was recovering.

I wanted so badly to see her again, to comfort her during her nightmares.

Did she still have the nightmares?

Maybe, since I was gone, her nightmares stopped coming.

Maybe, she was alright. She may even be out of the hospital by now. It has been a week.

That night, I had a dream. A dream worse than any I'd ever experienced.

'Where's your boyfriend now, little girl?' It was Jace, attacking MY Meadow. She was up against the wall, pinned by that son of a bitch.

'Leave her alone!' I screamed, but Jace didn't look up, and neither did Meadow, who was now lying on the ground.

'Listen! I said leave her alone! Get off of her!' I wanted so badly to run to her, to rescue her from the attacker. My feet wouldn't budge.

All I could do was stand and watch as my girl was beaten unconscious.

I had woken up, sitting up almost immediately, my whole body covered in sweat. My hands shook, my breathing gradually slowing down to a normal rate.

---

***MEADOW'S POV***

Once I finally arrived back at home, the first place I went to was the book room. All of my books were still in their place, my couch bed still how I left it.

Then I broke.

~~~

Last night was terrible. All I could do was cry, and cry, and cry. I sobbed into the pillow, clutching it tightly to my chest as the shattered pieces of my heart flew around in my ribcage.

I got tear drops all over the pages of the book I was reading, the book that Harry picked up when I first showed him this room. Pathetic, I know.

He said something about this book being the first book he actually liked, when he read it back in primary school. 'The Picture Of Dorian Gray' by Oscar Wilde, was the name. The story was about a painting, painted by a man named Basil, and cursed by the man named Dorian. The reason he cursed it was because, when he was older, it would only remind him of the beauty he'd lost, and he was angry. Dorian pledged his soul to the painting, in exchange to be forever young and beautiful. Personally, I couldn't believe that Harry would be able to understand Literature at that young age, but he had always amazed me.

I cried myself to sleep last night, clutching that damned, tear-stained pillow.

No nightmares, but they might as well have been. Memories of Harry danced through my mind, our first kiss to our first fight.