99

(No Point of View)

May 21st 2018

Harry stumbles through the dingy door of the motel room in his half unbuttoned red flannel shirt, once again still on the high from the line he just took a half hour ago. Elizabeth always hates it when he comes home high. He kicks off his old ratty shoes on the stained carpet and instantly looks around the small two bed bedroom and see his sister nowhere in sight.

"Elizabeth." He tries to pronounce as he looks at the empty room through his bloodshot eyes.

His head spins vividly from the cocaine running through his bloodstream- a feeling he was so familiar with now. His eyes eventually adjust and he sees the washroom door is shut at the far end of the room.

Harry's tall body crashes on his junk of a bed, sprawling out on the musty motel comforters while staring at the ceiling, almost hypnotized. The bed of the motel always felt more comfortable when he was high- everything felt more comfortable when he was high.

Cocaine always did the opposite for Harry, it usually sped people up, but for him it slowed his body down. He would always feel more content when we was high on coke- it was by far the best drug for him. Ecstasy made him too paranoid, heroin was too much work and shrooms never had an effect on him. Cocaine was what made him feel right.

He stared at the ceiling with bloodshot eyes and a relaxed face, enjoying the artificial high that been becoming more and more normal. Harry felt infinite when he was like this- he truly felt like he needed no one in life but himself.

His eyes slowly shut, noticing they were getting heavy but he didn't want to stop it. He new he was drifting off into a sleep but even if he didn't want to- he knew it was inevitable. His hands started to go numb which was usual with him at the point.

His eyes shut and his breathing became more quiet and less bothered.

What felt like a twenty minute rest, turned out to be a two hours sleep. Harry laid emotionless and frozen for two hours- letting the images in his head whither him through his high.

His eyes snapped back open, looking at the same ceiling that now looks more dirty from when he was staring at it earlier. He blinks a few times and feels a overwhelming wave of reality wash over him- signalling he was now sober, and miserable again.

Harry sits his tired body up from the suddenly uncomfortable twin bed, adjusting his eyes to the gross room around him. His eyes narrow to the unmade bed next to his- realizing his sister Elizabeth is still not there. The bathroom door remains shut and he immediately feels his blood run cold. He knows he's been asleep for hours and the fact that she still is in their worries him to an unspeakable extent.

"Elizabeth." He says loud enough for us voice to carry through the small room. He knows she obviously won't respond- but he still expects for the door to open to let him know she's in there.

Harry sits for what feels like the longest ten seconds of his life, waiting to hear any type of movement. He slings his tired legs over the bed and onto the ground- fighting the massive headache that pounds at his temples.

His bare feet shuffle to the bathroom door- immediately pounding his fist on it.

"Elizabeth knock on something to tell me your okay." He says sternly- knowing that's how she always communicates when Harry gets nervous like this.

The room says silent with nothing but the sounds of Harry's breathing, making him worry even more. His fists aged harder on the rustic wooden door and his hand wrapped around the gold dented door handle. As his large hand wrapped around it- he quickly comes to notice it's locked.

"Elizabeth!" He shouts this time, still banging on the door. Harry knew something was wrong because theirs no way it would have taken her this long to communicate back.

Before he knew it, he was repeatedly slamming the side of his body into the door, trying with all his might to break it down. His head pounded and his blood felt ice cold but everything was masked by the adrenaline pumping through his veins- determined to break the old door down. He crashes his body harder and harder against the door, feeling the hinges becoming loose.

Suddenly the door crashes down, making Harry almost stumble through it but catch himself. The minute he bursts into the small bathroom, the cold draft runs up his core- almost feeling like he stepped into a different universe.

There she was, laying lifeless in the dirty once white tub- curled into her side. Harry's chest becomes heavy and his breath leaves his body the second his eyes looks at Elizabeth unresponsive in an empty tub with pills scattered across the floor.

From this moment, everything seems to happen in slow motion in his head. Harry's red eyes stay wide while his arms feel unexpectedly heavy. His chest was pained and tight like someone was sitting on it.

But he knew it was his heart breaking.

He jets to the tub and picks up her still body, pulling her to the ground so she lays in his lap.

"Elizabeth!" He shouts while shaking her body on his crossed lap. He shook her head and shoulders- praying she was okay but deep down knew he was gone.

He kept shaking her, over and over again. His two fingers tried to find a pulse under her jaw but couldn't feel anything but the icy texture of her pale skin.

"Please Elizabeth." He says while his throat hitches and his head pounds rapidly.

He listens for a breath, a movement, anything- but nothing happens. Harry knows he doesn't even have a phone- so calling 911 wasn't an option.

He screamed her name, over and over again- waiting for something he knew wasn't going to happen. Her poor seventeen year old body was soulless; just an empty set of skin and bones now.

Her left sweater pocket had a folded lined piece of paper sticking out of it, catching his eyes instantly. He dives his hand in the pocket and retrieved the paper, unfolding it so it opens to full size. Harry's hands were shaking so hard that he couldn't concentrate fast enough to open it.

He rips open the flimsy paper and sees six big words scribbled on it.

/ harry- dont be afraid to love /

The messy words were burning into Harry's brain like they were meant to follow him for the rest of his life. His hands were still shaking while he reads the only words left from his sister. He never heard the timid girl say a word in his life, but yet, he can still hear her speaking these words in his head.

Harry threw the note in his pocket, stood up with Elizabeth's thin body in his arms and ran. The teenager didn't even put his shoes on before he ran out of the dingy motel room. Harry sprinted like never before, not caring who can see or who tried to stop him.

Once he eventually reached the hospital, his bare feet patted against the cold tiles of the emergency room- the sounds of his screams made all the attention turn to him and doctors rushed to grab the lifeless sister from his arms.

He watches as all the doctors pulled her away, leaving Harry alone in the emergency room.

It wasn't until later when he doctor told him she was too far gone and couldn't be saved that Harry went insane. He screamed and demanded impossible things to the doctors that simply couldn't bring his sister back to life. She was gone, she left him like everyone else did.

He was the outcast, the damaged goods.

He wanted people to understand what it was like to be the disease of the world- what it was like to experience loss and suffering. Elizabeth being pronounced dead was enough to snap the final string holding himself together. She was the only thing keeping him going everyday- the only thing making him believe that their are good people in this world.

But now she's gone.

"I'm sorry Mr. Styles, but you're sister must've got overwhelmed in a malignant fate in order for her to swallow a handful of pain killers. We are going to make sure the police further investigate before we entitle it as a suicide." The clean shaved, more put together doctors says to Harry.

The word malignant burned in Harry's conflicted brain as the doctor spoke to him like he didn't have a care in the world. The word was a word Harry never heard before, a word he didn't know the meaning of.

"W-what does that word mean?" Harry's voice slows down a bit from the fiery rage it was moments ago.

"Malignant? It has different meanings I guess. On a doctoral term it means virulent and infectious. On other terms it could mean something like disposed to cause harm, suffering or distress; showing hatred even." He explains the simple word that has so much surfaced below it.

Malignant.

Now that's a word that could stick...