As soon as the nurse rushed out of my cubicle, I struggled to sit up, still really buzzed from the pain in my skull. Putting my hands on the side of the bed and then using the curtains for support, I balanced myself until I felt a little stability.
I pulled aside the curtains, focusing on the bed where my brother was motionlessly lying. "Harry," I said almost in a whisper. I barely heard it myself as I walked slowly to his side.
When I saw him, I could almost imagine the excruciating pain he was in. I felt my heart squeeze in pain, not because of my injuries, but due to his condition. I felt he did not deserve what happened to him. I was the reason for this. If he did not come to save me, then he would not be in this condition.
As soon as I stopped beside his bed, I carefully touched his hand, covered with bruises. "Harry," I uttered softly, unable to say more.
