Magnolia in May [H.S]

Part sixty-seven

"But oh, how it feels so real."

"Lying here, with no one near,"
"Only you and you can't hear me."

"When I say softly, slowly,"

"Hold me closer, tiny dancer,"

I hope y'all are stronger than me because I shed tears writing this chapter. I'm sorry for the pain this part might cause, I love you all <3

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Harry

I blinked my eyes in confusion, staring blankly at the frumpy piece of fabric slumped in front. Her red converse swayed, dangling from the coddling wooden swing. They looked wrecked- more than normal like she'd gone on a hike with the shoes.

She looks up at me, in the dark I can barely see the features on her face. A sort of coldness percolated, rippling in the unexplained presence. Sitting ahead of me like a silhouette of the darkness. 

Her squeezed together frame drowned in a hoodie, suffocating her while pieces of hair peeked out the sides. With the size, It looked like one of mine. A faded hard-seeing logo on the front. Something about her was off, in the brief moment I gathered that. The vivaciousness that flourished off her on the daily had been replaced with a barren shell of fleece and hoodie strings. 

My heart sunk to the bottom of my chest, resorting to the worst of the worst. I regain my thoughts in silence, trying to understand what the hell was going on. How did she get here? Her car isn't anywhere to be seen.

Meg sighs disquietly, deafening the whim-abundant silence. "You moved the key." She whispers under her breath, an underlying spout of annoyance flows from the plump lips. From afar I have to use brainpower to piece her words into a sentence. Taking notes on the aspect of her being.

The words settle, and I'm left with a handful of confusion. I close the distance, leaving the hunk of metal to examine her further. Standing right in front of Meg on the swing, her head hangs - showing only strands of hair. 

"What?" I mumble out like a reflex, reaching down to grab her hands. They- like the rest of her are swallowed in my hoodie, creating soft fabric-like paws. Under them, her skin is freezing, cold to the touch. 

She huffs, puffing her lips. Or I assumed so considering I could barely see her face.

"The key— you moved it." She gestures to the mat by the front door, pointing firmly. I notice the stiff material is turned over, and there's no key to be found.

I ignore the words, honing in on the obscurity of the situation. What is going on?

"Meg, how did you get here? Did Indie drop you off?"

"No, she's working... I walked." My brows furrow right as I pick up the noticeable slur to her words. She fumbled over the end of her statement, instantly drawing suspicion. Not only was that unnerving but the meaning of the words themselves, she walked here? From where- the resort- I sure hope not.

"Niall's home, you could've knocked."

"I didn't wanna wake him." She mutters.

I peer down at her with a tracking gaze, intention to understand the situation better. Upon investigation I see things sitting beside her on the bench, what looked like a bag. Clutter and miscellaneous objects to my sleep-deprived mind I couldn't pick out.  My hand strays from her cold fingers, reaching to the items beside her slumped body. Once the texture of them steep in I narrow my eyes at her.