Magnolia in May [H.S]

Part seventy

"But it was not your fault but mine,"

"And it was your heart on the line."
"I really fucked it up this time."

"Didn't I, my dear?"

Vote and comment my loves <3

Harry

-- -

The urge to break something was deafening, consuming my every thought. A hefty influence of alcohol paired quite well with my anger. Drowning my sorrows in the expensive bottle of whiskey I stole from Meg's father, everything about this was pathetic. Drinking myself into a glossy stumbling state, falling in the obscene amount of self-pity my mind configured. The liquor was just the tip of the iceberg - I knew if I indulged any further I would result in puking my guts up.

It wasn't just anger, it was hurt. And as much as I didn't want to admit it- fright. I was shaking in my skin thinking about what happened.

Meg left me.

I couldn't comprehend anything surging through my fickle little skull, my insolence being at the top. Those sloppy, drunk and insecure words could've just ruined all of it. She packed her bag and left, driving off into the woods. A blink of an eye missed her, the yellow glinting bug surging into the foliage. It wasn't just the scary idea of her leaving me, or that Meg now hated my guts - it was that fact she drove off drunk - a generous amount of liquor in her stomach. That notion clouded over all the tiresome self-destruction. I couldn't feel mad or even loathsome when I was spending all my energy worrying.

And yet I managed to engulf self-pity, rendering over each and every spiteful thing that spewed from my mouth. Coming to terms that I seriously fucked up. Beyond fucked up.

I knew that just by the expression on her flawless face, my words cut deep - struck heartstrings. And the fucked up thing is in the moment I wanted them too, I wanted her to feel my pathetic hurt. But now all I desired was to take it back, plead on my knees for forgiveness until they bleed.

I thought about getting in my car and driving to Indie's apartment looking for her, stumbling over my alcohol-induced limbs while an angel glared daggers at me in resentment. Spill my guts, show her how lovesick she had me. But I knew I couldn't properly apologize if I got myself killed in a crash. Then what would she think of me?

I'd gone through all the stages of grief within these four or so hours. First, in shock, I even had the nerve to say such heinous things, flabbergasted I thought it was a rational idea blurting them out like a non-filtered idiot.

Next, I threw a tantrum like a disgruntled toddler. Pissed at Meg for the shit that happened tonight, all of it. Especially the things out of her control. How amazing the night was before we went to her folks - but not as much as myself.

The rage spilled in a contagious whirlwind, although the liquor represented tranquility it promoted my toxic behavior. Wanting more than anything to knock the lights out of anyone, I had a list - a long continuously growing list. Starting with that beady-eyed cuntbag Florian. If it weren't for Meg he'd be in shreds right now, face down on the side of the road in a ditch. And the thought of ending up in prison didn't change my murderous endeavors. I knew how stupid that sounds... Well, at least then I could spend time with Finch.

That lasted too long, then the bargaining and depressive stage kicked in, I found myself calling Meg's cell over and over. Some much that I'm sure I'd run my bill out. I hadn't a clue why I was surprised when she didn't answer, leaving me to press that call button like a tired game of whack-a-mole. The fact she didn't click it just warranted more calls, letting the phone buzz for minutes on end.