Magnolia in May [H.S]

Part seventy-two

"Not really sure how to feel about it."
"Something in the way you move,"
"Makes me feel like I can't live without you"
"It takes me all the way,"

"I want you to stay,"

"The reason I hold on,"

"'Cause I need this hole gone,"

"Funny you're the broken one but I'm the only one who needed saving,"

"'Cause when you never see the light, it's hard to know which one of us is caving,"

Magnolia

-- -

Silky, soft, gritty velvet. Nuzzled so steadily against the sore purpled skin. My body's entirety seeps deep into the plush cushions holding up the universe. Olive green sofa swallowed me whole, a bit eclectic for the majority's taste. It didn't matter when it was the only thing that could translate to comfort. I never did like the feeling of velvet, how intrusive it persisted. It couldn't choose between wanting to be warm and cuddly, as well as rough and prickly to the touch. A sand-paper tongue. I doused in it under me, fixating on each malleable fabric strand, tickling the skin of my aching cheeks, down to my bare asleep arm, my toes curled against the wooden arch of the armrest.

I and this awful uncomfortable sofa coexisted, feeding off each other's barrenness. 

I was vigilant in the most aloof way, I can feel the drowsiness kicking in. Lids of my eyes growing heavier by the minute, but each time they began to rest they shot back open at the sight of lightning crackling through the curtains. For a split second, bestowing the sky with a glow, showcasing the swaying pine trees in the backyard. A performance of mother nature, quiet pitter-patter wasn't enough. She needed to roar with thunder, display such emotion through chaos unfolding outside the broad bay window.

The rain was medicine, not high enough dose I'm afraid. Or maybe it was no medicine at all, it certainly didn't help the crying state of my body - figuratively. My tear ducts were as desolate as the Sahara desert. I'd given what was left of them to Harry, the minute he shut the door on me. Speeding off in his car, leaving me stranded, alone, scared, hoping by the will of God that he'd just come back. Hold me, even if I was so angry at him I could explode any minute.

But this was payback, right? I left him, even when he begged. I couldn't ask him to stay after I'd done the same thing.

I could've been sleazy, told him I loved him. Begged him to stay. My heart wanted that - to spill my guts like some desperate foul. But my head argued otherwise, and it fought over my heart. Reigning in dictatorial beliefs that said I'd never let him know I loved him. 

I tried to focus, fixate on anything other than the nightmares playing out in my head. Those deep-blue eyes, filled with rage, pouring over. And I suffered the backlash. My gut screamed at me the second he walked into the lounge, 'run' it said. Over and over, blaring red alarms as he began to question me. Stumbling over the seething blaze, statements I didn't understand, boggled. As much as I wanted to feel brave, remain a rock-solid composure - I crippled into fear. Throwing back fighting hands was useless, I wasn't nearly as strong.

That was hard to grasp, the whole situation was a night-terror playing out. Repeating, and when I'd slightly forget, the numbed condition of my body reminded me. I didn't dare look in the mirror, disgusted at the sight staring back at me.

A long, drawn-out cry was warranted, and I had; since earlier. Something in me couldn't anymore.

-- -