Magnolia in May [H.S]

Part seventy-three

"She's a Killer Queen,"
"Gunpowder, gelatine,"

"Dynamite with a laser beam,"
"Guaranteed to blow your mind,"
"Anytime."

"Recommended at the price,"
"Insatiable an appetite,"

"Wanna try?"

Harry

-- -

I kick back in the booth, stringing my arm around the red cushion. Rory furrows his brows in response to what I just said, staring at the table for a reaction larger than the one he gave me.

"You were just gonna murder him... in cold blood." He says it is the most undermining way known to man, pursing his lips in sarcasm. Honestly, what did I expect? I sound like an idiot raving to his best friend about his trials and tribulations. And evidently- I was.

"Don't be an ass," I fire back out of defense, bringing my drink up to my lips.

I stare past Rory sitting in front of me, lost in the bright smile that overcomes Meg's lips. Leaning against the jukebox with Indie and Niall on the far side of the restaurant. Looking so mindlessly stunning, it was second nature to her- like skating. Consumed in the sight, because it was rare seeing her be so outwardly happy- especially now that her face is covered in bruises. Even if those said bruises were slight and fading, under a layer of makeup, a peeking reminder. She hated them, hiding the purple blemishes away, but now her sunglasses were holding all her hair up. Showing me the glory that was Meg Finnely.

My heart swelled, not only because of her in general but because this seemed like a sort of progress. Being out with Indie and the rest of us. Considering she's spent this past week lying in bed, barely eating or talking to me. Hiding under a mound of blankets, flicking between emotionless and on the off moment sniffles arising from her timid lips. But each time she'd see me in the room she'd turn it off, putting on a front to try and trick me into thinking she was okay. And I saw right through her act but had no idea how to help. Hesitant to even lie next to her in fear she might be scared of me, or not want that kind of affection right now. I didn't force her, keeping a distance, but I'd jump at her words of affirmation. Indulging in the times she'd want that physical consolation. That was all I could do, linger in hugs, kiss over her sore face, bring the food to her in bed and stay in cuddles for as long as I could.

Coaxing her out of bed to at least sit in the window. 

"Bonjour magnifique... jusqu'à, jusqu'à. Le soleil manque votre visage." I pick her out of bed, fluffing the comforter over her head. She flutters her lashes at me, batting them in a tired charming manner. The bedhead shows rogue pieces of her hair strung, peeking out of the blanket upon her flushing cheeks.

That smile. The one I missed was back. Completing me altogether. 

"Mmm... Plus que la lune?" Her eyes crinkle in exhausted joy, the French nothings whisper out in a raspy morning voice.

"Plus que la lune et les étoiles réunies,"

I'd never really understood how to hone into my emotions for comforting other people, it was something I struggled with a lot. Wanting more than anything to feel sad for her, and I did but that was heavily overshadowed by my anger; at myself for not being there when I should've, and Florian for stealing that smile from her divine lips.

I hoped she knew I was there for her. Even if I didn't say it outright.

That underlying rage lingers like the added purple color to her face, and each time I'm reminded of it. Or more importantly, reminded that I didn't get to make Florian pay for what he did. After all that, I couldn't put the asshole in a wheelchair.