Magnolia in May [H.S]

Part seventy-eight

First I want to say thank you guys so much for 30k, it means the world to me. I love you all *bear hugs*

Magnolia

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Yesterday morning...

The tangent smell of cigarette smoke loomed my nostrils, in the heap of the cold air, it stood still. Lingering in the small space between us, I watched his lips leave the filter, inhaling briefly before smoke trickled out the space.

I willingly take the cigarette from between his tattooed fingers, stolen at the sight of the numbers before bringing it up to my parted lips. I stay paused, in a longing state of wait.

My head throbbed from little to no sleep, and I was heavily feeling the effect of my many drinks from last night. On top of that, I was sore, Harry was practically dead in bed after I'd pegged, only to hours later wake up and ride him. There was a sense of intense emotional strain in the air, some tinge of it was festering between Harry and me. It gave me the worst feeling, deep in my gut, as if it was a sort of prediction for the future. Or more intently and warning.

I jump back into my body as his hand grazes mine, gesturing for the cigarette. Quickly, I hand it back, crossing my arms snug around my body to deflect the cold.

A burst of water vapor slings through his mouth, "We're gonna have to postpone it, it's too risky right now... Wait till after Regionals, then drop it. Hope it catches traction." I pick out the hesitation between his raspy words, as I know it a sour glaze appears on my features.

Is he kidding? After Regionals. I have to wait a month or more. I should've known the second he blew my cell up with calls something had gone wrong since Easter. He had receipts and more than enough proof.

"After regionals? Are you serious? I can't wait that long Louis... If he places- then what?" Then I'm fucking screwed and there's no point to this.

Louis paces the cigarette, slow and meaningful puffs. So very different from the way I liked to smoke. Maybe it had some deeper psycho-analyzing-worth meaning.

"It's more ideal if he doesn't place, but either way it's going to happen." His composure almost frightens me, then again he doesn't know how this situation affects me firsthand. So he wouldn't understand why it's detrimental.

"You realize how suspicious that's gonna look- if he does place? Stuff comes out about a new-coming athlete after he wins silver or whatever at Regionals. It looks fake— like we're just doing it to ruin his career." I rant, picking and twisting my nose ring. My eyes leave the bright blue staring back at me, tracing over the dusted mountains. A vast array of trees decorating the sides of the slopes like green curtains, and down below skated ants on the huge open rink.

Brunch on a rooftop, life couldn't be better. Except I have migraine, I'm sore as fuck, and my lifes' going to shit before my very eyes.

I just want to be in Harry's arms right now, and after his freakout last night I'm sure he wanted the same thing.

"Cause we are, the only difference is it isn't fake, once the cheating allegations come out he'll be banned from the comps." Louis barters, and it's clear he's trying to defuse my sudden urge for an outburst. Rightfully, he was the last person to be mad at now.

He was right, so why didn't I feel better?

I'm stuck in place, simply glued to the floor. I thought this was going to provide me some sort of closure. And instead, I'm staring at the plowed snow, wishing I was anywhere else in the world but here. That I was anyone else. I'd probably find a way to bring my life to shit, even without outside sources.