Magnolia in May [H.S]

Part eighty-one.

^^^

Magnolia

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That ghastly moment of silence before performances was deafening. Waiting, torturous, hair standing up on your eager skin, nail-biting disfavor. That brief moment before thunder starts rumbling in the sky when the clouds roll in, the wind creates a symphony by dancing in the leaves. Something inside of you knows what's to come, not exactly when, just that sensation tingling throughout your blood. The calm before the storm, nerves so counteracted that the meaning of them in the first place seems unattainable.

I found some sort of heaven in such turbulent moments. An underlying insight, so outrageously eerie it refreshed the chaos. Fire fought with more fire. 

I never understood how those quiet, even tranquil instances felt more chaotic than being in the center of a bare rink. Groomed ice under my toes, crowds cheering in adornment. Those felt minuscule to the events leading up, the hours, minutes before my face was shown. Before those fluorescent blinding lights washed out my makeup, glazed my fixated eyes. When I could only drown alone, spiraling in the what if's that taunted my daydreaming. 

My biggest enemy in these said instances was my mind, and its capacity to overthink the littlest of things.

I found that even in big tattooed, warm arms I was putting myself down. Over analyzing each aspect of my routine, remembering the moments I'd fucked up rather than aced it. The second my eyes fluttered back into lucidity. An off-putting feeling lingered in my stomach, something dulcet morning kisses couldn't solve. His lips against my temple, lower back, or shoulder wouldn't aid. It felt numbing, anything but how nurturing the gesture was.

Or had been intended. All intention was out the cracked window. 

It was a looming funk in the pit of my stomach, that disease spread from there to my entire body. Covering in a smog of unnerved tension, kept on my toes.

Harry caught on fast, searching over my eyes to understand. Flicking green drew a keen comb through the mask of confidence I wore so cowardly. He kept intense eye contact, smoothing his lips together before muttering, a raspy buttered voice 'I love you.' I hit right in the heart, past the eerie sensation. 

He made damn sure I wasn't ridiculing, spreading extra needed affection where I needed it. He was gentle, witty like normal. But not even the scarce dimple pop could hide how on edge he was as well. That added to the sour feeling, his overzealous need to make me feel secure.

I appreciated it, but a part of me wished he would just act normal.

Nothing was ever normal between us, always a jumble of cluster-fucking whims and emotions. Maybe that was the problem, we burnt each other out.

The bad taste in my mouth went dry down the back of my throat, I stretched, tracking the eye contact of my coach in the corner. Gesturing at each minuscule movement of my muscles, 'relax' and then 'breathe' as if I'm not shitting myself. She drove hours up here to criticize my stance, picking at my tensed shoulders in judgment while Harry stood to the side. Admiring my jumps off of the ice. He looked beguiled, glittering eyes fixating. A bright dimpled smile paired with the consistent glances.