Magnolia in May [H.S]

Part eighty-three.

Harry

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Cold.

It's so unbearably freezing. I couldn't gather the energy to get out of bed and turn the heat on. Fixating lifelessly on the falling flurries athwart the window pane. Inch by inch they sunk, falling carelessly in the will of the wind, slow, cathartic.

Trees swayed, dancing on their own in the wind. A dusted baked good.

The tips of my toes shivered numb, my busted broken lip, the side of my face that suffered the consequences of my actions. All the living cells in my body were paralyzed in a desolate frozen state. As If the thundering clouds above knew, and matched it to a T. Driving me deeper into that dark, lax state of being I clung to dearly. 

The only thing occupying me was the lingering taste of liquor on the tip of my tongue, leftover from last night. And some fresh from the gulps I'd been throwing back, a near-empty bottle of vodka sat like a silhouette on the bedside table. Screaming at me to drown my sorrows by getting absolutely piss drunk.

Me-oh-my Harry Styles aren't you a pathetic sack of shit?

I seeped deep into the mattress, fluttering my lashes at the bright grey light illuminated from the thick sliding door, curtains parted to the sides. A soft dusting of snow encouraged the glaring glow. Beaming right into my sore, tired swollen eyes. Unfortunately, you can't kick the shit out of mother nature for minor inconveniences. Who knew?

The second the flurries changed swiftly to drips I fell deeper into my desired funk, the kicker for tumbling down a rabbit hole of self-loathing. A heavy brick of feeling on my chest, lingering up the back of my throat.

Crippling pressure to crawl up in a ball, listen as quiet whimpers faded into sobs. I could cry and cry until I feel dizzy, but what help would that do? 

And all the things you did, was it worth it in the end Harry?

Briefly, I'd manage to wither down, floating away into some spackled darkness. Invading trickles of dust, soon to be the hasty equivalent of abeyance. Some part of me would relax enough to fall asleep, it didn't last long. Stolen back into my body, golden honey-dripping eyes. Peach bellini lips, coral, a faint mole off to the side. That fucking laugh of hers.

Figures, the guilt caused by trying to paint her face in my head was simply addicting. Recreating reality as many times over as I'd please, surprised when I'd end up more upset than before. What do you expect, you useless sack of shit?

That gruesome hatred directed inner, recounting on foes I could've easily avoided. Little white lies I didn't even bring up yesterday, while she stared at me. Suspended by metal bars, watering tear ducts, mouthfuls of festered trouble.