Magnolia in May [H.S]

Part eighty-four

"If everything could ever be this real forever."

"If anything could ever be this good again."

"Breathe out,"
"So I can breathe you in."

Harry

-- -

The past week was a blur, an alcohol induced blur.

I don't even remember getting back on the private jet to come home, it's as if I woke up from being on autopilot the minute my boots hit the doorframe. Smacked back to reality as pressure rubbed against my jeans, purring lowly amongst the loud concert in my head.

The snowboarding competition went... great, surprising considering my luck. I was so insanely out of it that I couldn't feel the surge of panic in my body. It was present but clung to the background. A fever dream, out of my body watching it all happen in the third person. That was two days after Meg left, and I spent the rest of the time sulking in the hotel. Pacing, ripped out of the sheets by Rory or Niall, just for them to tell me I needed to drink water and eat. Some mum shit I didn't need right now.

I rather spend my time ignoring the buzz of my phone with my head suffocated in the pillows.

That was a fleeting wish — the moment my sensibility threw me on my ass. Being a vengeful dickhead was miles better than a self-loathing one. He's so fucking lucky he wasn't on that jet, or I would have finished the job.

It didn't matter if he had been taken back to Oregon a few days earlier, I was still the center of attention. The hockey fuckhead with a very slippery temper, they just think I kicked his lights out because he was talking shit. They're not all wrong. Anything with a heartbeat on that flying deathtrap looked at me like I had grown another head. Staring me in the eyes as I zoned out. I remember awful bits and pieces, Rory running his mouth about something Indie said as if I give a fuck right now.

All three of us knew that didn't make a difference. She knew.

The smell of home wafted right into my face, bringing a much-needed wake-up call to the aloof quintessence. Quiet, boot soles clamor on the wood flooring, an echo sounding in the broad area. Light pours in from behind me, glowing the room in a yellow beam.

Fixating on the ball of fur circling between my calves, the weight of my bag drops to the floor. I tear the glued state of my shoes from the ground, wandering down the unlit hall. From the apparent barrenness, I knew for certain Meg wasn't here. Do you think she would be? Dick.

Silence engulfed me whole, wishing at this moment that Niall came home with me instead of kickin' it with Rory. I supposed the 'space' that he wanted to give me was too much, overbearing. I would rather be smothered in attention right about now, focus on anything other than the abundance of memories coursing through my head. I'd done this for a week straight, but being in this setting triggered it explosively. 

The lights flick on at my will, broadened. Somehow maundering through the gobs of guilt to up the creaky stairs. Leaving a trail of sickly energy behind, Kurt follows me swiftly, pattering up the steps in my shadow. Her extra attention told me she knew something was up, the soft meows drove that home.

She wasn't a very vocal cat.

A callous lump in my throat grows, sinking to the bottom of my stomach. I stare at the ravaged state of the room, it was pristine. Cleaner than normal, but so fucking desolate. Nothing was in its place; no signs of that pretty girl. No scattered clothing, no dirty beat-up red converse sitting at the arch of the door. Her crates of records were gone, taken from their normal resting place.