May [H.S]

17

Magnolia
•••

Éclat de rire... À la réflexion.

The tangent scent of smoke lingers off my tongue. Lazily, my eyes ponder on it as it gathers near the steering wheel in front of me. A soft and languid movement, abrasive on my nose and gentle on the eyes. Swept up in the wind, it's flushed out all at once, a whooshing breeze tickles the tip of my nose– feathering the damp hairs curling below my ear.

I scanned the parking lot for a moment, taking note of the fact Harry's car certainly wasn't in the barren lot– wondering how he must've gotten here.

Once again, the cigarette rests on my lip, I pucker my mouth in a wince– nearly hearing my lungs cry out for help. The built tension that knots up my neck unravels itself as I narrow my gaze, cutting off the inflicting beams of sun the flashy exterior of the car attracts. I feather my hand in front of my face, recoiling, finicky illumination dares to bleed through the slits of my fingers, christening my lashes and the apples of my cheeks.

I whisper out heavily in annoyance, leaning into the seat and shuffling through the glove box to fish out a pair of sunglasses. Smudged with fingerprints and slightly crooked, I fix the sunnies over my face, warding off the warm burn of the premature sunset.

"This is new," A breathy rasp scrambles my thought process. I jump at the voice, meeting eye to eye with verdurous green irises– glimmering and iridescent with the rising heat in the sky, the luminous masterpiece behind him battles in contrast. He stands tall, fresh clothes and a beanie over his somewhat dried curls– which I know smell vividly of coconut.

His expression remains serious, stuck on the Ferrari I laid admiring in. Seemingly over the interaction between us– pretending I didn't just watch him get himself off, he acts normal. At least what was becoming the new normal, aloof and stoic. I nod, flicking my cigarette out the window. It lands near the toe of his black scuffed Converse, and I watch as he quickly smashes it under the rubber sole of his shoes, reducing the deadly stick to ashes.

"I can see your nipples through that shirt," I say between the last bit of smoke that vacates my lips, pointing a finger at the loosely buttoned shirt hung over his frame– a pair of aviators hanging on the low-cut neck. Hell, the shirt had the equivalent of coverage as a fishing net. Enhancing the littering of tattoos, the indentation, and the flexing of his abs was hard to ignore considering the image of how pretty they looked dripping with water circulated my brain. 

An insignificant simper glides over his mouth as he glances down, eyeing the butterfly just above, "These?" He points to his nipples, "Or these?" Harry asks again, gliding the pads of his fingers down to the lower and slightly off-centered nipples.

"Both, and everything in between." Including a handful of meaningful tattoos, scars, and pigmented blemishes. I wondered if the bruises were somehow my fault, that if I wasn't at his place on that day his skin would be perfect and unharmed. Maybe I made him take too long to get to the door, and he'd pissed off the people on the other end.

Harry only nods, wiping the implications off his face. I watch inattentively as he stays keen on admiring the vintage car, enduring the radioactive flares that spring up and off into his gaze. In addition to the daunting silence, I gesture over to the passenger's seat. "Get in." He looks at me hesitantly, failing to understand my motives by the oddly placid expression on my face.

Playing it off, I roll my eyes at him, once again tapping the leather seats, "I don't bite."

I know by his expression what he's thinking, he doesn't believe me– having firsthand evidence that counteracted my words. In that aspect, he wasn't wrong. Vigilant on his features, I can pick out the exact moment he makes his decision, painting his face in amusement as he saunters over to the other side of the car. He lugs his gym bag, reaching over and gently placing it in the backseat. Instead of having manners and opening the door, he climbs the exterior, jumping into his seat. The car slightly rumbles, and I scoff out, fixing my sunnies in the rearview mirror– backing out of the lot.