INDIGO➵Harry Styles

6 ___DECONSTRUCT___

Cold. I was cold again. Cold washed over me in any and every way I could feel. It wasn't an option.

I was out, away and not in the way I wanted to be. Out of a warm embrace. Away from someone who wanted me.

This was the end of it; my mind and my senses just couldn't agree.

In the colourless screen that caged my thoughts, I concluded that I might as well leave.

The night was still young, still high for everyone but me. I didn't want to ruin their fun, sober them up, steal their fix with my bad mood; I'd be angry if a bullet of clarity was fired by anyone, shot, shooting through the heady waves of the high I'd worked so hard to multiply, to live with, through and on for a whole night and most nights after it. I made it a practice not to care about individuals - the individual: one heart, the linked mind, the essence, to understand, to feel for, as one. I did think in wholes. They want you. They don't want you. They want to party. They're leaving you. You're leaving them. I still thought about wholes a little. A little more than a little. Liam was just a part of that - they're done with you. You're done with them. 

But there was one that I couldn't cast into the numbness of collectivity, no matter how hard I tried, and that propelled me to my exit with far more fuel in momentum, it made me crave the charged planes of my bike again, the hard, hot mechanical functioning that made my choices for me, and the pedal that could slam the night ahead of me under my heels and then behind them at two hundred insanities per hour.

The sad, still portrait I painted by remaining frozen where Liam had left me was one I wouldn't allow myself to maintain any longer. The curved, melancholy blue brush strokes of my shoulders in my bowed stance were replaced by the solid denial of black, a black figure jutting out of its stature and fleeing, a failed hunter that was at the same time her own pathetic prey. I passed through the gentle path that Liam had followed out of the little room, shattering it with my pounding aggression, as a spoiled child in the blaze of its tantrum, stomping and slamming doors. 

Rust and darkness, steps and down, was an easy pattern to follow, to find a dull rhythm to play into, but only briefly. The cold dampness was no longer charged by kissed, held flame.

Out, down, out, a straight shot, just another exit and a straight shot. 

Not so straight when met with an obstruction. A tall, art-dressed obstruction with a jawline that  could  be used as surgical slicing equipment and, really, other features with more than just thin surface lustre and more significance, that I tried to expel from my thoughts for a quick escape.

"Hey, you ok?" I couldn't help but soften at the adorable ring of that. Just the sound itself was lovable. Lovable in the softness of his accent as it waved over the simple, casual, easy words. In a good mood, I would have smiled. Or really smiled. I was only managing a smile now. 

        Plastic smile.

        Bending.

"Tell me."
        Broken.

There was such an uncompromising earnestness, a calm sincerity confronting me that I couldn't face as an equal; I didn't think I possessed any of that anymore. Had I let it deteriorate in me? Suddenly I felt ashamed for doing it, for letting that part of me be corroded in the acid of my impulse. Had I chosen it? Had it just happened? In this moment, it didn't matter. I felt ashamed all the same. I couldn't choose to change it; all I knew was one thing.

I couldn't lie. Not to those eyes. How could anyone? How could anyone pollute those honest eyes with lies? I didn't think anyone had, I couldn't imagine it, but even if they had, I couldn't follow.