About (Harry Styles)

37.

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Song :: Cry - Rihanna [literally Elaine's theme song]

People are reeling off the plane in rows and my mother, her husband and I are one the of the last to dismount since we sat near the back, the loud engine of the plane still whirring in my ears along with the stinging pain of changing elevation.

Another reason why I strongly dislike airports and airplanes.

The way back has been incredibly ... stagnant. I've been like a ghost, lifeless and blank, or so my mother says.

She tried to bring up Harry nonchalantly on the plane ride back, but I know that was the first thing she wanted to ask me when she saw me. Just the mention of his name sickens me. 

Did you find Harry?

Did you two have a nice talk?

Did you give him your number?

Unfortunately, I did. If my phone dares to ring, I'm not even going to look at the screen.

We barely take two steps off the plane and in our sight are two very burly and sort of identical security guards standing right in front of us. Their hands are crossed in front of their chests, their stance dominant and intimidating as they leer at us behind their sunglasses.

Both of them approach us and the one with the longer hair tied in a mini ponytail asks in a rumbling voice, "The White family?"

My mother and her husband glance at each other astoundingly before they confirm his question that we are, in fact, the Whites. Though I prefer my original surname -- Woods.

They lead us through a door which only reveals more doors to go through. The hallways are a bleak shade of blue, some of the fluorescents on the ceiling flickering with a noticeable need for changing.

"May I ask where you're taking us?" My mother asks in a squeaky yet polite voice, a reserved fear evident in her tone. They don't reply, not even a glance back to acknowledge my mother's question under strict instructions only to transport us, not to converse.

Once we reach the destination, the two guards whip around, eyes immediately flitting to me. I don't even flinch.

"You first, young lady," one of the identical guards huff as one hand grips my shoulder.

I don't even look back at my mother and her husband's faces as I enter because I can already imagine the look on their faces.

I know I did nothing wrong. I don't have anything guilty on my conscience. At least not something great enough to have me arrested.

We enter the crowded room, and I feel as though we aren't alone. There's someone standing ahead of us, and just by the shoes on his feet, I already know who it is.

I waste no time in looking him in the eye, his green eyes saturated with a visible sadness I force myself to ignore. He looks awfully exhausted - mentally and physically. The color in his pale face drained.

I know I'm curious as to the reason for it, but I push away the wondering and regain a calm composure, pretending to be indifferent by his sudden appearance.

His gaze averts to the side of me, subtly nodding to the security guard signaling him to leave us alone. The door behind me closes, an uncomfortable sensation sitting upon the room as I recall the memories of last night.

Why is he here?

The answer never comes as I feel myself growing angrier by the second. He has the guts to show his face even after he promised he would't abandon me.