Cannes | H.S

Flower

Layla

It feels strange, standing here underneath the rain and dark clouds clashing against each other, gripping a handful of dirt in between my fingertips as we lay my father down to rest. The tremendous amounts of tears and words of sorrow shared are enough to render me utterly silent as I look down at the array of pink roses on his grave. They were his favorite because they are my favorite flower.

I don't mind the rain for once as it falls on my face, mixing in with my own salty and bitter tears. I turn, looking over my shoulder at the family he left behind. His wife and young daughter who dearly clings to her mother's arm, crying small cries of confusion. My own mother stands before me, quiet like the rest of them. But I simply can't breath, despising being here on this awful January afternoon. I despise everything about this graveyard and I will forever hate this day. I don't say another word nor any hopeful goodbyes as I approach Harry. Eyes that once reflected gleaming pools of sun now appear to be filled with sorrow, matching my own.

"Please, get me out of here," I whisper, allowing him to take my hand in his before he directs me to the driver who awaits our return.

I never wish to return here. I never wish to return to the place that was once my home growing up. I want to put it all behind me. All of it. I can't let the past ruin my future. However, the second we drift off onto the highway, I sob for what feels like the hundredth time, allowing for the man next to me to wrap a much needed arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest. It's the first time he's touched me in days. It's the first time I've needed or wanted his touch. It's horrible of me to say that I've pushed him away and regrettably, he's done the same. He smells of faded cologne which resembles a familiar and once adored sweet musk. He holds me close, as close as one truly can as if fearing I may drift away the moment he lets go.

Sometimes, it's easier this way; to push the one you love away. It's easier to shift your sadness and pain onto the person who isn't to blame nor at fault. You just need an outlet to express your emotions. And ever since we've returned from Hawaii, we've been each other's, but not in the best way.

I couldn't face New York. Not yet anyhow. I can't return back to my apartment, pretend to return back to a normal routine like everything is how it used to be. No, I need time and many miles away in order to want to return home. California will have to do the trick for now. The flight is all but a blur. Between the number of medications the doctor wants me to remain on and the lack of sleep I've acquired, it's a shock I drifted off into a fit of slumber. But, it's always the same dream. A nightmare really. A cruel glimpse of what could of been and what isn't.

A little boy with a head of curls and similar bold green eyes running around through a meadow of flowers. Red, yellow, pink, orange flowers. All enchanting, resembling the botanical garden in Kula that I adore so dearly. We enjoy a picnic; the three of us, sipping on lemonade, taking bites of our sandwiches in between games. The sun is out, powerful than ever as I watch my two boys with the happiest and proudest of smiles. This is what should have happened. This is what we deserved.

I jolt up, realizing now that none of it is actually real and that we've landed. And just like always since the horrible incident, a cold sweat aligns across my forehead as I begin to tremble. Harry reaches for my hand, hoping to suppress my fright, but I decline, not wanting to share such a fear with him. News of our arrival must have spread like wildfire as the entire airport is swarmed with paparazzi. They push their toxic cameras in both of our faces, demanding answers; curious about many falsely created scandals and stories.

Harry holds my hand tightly, holding me, wanting to make sure I remain safe as bodyguards surround us. Yet I can't help but feel the lack of warmth in his touch. I can't help but allow emerging and dark thoughts to rise to my mind, fearing he may blame me for all of this commotion. However, as his hold on me is temporarily lost, so is my strength. The medications, flashing lights, emptiness in the pit of my stomach all haze and cloud my sanity. Without any notion or word, I collapse into the storm, hearing chaos unfold like a growing tornado.