Magnolia in May [H.S]

Part one

A deafening wail, skid marks. A raucous thud, gasps swoon over the crowd. And then black, bottomless pit, static.

                                             — -

       I shake awake all at once, shivering at the pictures swarming my now conscious mind. The scrumptious subtle sound of birdsong like honey to my alarmed ears. A freshly baked sheet of snickerdoodle cookies, right out of the oven.

Steadying myself up against my wooden bed frame, It rocks slightly hitting the wall. I peel my eyes away from the cushiony cloud-like comforter. Rubbing them lucid, swirls of colors dancing around the dark emptiness.
It was just a nightmare, you're safe.    

       My hand wanders to the alarm clock on my bedside table, grazing over the snooze button I take hold of the whole thing. Tilting it so my zombie eyes can see the neon glowing numbers. I wince at the obnoxious sight, groaning, my body screams for more rest.
"Fuck me..."

I pull myself up further, sitting straight. My muscles ache, throbbing in strain. A cold sweat trickling down my spine, flinching at the chill crawling its way through my body. I glance over at the cracked window, sheer yellow curtains swaying in the dusky sky. Medium denim stretched around the entirety, I had woken up before the sun.

As I prevail, lifting my dead weight from the bed, the old springs creak. I sloppily grin at the sound, innocent with first thought. But not so innocent thinking back to that specific noise as a whole. What memories were attached to it.
Can it Styles.

      
If I'm not gonna get my well-deserved beauty rest I might as well hit the ice. Stumbling over to the mirror, last night's game recounts my thoughts. Rory hitting me right in the shin, crashing into my guarded leg for support. The increasing pressure fuels it, searing hot when I limp over to the sink. Goddamnitt. I swear if this causes a flare-up...      
It's fine I can still skate.

       My fingers lie on the cold porcelain sink, death dripping it for support.
"Mornin' to you too.." I mumble, looking at the deep purple bruise around my left eye. The things you forget when you're vast away into the miraculous world of slumber.

Last night's game was.....well. One word. Chaotic. 

I huff out an intense breath, scratching the tired out of my skin. Opening the drawers, my blinking eyes glance down at the mess. I must've been pissed last night, all I remember is getting stitches in my shin and then hitting the bar with the boys. I should've automatically known when I saw the cheap beer on my side table.

I didn't mix painkillers with alcohol, did I?

The ghostly winter breeze travels its way to my dampened skin, I prop myself on the end of my bed. Throwing on a last night's jersey and a hoodie to go over it. My leg beat up legs tumble on gray sweatpants, snaking them down gently over my left shin. Fucks sake Rory.

I rush out of my apartment, grabbing my Green Bay packers beanie and smoothing it over my out-of-control curls. Rubbing my hands together for warmth as I throw myself into my 1989 jeep wrangler, the gelidness pours through my thick fleece pants. I blow the warm air from my mouth into my hands, rubbing them with ease. The loud roar of my engine starts, my seat under my rubbles with the exhaust. Wheew...

The windy fog smogged roads spiral my sleep-deprived brain, my fuzzy eyes adjusting to the infinite treeline. The elongating roads, twisted and turned. To any normal person driving these things would be nerve-wracking but since this has been a part of my everyday routine for years it didn't bother me. And on top of the experience, I was groggy and tired as shit.