May [H.S]

01

THREE YEARS LATER.

Or more accurately, two and some.

MAY 98'

Magnolia
...

La petit mort.

Fiery, cataclysmic death.

A glistening flame flares in glossy eyes, swaying back and forth in the still air, dancing all alone. Each flicker, a designated twirl, evokes sashay's under the trace of a deafening symphony. Nothing but the wind could bend its tenacious will, vibrating in staggering waves of orange tangerine, bisque sunbeams trickling into the ivory, titillating center. 

All at once, months pucker through that slim, dainty flame. Thundering in under-surfaced emotions, the festering dark consuming my peripheral vision seeped it deep in my bones.

Throaty inhalation registers it fresh in my mind.

I'm two years and seven months sober.

I force my lips together in a purse, swabbing my tongue over them with a hint of whiskey, puffing together. I exhale deeply from between the silky devils, smothering the flame with oxygen. Overcome, surmounted, snuffed out, it disperses into the shadows, dragging me along with it. The golden light was merely a memory, all to be devoured by the simmering, tenebrous silence.

As I come to, dripping back into lucidity. Indie's excitement drums around me, along with differing claps. Warm arms engulf me from behind, squeezing nonetheless with the chair in the way. Smacked back, the lights in the room surge on. Indie's lips kiss all over my forehead, she jumps up in buzz, unable to handle the boiled-over happiness.

"I'm so proud of you!" She says between peppered kisses, shrieking in hurried elation. My smile flickers on my lips, overstimulated in the surroundings. I see Niall across the table with a camera in his hands, smiling behind the screen. And Rory, just as content to see this as Indie, who's known me practically my whole life.

"How do you feel?" Indie's smile glints, brighter than looking straight into the sun. Something about them drowned in praise simmered guilt in the bottom of my belly. Neither of us was one for mush, but in this moment I wish we were, just so I could say what I was thinking. I wouldn't have made it out alive without you.

"S'crazy, I feel crazy." I huff out, tripped up on trying to understand the coursing fire burning in my head. Swept up, flames endorse falling deeper, engulfing me whole. Indie wiggles her brows, snapping me out, "Crazy good." I agree with a smile.     

Everything seems so black and white.

Tension bubbles away, crisping at the edge of my ears, along with the chatter, the low hum of music falls into background noise. Watching through a fisheye lens while they clamored in front of me, cutting pristine slices into the cake.

This felt lacking, formidable, in a way. Something was off, the scales were uneven, in need of fixing. I won't lie and say it hasn't felt off for a while, then I would be just as worse as Harry. Avoiding every little thing that was said and done, deflecting the love, attention. Recluse was an understatement.

The last formal time I saw him was that singular New Year's Eve, a handful in passing. Hi here or there, but considering he packed up and hauled ass to California that night— you could say it's been radio silence from him. 

I should've known then it was a serious goodbye.

Picking myself up out of a spiraling mindset wasn't easy, no, without Harry it was the hardest fucking thing I've done in my entire life. Getting up every day just to do the same thing almost over again, only to feed on those split seconds of happiness, hoping for more.