Magnolia in May [H.S]

Part seventy-nine.

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Tw: This chapter contains mentions of religious symbols that may be triggering/offensive to some.

Magnolia

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I couldn't put into words how hungover I was.

It was as though the cells in my body ached themselves, booming throughout in a throbbing migraine. The sun's beams searing into my eyes woke me, abruptly might I add. And then the realization of last night smacked me across the face into broad lucidness. It was quick and unforgiving, the kicker of it all was how blurry last night was.

I had vague memories of profound warm bar lighting, a head of raven hair accompanying me on the uncomfortable red stool. His husky voice muttering some nonsense as we threw back an unhealthy amount of tequila-infused drinks, it was all a colorful fever dream. Especially when he went off to the bathroom and I decided to flake on him- I don't even think I officially said I was going to leave. It just happened. My drunken body shuffled upstairs to mine and Harry's hotel room, every inch of it wanted to be touched.

The looming desire had its hold on my throat, curled fingers- of which dreamed of being littered with rings. Dirty, salacious thoughts replayed in my head with the elevator ding. How mad I was paired with an eager lust, it was dangerous.

I embarrassed myself last night.

I knew I fucked up the minute my eyes adjusted to the bright room, grey silk sheets tangled over my body- empty sheets. He didn't sleep in here. Great, just great. He's probably put off by the mere thought of my face, considering he didn't even want to lay next to me.

My eyes fixated on the discarded belt next to the bed, piecing together why my wrist hurt like hell. Right. How could I forget?

Millions of what if's taunted me, glaring right at the dark leather, the silver belt buckle. I grit my teeth together in underlying anxiety, wondering if it's even smart to get up and see where he is. Maybe he left. I can't begin to blame him- even if the one thing I wanted to do was ridicule his shitty behavior.

I dropped my shoulders, flopping off the bed with the huge, white fluffy comforter wrapped around my entire body. My face hid in the abundance of material as I slugged back the cracked door, peeking my head into the living space.

His head is down, consumed by the tiny screen of his flip phone. With the creak of the floorboards his attention darts. Eyes meeting mine. I stare directly at his peach-tinted lips, watching them part open at once.

"Ma fleur." He huffs, pouring it out like it didn't mean to leave his voice alone enacts killer tingles. All rasp, gravel, maybe liquid molasses.   

I don't respond, tracing over his body. Wet hair strands hanging over his face, he's all bundled up. A thick fleece hoodie, and matching grey sweatpants. I never registered how well he suited loungewear, and he rarely wore it.

His eyes glaze over the whole of my body, If I weren't so induced in the abyss of the green it would feel invasive. A certain shade of jade from the depths of the forest, it withheld the universe. Unfiltered deep-seated love, the kind that sprung up on you— you think your mind is playing jokes on you for it. And then in a second's moment, you realize how real it was all along.

When it's too late.

He was trying to read the wavelengths of my brain, calculate my next moves. Or maybe he was just deep in thought, figuring out what to say.

"How are you feeling?" He mutters between getting up from the couch, I watch him walk over to me. Stuck in a dazed state, I didn't know how to act. Not after last night, his stature is so calm. It leads me into thinking something is definitely up, Harry held grudges, he had a slippery temper and mood swings. He was off.