MAGNETIC [H.S.]

40. 'cause there's no antidote

songs:
bloodline - luke hemmings
ever since new york - harry styles

I turned my face to the sun and closed my eyes. The warmth soaked into my skin, if I focused hard enough I could feel it penetrate the pores and move through me. It was a welcome feeling, a small comfort that I could allow myself. If I focused on that feeling I could almost drown out the sounds around me.

Almost, but not quite. The yelling seemed to be a constant, someone was always too angry. This particular afternoon there was a fight at the basketball hoop over a game of horse. I stood and watched while one man broke the other's nose and then knelt to the ground to continue the brutal beating to his face. He got a few good kicks in too while the guards pulled him off. Merry Christmas, huh?

Jail was incredibly boring. I'm not sure that I expected any sort of excitement, but this kind of monotony was borderline torturous. I spent weeks there with nothing to do but be alone with my thoughts. It didn't matter if my eyes were open or closed, Ashton's face was in my head. Her face when she realized what I was saying. The wash of dread filled her features and sunk her eyes to the depths of the ocean that she wasn't scared of.

The mornings were the worst. Everyone talks about those first few seconds of peace right before you open your eyes when you forget all the consequences that you're facing. Those first moments were always followed by the feel of Ashton's lips on my skin, the sound of her alarm waking us up, the feel of Evie rubbing against my legs. Then my eyes opened to a cold grey ceiling. A cell. A man named Earl who snored so loud it rattled my head. My back ached, my head would be pounding, and my chest would be heaving, struggling for a full breath.

I spent almost every morning in that cell having a panic attack. I spent every morning replaying her face as they pulled me out that door. Replaying her face when she left me at that airport all those years ago. Replaying her face when she walked into my recording studio by chance. Replaying her face when I told her I loved her. I tried to hold on to that one, to match my breathing to the way her body moved on the bed that night. Steady thrusts, steady breaths. It never worked. It always morphed back to the look of betrayal on her face, and I couldn't breathe.

Thank god for the quiet man with the med cart. Every morning he passed me my meds and saved my life.

Christmas morning was a special kind of hell. I refused to open my eyes. I just wanted to live in my head for as long as I could, try to live in what the day should have been. I should have been waking up in Zayn's house, or at Liam's in Brooklyn. I should have woken up with a sweaty spot on my abdomen from her arm and a droll on my shirt because she can't sleep with her damn mouth closed.

I should have been sneaking downstairs at 2 am to fill stockings with Niall, I have a whole Ikea bag full of shit to put in those just sitting in my closet. We had planned to surprise everyone with them, fill them full of fun shit we never got as kids. The gifts I had so carefully selected were waiting to be wrapped at the studio with Niall's. We were supposed to meet up on the 23rd to wrap, I hoped he still got his done. He picked out some great gifts for G when we went shopping in November, he was so excited to watch her open them. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter as a painful feeling hit my chest.