crystal method || Harry Styles au

10

Mai was dressed in a beautiful skin-tight black dress that showed off every curve perfectly. She remembered wearing the dress to both Harry's mum's funeral and father's, and here she was again. She had been in denial the past few days; there was no way in hell that she was attending his funeral. His.

She stood at the podium with a piece of paper in her hands; trembling over his casket. He was covered from the neck down and the only thing that remained untouched was his face. She knew that the rest of his body looked like something from a scary movie and they managed to cover him up perfectly. His face was beautiful and pale, the way it had always been. There were an equal number of 6 people, including her. His older sister, Gemma, and 3 guys that had worked with him. She had also seen them around the apartment a few times, but not much. Greg was there for Mai's support and his younger brother had tagged along, probably just because he was forced to. Rose didn't show up, which was expected, after she had stated "Harry and I aren't friends. Just fuck buddies. He was your friend." She knew that if Harry's parents were still around, they would've attended.

Mai's chipped fingernails picked at the edges of her paper while she looked over the tiny crowd. She was doing this more for herself, than for anyone else. She could see Gemma sobbing uncontrollably in the corner and she didn't understand why she herself hadn't broken down yet. She opened up the old and stained piece of paper and lowered the mic to reach her lips.

"Um, Harry and I used to write each other notes all the time, and well, this was one that I wrote, but never had the nerve to, erm, give him." She chuckled softly, but dragged the back of her hand across her cheek; catching a tear. Here we go.

She glanced up one last time to see a wide eyed, curly headed boy sitting in the back of the church. He sat on the bench closest to the door and rested his arms on the bench in front of him. He gave her a devilish smirk; the kind his father would've given him as a kid while he sat in the backseat of their truck; 5 drinks too late. He was dressed in the same attire she had been getting used to. The torn red plaid shirt and dark jeans.

'You' she tried making eye contact with him while he rested his chin on his hands. 'always had a pack of Marlboro Reds

Inside your drawers, and inside your pockets.

You were addicted to those cigarettes.

If you didn't have one in

Between your pale lips, your mind would be a cyclone of shattered dreams, and undesirable memories. When you didn't find a cigarette, your hands,

And legs turned into an earthquake of fear.

And I wish I could mean the world to you, like those

Cigarettes. It'll be a pleasure for you to be in fear,

When I'm not by your side.

You were slowly fading away like clouds

That get engulfed into the pure blueness of the sky,

And that was making my heart crumble up slowly.

You weren't even aware of the fact

That your anesthetic bad habit was leaving unwholesome bruises on my heart.

Smoking a cigarette to you was a way of escaping

All your troubles. It was like anesthesia to all the

Dreadful things that traveled along your mind.

Once, you placed a cigarette in between your lips

The cyclone of thoughts in your head shuttered;

It made you forget about everything, and everyone,

Including me. I always envied those cigarettes because you loved them, more than you loved me.

I wish my love for you, could be anesthesia to you, but of course my love wasn't enough, it never is

To anyone.

My mother always warned me about cigarettes. She once told me, "Cigarettes could kill you, and they could kill the people you love too." She was definitely right, because those anesthetic cigarettes were stealing you away from me, and that was killing me.

A.E.'

A tear dropped onto the paper, leaving another stain and she looked up from it. Gemma was on her side; rubbing her back. She didn't realize that she had been crying. She didn't realize that her whole body was shaking uncontrollably and that she was finding it harder and harder to breath. She looked over Greg's head to see that Harry was heading towards the exit. Before stepping out of the already opened doors, he took the cigarette that was tucked neatly behind his ear and tossed it into the trash can. He stuffed his hands in his pockets before walking out the wooden doors and down the steps; not bothering to look back.

No one was stable enough to go to the actual burial, but Mai refused to miss it. She drove alone behind the long black car and slowly walked over to where he would be buried. It was in the same cemetery as his parent's, but on the opposite side. It was cold out and the sun had begun to go down. They lowered him into the ground and gave her a few minutes to herself. She sat down on the edge and put her face in her hands.

A part of her blamed it all on herself. If she hadn't left. Mai fingered the small note in her boot. She unfolded it slowly and read the words over to herself again and again.

'I'm sorry.'

It was in Harry's sloppy handwriting. She had found it that day she came home, where it was taped to the refrigerator. There were so many different ways it could be interpreted.

He was sorry, for what?

She couldn't feel it, but Mai knew that her eyes weren't playing tricks on her this time. One long leg was on each of her sides and two arms were wrapped around her waist. She could tell by the dress shoes and the familiar rings that it was indeed Harry.

"You love me, huh." He stated and she nodded numbly. Blinking back the tears.

"You're not real." She whispered under her breath and closed her eyes harshly. "You're not real, you're not real. You're. Not. Real." She spoke quietly and shook her head.

And he was gone again.