Stranded [harry styles] ✓

6

"Ah!" I squeal and instinctively raise my hands to cover my head. I drop into a sort of half-crouch position and grimace.

Nothing happens. 

No big scary explosion, no screaming and no pain. 

Harry's completely silent and I'm not sure if this is a good thing. 

I raise my eyes to look at him; my face plastered with a frantic expression, but he's already turned away and hovering over the object that has half-submerged itself in the sand like some sort of meteor. 

"Relax, it's not a plane." I know he's attempting to make a joke but neither of us laugh. As Addie would say - "too soon". 

We make eye contact briefly and I notice that Harry looks almost apologetic. In response, I begin awkwardly rubbing the healing wound on my shoulder. It hasn't quite scabbed over yet; there are still grains of sand embedded in the congealed coating and I realise that I need Harry to point me in the direction of the fresh water spring as soon as possible so I can attempt to clean it up. The last thing I need is to develop an infection out here. Bottled water was difficult enough to find so I can't even begin to imagine the likelihood of finding a course of Penicillin. An awkward silence follows Harry's attempt at stand-up comedy until he crouches down and hauls the mystery object into his arms.

I squint to get a closer look. It's spherical, brown and sort of...hairy?

I've seen it enough on the label of my favourite shampoo and conditioner to know it's a coconut and I find myself twiddling the parched ends of my hair. What I would give right now for a cut and blow dry. 

"I hope you're not the kind to turn your nose up at the Bounty in a Celebrations box." Harry smirks before running his tongue over his jagged lower lip. If it's anything like my own then I know it must feel like a sheet of shards of glass. 

"More of a Malteaser girl." I confess and approach him a few steps away. He's cradling the coconut in his arms like a newborn child and I'm half expecting him to start cooing.

The sand is beginning to heat up beneath my feet as I come to a standstill opposite him and his precious cargo. I run my left index finger over the wirey coconut bristles.

"This is a very good thing." He tells me. I can hear the smile in his voice even before I look up to see it. "Once we've cracked this open, we can drink the milk and eat the fruit. It might not quite be the breakfast of waffles and bacon that I'm sure you had been imagining but until I find a waffle maker and a pig - this'll have to do."

I laugh. It's genuine. It pains my chest, my lungs and my throat to do so - but I laugh. This comedy attempt of Harry's was successful.

And yet I can't help feeling almost guilty about finding amusement in anything here. I know full well that when written down on paper, there isn't anything amusing about being stranded following a plane crash. It's the sort of topic that entices people to grimace and start making speeches about 'being grateful for what you have' or 'living each day like it's your last".

I can't help thinking that if the families of the deceased victims could see me now, standing barefoot in the sand and laughing at Harry Styles making his comedy debut whilst donning a pair of canary shorts - they'd be appalled and disrespected.

"Sarah?" Harry's concerned tone of voice gatecrashes my pity party. I look up. "Whatever you're overthinking - just stop."

"But-" I try to protest.

"No." He says sternly and swallows uncomfortably as if unsure about 'telling me off'. "I've just found a coconut and we are going to ingest it. The end."

"Well hopefully not the end." I frown, allowing my gaze to drop to the peeling skin on my forearms. It's frustrating that Harry has me figured out already. Even more frustrating is the fact that I'm still far too sensitive to be any good at this survival thing.

I decide to change the subject, clapping my hands together once so that they form a loud smack.

"So."  

"So." Harry's lips twitch into an infectious smirk as he rolls the coconut around in his hands. I smirk back.

"How exactly do you propose we break into that thing?" I reach for my water bottle and guzzle half of it. I've barely got the cap back on and wedged the bottle in the sand before Harry has thrust the coconut into my arms.

I stagger at the weight of it. It's heavy. 

"I'll be right back!" He tells me before turning and racing away in the sand back towards the shoreline. I try not to let my eyes follow him, not wanting to catch sight of the bloated bodies again. Something will need to be done about those too. 

I think of how Harry so selflessly buried those seven strangers and my heart breaks at the thought of him having to go through it all again. Even worse is the nauseating realisation that this time, I will be helping him. 

The coconut begins to quiver as my arms shake. 

I squeeze my eyes shut.

I don't want to bury anyone. 

I want to go home.

I want a pint glass of iced water. 

I want the waffles and bacon that Harry had joked about.

I want my Mum and my Dad and I want Jules and Addie. 

I'm not sure how much more of this I can stand. 

Harry can make me laugh and smile and in those brief moments, things are not actually all that bad. But he can't disintegrate the reality that we are all alone out here and our chances of survival are slim. He can't make me forget that I might never go home. 

I wish he could transfuse the positivity that evidently runs in his blood. I'm nothing more than a glass half empty with a morbid outlook on how this situation is going to play out.  He might be able to make the best of coconuts and poorly packed suitcases but I'm not sure I can live like this.

I like to know what's happening and when. I like to know what I'm doing tomorrow and next weekend. 

Are we still going to be alive next weekend?  

"Everything ok?" My eyes fly open to find Harry standing before me; his skin flushed pink and a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his face. The fingers on his right hand are tightly curled around a pointed piece of rock. He looks like a caveman. 

"Yes." I lie and his forehead furrows. 

"You're lying." He says it matter-of-factly and sighs. 

I cringe. 

"I want to go home." I mumble, unable to look him in the eye.

"So do I." He shrugs. 

"What if we never go home?" My lower lip trembles.

"We are going home." He's so sure of this, I can hear it in his voice. 

A single traitor tear spills over and races towards my chin. Harry traps it with his finger.

"Please don't cry, Sarah. We need a crying ban." His hand falls away from my face and I sniff.

"I'm sorry." I finally raise my head to look at him. I have to squint with the sun beaming down on his back but he looks quite sad too. His own eyes are red and brimming with tears. 

We are going home." He says once more, his voice firm. 

I nod in agreement.

"Ok. We are going home." 

a/n: Slightly shorter chapter but I hope you're enjoying Stranded :)