Stranded [harry styles] ✓

9

My hair's still damp and sprawled around me like angry flames; tangled in the leaves of the palm cushioning me against the sand. I've managed to curl up into the smallest foetal position possible with my arms locked around my knees in an iron grip. 

But my hands are still shaking.

And they ache from the repetitive digging motion I found myself carrying out for what felt like hours. But I know the relentless tremors are not the result of physical overexertion or the fact that the temperature has greatly reduced. It's the shock. It's always the shock. And the shock of burying the plane victims was far worse than going through their possessions or seeing them washed up and waterlogged on the shore. 

Harry and I didn't exchange words once. There were tears. So many tears from both parties but neither one of us strong enough in that moment to comfort the other. All that hope and optimism built up from just splashing around a pool of water - instantly diminished. 

I can hear him now; breathing gently into the night while I'm facing away and staring into the empty space between myself and the plane door. I wonder if his hands are currently as unstable as my own or if he can see them each time he lets his guard down and allows his eyelids to flutter closed for those brief half-seconds. 

"Are you awake?" Harry's voice suddenly cuts through the silence and echos in my ears. My heart rate picks up at the prospect of having to talk about this. I can't do it, I just can't. But I can't leave Harry alone with this thoughts and I will not let him suffer in silence. 

"Yes." I reply but it's barely a whisper. There's the sound of shuffling as if Harry is rolling over or re-positioning himself on his make shift bed and I lay in anticipation of whatever he might say next. 

"So, where is home?" He asks eventually. I release a huge breath I hadn't even known I was holding and suddenly feel incredibly overwhelmed with relief at the realisation that Harry doesn't want to discuss what has happened either. 

"Ilford." I manage to tell him, swallowing back the memories of the home I'm not sure I'll ever see again; a red brick building five minutes from the town centre containing the lilac walls of my bedroom littered with polaroids of myself and Addie and the window seat in the lounge that has become home to numerous soft toys over the years. 

"So you're a London girl." Harry states, even managing a cheerful tone. I feel my lips twitch into a smile but I can't quite bring myself to see it through. 

"And what about you?" I reciprocate, allowing my posture to relax a little. I can almost hear Addie in my head, screaming millions upon millions of facts about Harry. She'd be horrified if she heard me asking him right now. 

"I'm very lucky to be able to call many places 'home'." Harry tells me. "But it's Cheshire, really. Holmes Chapel. My Mum lives there still." I notice how he waivers towards the end of the sentence, there's a slight wobble in his voice at the mention of his mother and I have to bite down onto my lower lip to stop myself doing the same. "But tell me about Jules." 

Where to begin with Jules?

My big sister, my fairy godmother, my carefree aunt. 

I release my knees and allow myself to get into a more comfortable position; tucking my hands beneath my cheeks dampened by my hair.  

"I'm an only child." I say out loud, vaguely aware of Harry's warm breath lightly tickling the back of my neck. "So Jules has always been the big sister I never had. My parents work a lot - they have their own accountancy firm in the town centre, so Jules was always generally assigned to keep me occupied when I was little."