Stranded [harry styles] ✓

29

Two weeks later. Ilford, England

"Everyone's saying there's a dead body in the sea."  Jules says nonchalantly before pirouetting in the sand. Her fuchsia drink spills over the side of her glass and spatters the sand and her toes. "Shit! Pass me a towel will you?" 

I ignore her request and turn towards the ocean. A crowd has formed and I feel like I've been hit by a wave of  déjà vu. Why is this so familiar? 

"Aren't you going to go and see if anyone needs help?" I ask my Aunt. 

She shrugs. "Not much I can do if they're already dead, Sarah." 

Jules saunters past me to our belongings and hauls her towel out of sand. She's dabbing at her feet as if the alcohol is burning her skin, completely disinterested in the commotion in the water. How is she being so calm about this? She's just said herself that someone might have died. Shouldn't we do something? 

"I completely forgot to tell you!" She beams up at me; discarding the now stained towel. "I downloaded some music from that band you like. One Direction isn't it?" 

What? How can she possibly be asking me about music right now? And why on earth does she think I'm into One Direction?

"Jules, I've never expressed an interest in One Direction. That's Addie remember?" 

Jules is frowning as if I don't know what I'm talking about. "I thought you liked that Harry Styles guy?"

Huh? 

"Jules, I can't talk about this right now. I need to find out what's going on." I turn away from her and sprint in the direction of the cluster of people. They've formed an almost perfect circle around the potential body in question. 

I've been here before. I know I have. 

I elbow them aside; my eyes instantly landing on the green and yellow logo of the Green bay Packers, emblazoned across the chest of the floating body. They're pale with their eyes wide and set in a haunted expression. I know that face so well. 

"Oh my god." I breathe. 

It's me. 

I bolt upright; grabbing fistfuls of my duvet cover. Lilac walls invade my vision and the polaroids of Addie and I stare from where they are blu-tacked. This is my bedroom. I am not there anymore. But the nightmares still come. They still visit me daily... and yet I can't despise them. 

Sometimes they are the only memory that Harry ever really existed. 

I fall back and hit the pillow. The clock on my bedside table says 1pm. I've slept in again, although it's not surprising given that I didn't get off to sleep until about seven hours ago. Every night is like this; physically I'm exhausted but mentally I'm buzzing. My brain can't ever seem to switch off. I can't stop thinking about him. I can't stop wondering where he is or what he's doing or if he's ok. 

I haven't seen or spoken to Harry since we said goodbye in the corridor of the hospital. I'd wanted to kiss him and I didn't do it. Now it feels like my biggest regret. I have no means of contacting him and I don't even know where he is in the world. 

Was he as paralysed with fear on the flight home as I was? 

Jules and I flew home two days after I arrived in Kuala Lumpur. There was no point my parents coming out to meet us; by the time they arrived it would have been time to turn around and go back again. We'd had the most heartbreaking Skype call - the majority of which was hysterical tears from all involved. I'd never wanted to be in my parents arms more than I had in that moment. But it hadn't helped that I was still devastated about Harry.