About (Harry Styles)

5.

"I think she's coming around..."

Marco?

I can hear his frantic voice right near me. It's barely audible, but it's there.

"Elaine...Can you hear me?"

Yes, I can.

What am I saying?

Am I saying anything?

Can he hear me?

I'm talking, but I don't hear him respond.

A blurry image of that smug face appears, his dimples taunting me, and immediately my eyes open to a white ceiling. The room is quiet. The beautiful, classical music has stopped allowing me to hear the ongoing pounding in my head.

"El!" Marco is on his knees by my side as I'm laying on, what I'm assuming is, a couch.

The room hasn't changed. We haven't left the party yet.

Is the party over?

"What happened to me?" I move my hand to my forehead and begin to rise so that I can sit, but Marco gently rests his hands on my shoulders, signaling me to lay back down.

Which is a good idea.

"Nothing. You're probably lightheaded from being in the sun all day. Plus the alcohol. You know you can't take alcohol, El," Marco reprimands like a father would a daughter. He's fanning me with a piece of paper, and I want to laugh at him. "Are you feeling any better? You've been out for a while."

"Yeah, I think so."

Even though I didn't. My head is spinning. Everyone seems to be paying attention to me as my eyes bounce from blurry, worried stares to more blurry, worried stares.

Oh Lord. How embarrassing.

I took literally four sips of that .. concoction or whatever and fainted.

That's why you don't drink alcohol, my bratty subconscious reminds me.

"She's alright everybody." I hear Marco say as he leaves my side for a second.

"I think I need some air," I quietly mumble, and Marco is right by my side again.

He nods and helps me out of the room and into the terrace. Once we're out the sliding doors, he carefully holds me as I sit on the wooden porch swing. I can hear and see little rain drops dribbling on wooden terrace, and feel a cool breeze running across my skin which assists in calming my nerves.

"You sure you're okay?" Marco asks fretfully, bending onto his knees, taking my hands in his, and I nod with a reassuring smile. My hands cover his on my lap.

"I'll be okay. Must have been a little too rowdy at your tournament," I joke, and he chuckles quietly. "And the heat didn't help."

"You wanna go back? We can leave if you want to."

"No!" I say, louder than I wanted. "I mean, I don't want to be the reason why we have to leave. They're probably waiting for you in there."

"It's not important as your health. I promised your mom that I would take care of you. She would kill me if you returned home in this condition."

"Don't worry. I'll be fine. Weak is not --"

"In your vocabulary .. I know, " he sighs as he finishes my sentence and I smile, knowing that this happens so often - him finishing my sentences.

"Go," I instruct. His lips press into a line as he ponders what to do.

"We'll be home before eleven," he promises before leaving me to my peace.