Magnolia in May [H.S]

Part twenty-eight

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Magnolia

I didn't have to be fully awake to hear the distress in the caller's voice, a strain only tears could cause. This much wakes me up out of my consuming deep sleep.

"Hey, Harry," I whisper softly, pressing my bedside lamp on and tossing my glasses over my face. I rub my eyes under the frames, adjusting to the dim glow of my lamp. It flickers on, my eyes wince at its abruptness. Glowing up the side of my room. "Is everything alright? It's almost two in the morning.."

"Uh-" He stutters over the line, coming to an ultimate stop with his breathy words. His voice sounded gravelly, raspier than normal. Why is he calling this late?

"Urm... yea-..." He pauses again, pulling the phone from his mouth, but even with the distance, I hear what I think is sniffles. I wait on the line, sitting up completely. My back hitches at the upright position. "No... Can you come over?" Desperation muttering from within him, my heart drops.

"I need you..."

I halt in my tracks, racking my brain for the right answer. I couldn't just say no. The Harry was asking me to come over, he sounded under duress, the person that only pokes fun at me. Was now asking me to come over late at night.

"Yeah-yeah. Hold on I'll be there soon.." I worry, shooting up from the endearing comfort of my bed and scrambling to throw a hoodie on. I get caught in the strings, forcefully straining it over my face to hear the phone. I sigh, wafting my unruly waves out from under the thick fleece material.

"Okay." He says hoarsely, my heart pounding with his tone. Spiraling into the pit of my stomach, If the normally cheery, grinning Styles was this seemingly upset that meant something had gone terribly wrong. Right?

I mean, I talked to him about eight hours ago when he walked me back to my car. What had changed since then? The beep of the phone surges me further into panic. His place is an hour away... fuck.

I gathered my hair, tying it up in a bun, pieces sprouted out of it but in this moment that was the least of my worries. My legs warmed from the soft sheets winced at the cold silkiness of my sweats. I pushed past my throbbing headache and threw myself down the stairs, tangling my fingers with the keys. Making sure to keep quiet so I don't wake my mom who is the lightest sleeper on the face of the earth.

The side door calls me, I trudge out. Harshly placing my feet to the cold pavement, Shoes! As soon as I knew it I'm bolting back inside, slamming my feet into a pair of old dirty white vans. Ones that I had worn to death, pink faded laces.

The leather of my seats was no match for my sweats, as my feet anxiously tapped the floor. Knees bouncing up and down with the new coming rumble of my vehicle. I growled like a rabid animal, propelling me out of the gravel driveway. I wind down it, making it to the edge of the secured gate.

Fucking rich people.. Am I right?

Huffing out the most gravely cuss, I fling my door open. Jogging over to the big black steel gate and putting in a four-code password. Rolling my eyes intently at the half-awake security guard snoring on the job. He seems rather calm, though I know with that insolence my dad would have him out of a job. Thank you random security guard for being shit at your job.

My speeding hitches when the blinker for my gas flicks on, "Fuck me!" I shot into oblivion. Out of all the times I needed to arrive fast my car needs fucking petrol. Since I live in the middle of bumfuck nowhere I have to stop by one of those huge gas stations with the weird truck drivers. At two in the morning...