Chapter 20
TWENTY
Harry
Flashback
Halloween night. A rare favourite, since I despise every other day of the year.
The bloke beside me is getting dry-humped by some slutty Harley Quinn wearing a costume similar to a fucking bikini.
I take a drag from my cigarette, disappearing into the silent, comfortable space of my mind as I sink further into the sofa.
This year, I hate today.
I want to be rid of this stupid fucking city. I’m still grieving the loss of my best friend five years later, and I might as well add Greg to the list with how often he forces me away. I’ve even relocated to my own home to give him the space he desires, a small bungalow in a quiet neighbourhood.
But what’s the fucking point of anything anymore?
With my head resting against the back of the sofa, eyes boring into the ceiling, I take a heavy drag of the cigarette balanced between my teeth. The smoke spills into the air as I ponder the idea, debating whether life is worth living when there is nothing left to live for anymore.
Through the cloud of dissipating smoke, a presence from the hallway forces me to lower my chin. A small girl with long brown hair and eyes that are far too familiar for me to ever forget stumbles a few steps, heading for the door.
Her.
Jack’s sister.
The cigarette tumbles from my mouth with the shock that flies through me.
I’ve been rotting in grief, distancing her from my psychotic mind, but every reason I chose to stay away vanishes into oblivion at the sight.
It’s been nearly five years since I last saw that face.
Beautiful, alluring, and … drunk. Very drunk
Every instinct screams at me to run after her. I shake my head, not allowing myself to give in to my own selfishness no matter how much I ache to chase her down and make up for lost time. Yet the thought tastes stale and rancid as I watch her palm the wall, finding her balance.
I’m still debating what to do when an older guy starts trailing behind her. Suddenly decided, I propel myself from the sofa.
Absolutely fucking not.
The cigarette bounces off my lap, staining the carpet with a small, circular burn as I throw on my jacket and trail out the door. She doesn’t even have the decency to call a taxi, tripping over her own two feet while stumbling down the street.
Half a decade of absence only to see her at a house party. A fucking house party, like we’re pathetic teenagers. No wonder she’s oblivious to the fact two men are following on her tail like predators hunting their evening meal.
I linger back several paces, hands pushed deep into my jacket pockets, as she swerves along the dirty pavements.
She’s dressed in a plain white dress that reaches her ankles, a set of angel wings floating from the back.
Her heels cause her several missteps, and I’m surprised she doesn’t dislocate her ankle from the amount her limbs twist.
Stiffness in my neck causes me to swirl my head, brushing off the ache that lingers between my shoulders.
This is wrong – so fucking wrong – and too close for comfort.
But I’m just watching her, keeping an eye on her until she’s home.
Making sure this cunt doesn’t take advantage of her in a vulnerable state.
The man whistles, shouting something disgustingly fucking male to get her attention. But it goes unmissed by my ears as I stalk forwards, clamping my hand round his jacket and dragging him backwards.
“Is that any way to speak to a lady? She’s not a dog,” I spit, seething with anger. “Have some fucking respect.”
The bloke laughs loudly, chucking his head back and assaulting my nostrils with the thick stench of beer. “Relax, dude. She’s just a girl.”
Just a girl?
“Just a girl?” I laugh wickedly, shaking my head in utter disbelief. Retrieving the dagger burning a hole in my jacket pocket, I bring it to the front of his throat, watching as his Adam’s apple bobs nervously against it.
But I’ve already split his skin. I’m already revelling in the way his voice breaks and cracks as I lower him against the pavement. Blood seeps quickly from the cut, obstructing my view of the gaping hole in his neck.
I growl, “Stop fucking crying.”
I dig my hand into the mess of his throat despite his pathetic attempts to clasp onto my wrist. I persevere through his strangled cry, my fingertips scraping across his vocal cords.
Gotcha.
The stubborn nodules slip through my fingers. I use my spare hand to grip the dagger, pressing it back into his throat as I cut blindly, until I feel them tether.
I clamp my palm round the strings and yank hard, ripping him of his ability to speak. Blood spurts faster from his neck, like a gushing tap. I tuck the remnants of his flesh into his front pocket, patting the cotton fabric keeping it concealed.
“Now you can hang them on the wall in your pathetic little house so you remember what happens when you treat a lady with disrespect.”
But when I look back at him, his eyes, once full of life, have rolled into the back of his head. His body has already dipped to a temperature near freezing.
I fucking killed him.
What a shame.
I pull myself to my feet, wiping my blood-soaked hands on the front of my black jeans. The repercussions are yet to catch up with me, although I don’t have an ounce of sympathy for ridding the world of an insolent man.
A cough, small and quiet, whips my attention sideways.
She’s standing there, head slightly tilted, brows drawn together. “Are … are you following me?”
This is a dream.
Surely, this must be a fucking dream. Or a nightmare. I haven’t yet decided.
I don’t realise my mouth has dropped open until I see the cold air hovering in front of my lips. Despite having committed a gruesome murder for her, I initially freeze.
“No.”
Christ, why do I sound so fucking bashful?
Pull yourself together, you fucking idiot. You just ripped out a man’s vocal cords because he whistled at her – the least you can do is not sound like a pathetic simp.
“What …?” She stumbles sideways, righting herself quickly. “What are you dressed as?”
Confusion has me peering down at my soaked fingertips. “A serial killer?”
She nods, although her eyes are glassy and distant with the effects of alcohol. They droop with the temptation to fall asleep.
“And what about you? Let me guess – an angel, given the wings.”
“N-not just any angel.” She hiccups, smiling widely. “I’m Juliet from Romeo and Juliet. The 1996 version.”
“Baz Luhrmann, right?”
She smiles knowingly and nods. “That one’s my favourite.”
A genuine smile tilts my mouth, and I make a mental note to store that piece of information away for later.
“If I’m an angel, you must be my knight.” She stands straighter, with a gushing smile.
I shift on my feet, making sure to block the corpse on the pavement behind me. “I’m not sure I deserve a title so honourable.”
A noticeable flush arrives on her cheeks, and she chews her lower lip, turning away. Only briefly.
“Could you walk me home?”
“Yes,” I answer far too quickly.
My eagerness has me keeping close to her as we walk, but I linger back a few steps deliberately, so I won’t give away that I know the stalkerish details of where she lives, where her room is within the house, and not to step into her brother’s room on the first floor.
Despite the scent of vodka oozing off her, she leads the way, which is a miracle since she can barely walk in a straight line.
When we reach the driveway, she offers me her handbag, fumbling with the keys as she pushes them into the lock.
As graceful and as quiet as she can allow it, she opens the front door, the wood groaning as she steps inside.
I linger on the doormat, inwardly cringing at the thought of one of her parents catching me.
This is where I’ll part from her and say good night.
I can’t afford for it to go further than this.
Before I’ve even finished the thought, she’s clutching the banister and slipping off her shoes, trailing up the stairs, leaving the front door wide open and me holding the incredibly pink bag.
Hushed, I call out, “Hey!”
Her footsteps echo on the landing, leading the way to her room.
For fuck’s sake.
Silently, with my heart in my throat, I close the door behind me and follow after her. I miss the creaks in the floorboards, slipping into the bathroom to quickly wash my hands. The blood runs down the drain, and I grimace as I turn off the tap, hearing the pipes groan.
Exiting the small lavatory, I linger outside her bedroom for a while before finding the confidence to step inside.
The lights are switched off, but there’s a soft glow from her fairy lights. I place her handbag carefully down on the edge of the mattress.
Christ, I’m in her fucking room while she’s in it.
This is dangerous territory even for me.
But thankfully, with the way she stumbles round on the soft carpet, knocking over a few items, I doubt she’ll remember this tomorrow.
Her clumsy footing sends her hip into the dresser, knocking off a perfume bottle.
I dart forwards, catching it in my palm before it shatters.
“Thanks,” she breathes. “If … if my parents woke up—” She shakes her head, stopping the thought.
“I can leave.”
I should leave.
“I don’t want to be alone,” she whispers.
I watch her longingly, feeling the weight of her expression as the words hit profoundly. I know exactly what they stand for.
I’m lonely too.
The intimacy in her gaze forces me to lower my head.
“You can sit down,” she whispers, hiccupping shortly after.
I perch on the edge of her bed, purposely placing my feet on the floor. I don’t trust myself to get more comfortable, especially with the way she’s looking round the room for what I’m certain will be her pyjamas. And from the state she’s in, I wouldn’t put it past her to change in front of me.