Twenty
Kat
The back porch of The Ground always smells like old wood and whatever cleaner Kaycee panic-uses for the floor.
The sound of cars driving by and the occasional honking of horns ruins my peace.
It’s been another busy day—my feet ache, and I have two new burns on my hand from that cursed toaster oven.
The small wound on my palm from the guitar string incident is almost healed, although not without Luca getting a few jabs in about safe guitar restringing.
I sit on the top step, my hand toying with the necklace at my throat and my phone facedown beside me.
A small chill works its way up my spine.
In my rush to get to work this morning, I forgot my jacket, and with the early evening air starting to cool, it seeps into my bones.
I always try to take my break at this time whenever I can—when it’s not quite night, not quite day, everything seeming calmer.
My fingers brush over my lips. I swear I can still taste Elias on them. It’s been a week since I walked out of Headstone while his back was turned—a split-second decision, but I’m still considering whether or not it was the right one. Either way, I feel like a fucking coward.
We had a gig at Headstone the other night.
I silently hoped Elias would be there so I could apologize…
and hopefully pick up where we left off.
But he wasn’t. There was no sign of him anywhere.
It’s probably for the best, my life isn’t exactly the safest place for other people to step foot in, and I didn’t leave everything behind just to drag someone else into the shit.
Although I can’t help but wonder—am I the danger, or is it Elias?
The way he spoke to Cain still sends chills down my spine. But what surprised me more was that I didn’t feel small or defenseless in that moment. I felt safe. Which is crazy considering how utterly intimidating he is. Not just to me, but to everyone around him.
I look down and realize I’ve been absentmindedly running my fingers over my scars. The raised white and purple lines are always more prominent in cold or hot weather. It’s been one hundred and ninety-two days since I’ve added a fresh one—I feel pretty proud of myself for that.
Pulling my sleeve down, I exhale through my nose and lean back on my hands, staring out at the parking lot across the street. I watch as a couple walk towards their car while holding hands. Such a simple scene, yet it hits me right in the heart.
Will I ever have that?
I let my head drop back, eyes on the washed-out blue of the sky that means the sun is making its slow descent, marking the end of yet another day.
The porch door creaks open behind me.
I don’t turn straightaway. I know who it is. This place has a rhythm to it, and my best friend stomping out the back of the building always sounds the same.
“Why do men,” Harper says, slamming the door shut behind her, “exist?”
I snort, despite the angry tone in her voice, and glance back at her. “Strong opening statement, Harp.”
She flops down beside me, her shoulder knocking into mine. She smells like coffee grounds and that cheap vanilla body spray that she’s been trying to get me to use for the last year.
“Nathan isn’t answering my calls,” she says with a resounding sigh. “Or texts. He hasn’t even done the thing where he reacts to my message four hours later.”
“Maybe he’s dead,” I offer with a slight shrug.
She shoots me a look. “He would be so lucky.”
“Okay, maybe he’s just pretending he’s dead.”
“Worse.”
I love my best friend in every single way, but there’s something about this vulnerable side to her that warms my heart.
“I thought he’d call last night,” Harper says eventually. “And then I was hoping for this morning. And then I thought he’d definitely call on his lunch break.”
“Yeah, but did you specify which lunch break? Are you sure you meant today’s and not lunchtime in fifty years when he’s on his deathbed, realizing how he fucked up by letting you go?”
Harper huffs out a laugh and rests her head against my shoulder. “You’re the worst.”
I listen to her breath. It hitches slightly. Harper is the strong one in the group, she always has a smile and makes sure others have theirs. She will run herself into the ground before admitting she needs help—it’s her best and worst quality. Seeing her like this, obviously in pain, hurts.
“Have you tried calling him again?” I ask with concern.
“Obviously.”
“And?”
“He didn’t answer.” She sighs. “I feel insane, because I don’t want to be that bitch who double-texts, but I also don’t want to be the chill girlfriend who pretends she doesn’t care while he’s obviously fucking someone else.”
“Ah, yes,” I say, leaning back on my hands again. “The ancient paradox.”
Harper leans back on her hands and stares out at the parking lot. “I swear, if he’s just playing video games with the boys, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” I ask, playfully shoving her shoulder.
“I’ll be really annoying about it.”
We laugh together and stare out in comfortable silence. The air shifts as the sun dips lower on the horizon. The light turns warmer and the air turns colder.
“I think I want to dye my hair,” Harper says suddenly.
“Okay…” I blink.
“Like. Now.”
“Define now.”
“Tonight.”
I turn to look at her properly. There’s a glint in her eye that I recognize immediately. This girl needs a change, something that is within her control.
“What color?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Dark red? Purple? Something unhinged.”
“A bold move, Miss Milano.”
She grins, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I just need to do something. I feel stupid sitting around and waiting for him to remember I exist.”
I hum softly in agreement. I reach up and tug a strand of my own hair forward, inspecting the color out of habit. My roots are definitely due. I’ve been meaning to touch them up for days but keep putting it off with everything going on.
“Honestly,” I say, “I need to do mine anyway.”
Harper perks up immediately. “You do?”
“Yeah. Look at this.” I tilt my head forward, showing her my roots.
Harper laughs—really laughs—and it feels like a small victory. “Okay, yeah, you’re right. This is a hair dye emergency.”
“We’ll make a night of it,” I offer, seeing her smile in return worth everything.
“Mess included?”
“Especially the mess,” I say.
The porch door opens again, and Kaycee pokes their head out to call us in before shutting the door again.
Harper turns back to me, already knowing the answer but asking the question anyway. “You in?”
“Always,” I offer with a small smile.
Harper wraps me in a hug, pulling me tight.
We stand, brushing old wood and dirt off our asses as we head toward the door. I glance back at the steps and the thoughts I’m leaving there.
They’ll still be there next time.
For now, I have hair dye to buy and a mess to make, and that feels like exactly what I need.