SIXTY-SIX
Gigi
The events of that night creep up on me when I least expect it. I find myself bolting up in bed drowning in my own sweat as I recall holding Harry’s lifeless body in my hands. And I’ll run to the bathroom to clean what I think is blood staining my skin.
I’ve fucked up multiple missions.
Richard and my team say I’m being too cautious and not like the risk-taker I usually am. Any chance someone could be in danger, I put a stop to the whole thing.
No heists means no payday.
No payday makes for very unhappy people in the Circle.
My loyalties changed after that night. In the weeks following I found myself relaying every single detail in my brain, contemplating if there was anything I could have done differently. But I came to the same conclusion every time: I couldn’t have changed the outcome.
Harry stumbles over his own two feet, and I dart forwards, catching his body to help soften the blow.
“H-Harry’s been hit!” I scream into the earpiece, hysterical.
I feel like I can barely breathe as I watch the life draining from his face.
Raising my head, I find Paolo smirking, and I don’t allow him a moment of decency before I raise my Glock between his sick fucking eyes and pull the trigger, shooting a bullet straight through his forehead. Harry’s body tumbles from my grip, and I spin, ducking down from an oncoming bullet and popping all three guards in the head.
They drop like dominoes.
Crouching to the floor, I reach my hand into the front of Harry’s shirt and unsheathe his daggers. Flipping them between my hands, I see so much red that it threatens to overtake my vision.
Daggers and bullets fly through the air.
I duck.
I slice the throat of several fucking guards.
I’m a weapon of mass destruction.
And when the last guard pleads for mercy, clutching onto his leg, I grab his weapon and fire it into his crotch. Again. And again. And again. And again.
Finally clear of threats, I drop the weapon as if it’s scorching my skin with fire and throw myself onto the ground beside Harry. On my knees, I grip the front of his shirt. His blood instantly starts to pool on my hands, staining the fabric of my dress. It mixes in with the wine-coloured fabric, making it a struggle to see how bad the loss is.
But my hands are drenched with crimson.
There’s so much blood.
“Why would you do that!” I scream to no one in particular, my voice hoarse.
This was never meant to happen!
Harry was never supposed to be hurt.
Tears spill from my eyes quickly, splashing against Harry’s skin, which is quickly paling.
“Don’t you dare die on me.”
“I … I don’t think I’m getting out of this one, baby.”
With what started as a way for me to climb the ranks and reach the top of the Circle, I’d been gaining Paolo’s trust for several weeks, hoping I could put an end to Richard. Specifically on the night Harry and I infiltrated the mansion. That hard drive would hold such damning information that he’d have no choice but to crumble. My priorities may have fallen through the cracks, but I wasn’t a fool. I knew Richard was hiding something cruel, dark, and sadistic.
Not to mention, Jack’s appearance had felt like much more than my inner demons. Whenever people referenced him, they brushed off the subject as quickly as it arose. God, even Hudson Anderson said nothing when I asked.
I didn’t doubt that someone out there knew the truth.
I’m not sure when I figured out my morals had changed and that I wanted Richard dead for his secrets rather than his position in power. Either way, none of it was worth it now.
I was oblivious to Paolo playing me. If only I’d been sane enough to realise his true intentions. If only I hadn’t been embodying this stupid fucking alter-ego, I would have realised what was really happening around me.
The guards were supposed to collect me from the cellar after Harry and I were “trapped”, but it turns out the electricity really did trip overnight, almost ruining everything. Things progressed far too quickly for either of us to handle, and before I knew it, Harry was shot and bleeding out.
He was rushed to medical, and the doctor said I kept him alive in the car with the pressure I applied to the wound near his heart, pushing so hard I thought I’d break his ribs. Richard arrived and said it was in both of our interests for me to leave. While every part of me was screaming to stay, I knew it was for the best that I left. God knows what the repressions would have been if he had seen me crying over Harry’s broken body just minutes earlier.
He slipped into unconsciousness shortly after impact. While I did everything to save him, it’ll seem to Harry like I still hold several secrets and that I refused to be beside him even in his close call with death .
Oh God, this is just awful.
Richard is yet to find out about my disloyalty to the Circle, but it’s only a matter of time.
The thought creeps up on the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine.
Now I watch over my shoulder like a horror-movie victim, just awaiting my own fate. My own passing bullet.
But I do know one thing.
If my brother’s death suggested anything …
Sanity is as precious as your life.
I wake up to a flurry of activity on my bedroom window. Rain pounds ferociously and unforgivingly. When I come to my senses I half-expect to hear Jack, but his voice in my subconscious has disappeared completely now. Even he knows having the truth slap me in the face is a harsher punishment than any words could ever be.
As I sit up fully I hope to find Harry sitting on the edge of my bed. Anything. Anyone. But there’s nothing. And there’s no one.
I’m all alone.
When I climb out of bed I head straight to the kitchen to subconsciously wash my hands. Something that has become a tedious routine by now.
A water bottle sits on the kitchen counter, and I take it, downing a hefty mouthful as I trudge back into my bedroom. Once I slip inside I swear I can picture exactly where Harry would be. Where his hunched posture would sit. How his chest would fall .
I’m trying to act brave, trying to embrace this caricature, but the action is fruitless. I take a seat on the part of the bed where I imagine he sits, and I reach onto my side table to that piece of paper he once wrote.
Please look after yourself.
God knows how many times I’ve stared at it by now. How many times I’ve hoped I would bring the words into fruition if I read them enough.
I clutch the paper hard, careful not to crease it.
It isn’t until lightning strikes through the window that I bring it closer to my eyes. Realisation hits my chest, and I can barely believe my eyes as I turn it over. I sit forwards, looking at it intently, and a battlefield of sorrow rages in my body.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
It’s written over and over again.
I try to gather strength – try to do anything to keep my emotions intact. But all I can do is release a pathetic, broken gasp of breath.
Pain squeezes my heart at the thought of Harry. Agony sparks my chest at how his true feelings were right here, yet I blindly ignored them, brainwashed by the need for power, bloodlust, and—
Stupid. I was so fucking stupid.
It hurts, reading that he missed me back then. But not as much as the utter heartbreak of missing him right now. And nowhere near as much as the harsh reality that he’s better off without me.