Chapter Twenty-three #4
Day two had contained minor progress, in the form of a shower and clean pajamas.
But the tears still hadn’t stopped, and the pain was a constant pounding in her chest. Words echoed around in her mind.
Half-life. Settling. Status quo. All in.
It hurt to acknowledge it, but there was something to Trent’s words that resonated every time she repeated them.
Day three Harper had finally made it downstairs and turned on her phone, but only because Drea had accused her of being like the girl in those vampire novels who spent six miserable months sitting at her window waiting for her love to return.
It had made her smile briefly until she saw the eighteen missed calls and eight messages.
A quick scan showed they were mostly from Trent.
Her heart broke all over again as she forced herself to listen to them, only managing to get through the first four before collapsing on the floor of Drea’s kitchen in tears.
The alarm clock in Drea’s guest bedroom went off, signaling the start of day four post Trent. Tears weren’t quite as close to the surface, and Harper decided that today was as good as any to try to get back into some semblance of a normal routine.
The coffee shop was still the same. It was a very bizarre feeling, the rest of the world being exactly as you left it while everything in your own life felt like a grenade had exploded in it.
José was cautious around her. Her friends said hi and hoped she was feeling better, but Harper felt like an imposter. Customers wanted their food and drinks, and Harper served them on autopilot.
By late afternoon, Harper was starting to get her head in gear again. A three-day emotional purge had left her with an incredible hangover, but the fog was lifting slowly. Tiredness threatened to consume her, but Harper couldn’t stomach the idea of leaving to go home.
Thankfully she was supposed to head over to Celine’s house to work with Milo, an appointment she really wanted to keep.
“Can I get a large Colombian to go?” Harper turned suddenly from steaming the milk and came face-to-face with Cujo. “How you doing? You look like shit, Harper.” He smiled at her softly.
There was kindness in his eyes. “Thanks. I’ve been better.”
“Can you get a coffee and come talk with me for a bit?” He didn’t look angry, but looks could be deceiving. She looked around him and then outside.
“Nah. He’s not with me, Harp. He’s in LA. Had no choice, his contract meant he had to.”
“Hey, Harper, this guy bothering you?” José came up alongside of her and drew himself up to his full height, which was still no match for Cujo’s.
Harper was overwhelmed with the support she felt resonating from him.
“He just wants to talk with me. Is it okay if I take a quick break?”
“Sure thing. Here, take this. I can make another one.” He handed her a blended coffee.
Sitting down at a small table in the sunshine, Cujo ran his hand over the top of his head, which was bizarrely showing downy sprits of blond hair. They sat silently for several minutes.
“He’s out of his mind with worry, you know.” Cujo plucked the lid off his coffee and blew the surface to cool it down. “He needs to know you’re safe.”
Harper took a sip of the blended iced drink, but it sat like concrete on her tongue, bland and flavorless.
“Why are you here, Cujo?”
“Well, at first I was going to give you a lecture on why you shouldn’t have run out on him, but looking at you, I see you already know that. Then I was going to ask you if you could forgive him for being a fucking idiot.” He looked over the rim of his cup as he took a drink.
“Is he okay?” She needed to know.
“Stupid question, Harp. He’s as okay as you are.”
So not okay then.
“All I’m gonna say is that … look … I know you’ve been through some crazy shit.
I can’t even begin to think of all the ways that would normally fuck a human being up.
But the difference between you on the first day I saw you in the studio and you the night of your party, before all this shit went down, is night and day.
Same for him. You’re made for each other.
You’re better people because of each other.
It really bothers me that you’re going to fuck up the best thing that could have happened to the two of you. ”
Shit. Tears again. Harper swiped underneath her eye to hold them off and took a good long draw of her drink, hoping the pain of ice on the roof of her mouth would take her mind off the hurt.
“When did you get all sensitive on me, Cujo?”
“Aww, Harp. I’m sorry. I don’t want to make you cry, but you’ve got to know he loves you. And because he loves you, he’ll look out for you and protect you. Shit, he’d go to the wall for you. You need to let him.”
“It’s more complicated than that.” She studied her drink, watching the white cream melt into the blended coffee.
“No, it’s not. You love him. You told me. It’s incredibly simple.”
He rubbed his hand back and forth over the blond bristles before standing. Bending down, he kissed the top of her head.
“I’m gonna call him and tell him I found you and that you look like shit. He’ll come home tomorrow if he can’t get on a flight tonight. Think about what you’re going to say to him.”
Harper reached for her drink and watched him cross the street.
“Nice ride, man!” he called out to a biker with a silver helmet sitting on a huge black beast of a bike.
The helmet bobbed in her direction before the engine revved at deafening levels, speeding out onto the street.
The ping of her phone got Harper’s attention. She grabbed it, hoping to see Trent’s name.
Enjoy the rest of your drink, Taylor.