54. Harper
Chapter 54
Harper
As soon as I hear Mom’s car leave, I scramble out of bed and grab my backpack. I catch sight of my reflection in the dresser’s mirror and falter. There are dark rings under my eyes, and the messy bun I’ve pulled my hair into is already fraying. I’m dressed in my school clothes, but they look as if they don’t fit me right anymore, which is fucked up because they fit me just fine yesterday.
Fuck, I’d have thought something would have changed in the months I’ve been here, but if anything I look younger, more vulnerable, than when I arrived.
Thanks, Jude.
I pause at my door, listening intently before easing it open. Outside in the hall, the house is silent. I make it a yard before Rosie’s door opens. She comes out mumbling to herself, her head bobbing. I freeze, holding my breath like it could somehow make me invisible.
Don’t look, don’t look, don’t ? —
Rosie fiddles with the multi-colored belt keeping her jeans up, only looking up when she gets close to the stairs. She stands on the top and then does this weird hop down the first few steps before taking them normally.
I only start breathing again when she’s on the ground floor. I only start moving when I hear the front door open. I head for the kitchen, glancing up the stairs to make sure Jude hasn’t come out of his room. I heard music thumping in there last night before dinner. I told Mom I had period pain and just wanted to chill in bed with a hot water bottle. She brought me painkillers and a mug of hot chocolate, which made me sob into my pillow for a good few minutes before I could control myself.
I’m all cried out now. Ready.
In the kitchen, I make myself three sandwiches and shove them along with some apples into my backpack. I’m starving after last night, but this should see me through. If I could eat right now, I would, but I have to get a move on. I don’t want to run into Jude.
Outside, the day is crisp and bright. I inhale a breath charged with early morning energy, feeling a million times better just being out of the house. But I only get as far as the gate before I turn back. I hate myself every second of the way back to the front door, but I don’t have the willpower to fight this right now.
Maybe ever.
The French doors leading to the patio open silently. My school shoes clop over the paving stones to the pool house. I turn the handle, but the door doesn’t open.
I stare for a moment and then rattle at the handle again.
Locked.
“What the fuck?” I cup my hands and peer through the glass, immediately spotting the rows of liquor behind the bar. I glance around, hesitate, and then drop my backpack to the ground. A moment later my blazer is off and wrapped around my elbow.
The windowpane beside the latch shatters on my third attempt. I shake the loose glass from my blazer and reach carefully around to unlock the door. I stash a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of Bailey’s in my backpack and take a second to adjust the weight on my back.
Then I’m off.