Another Way | Adopted by Gerard Way (Book Three)

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The weight of yesterday's issues seemed to have evaporated from Harley's body as she slept. She was left feeling refreshed and energetic and any anxiety she had had about going to the party with Mason had been replaced with excitement. Furthermore, the apprehensiveness towards putting her avoiding-the-beach plan into action was gone.

It would almost be a waste of a day to pretend to be sick when she felt so good.

When she rolled over in bed and saw the time, 9 AM, she sighed contentedly. Everything was already coming together with minimal effort on her part. It was the next step that would be more complicated. Though, her improvisation last night was a nice touch, what with her energy levels plummeting, then going to bed much earlier than usual.

After ten minutes of staring at the ceiling and pondering her next move, she decided to get up. Getting dressed was too much; sick people didn't have the energy nor the motivation to choose an outfit. Going down to breakfast despite apparently feeling like hell would be her main selling point. A cliche, yet cliche for the reason that it was completely believable, 'I really want to go, are you sure I can't go?' narrative.

Before going down, she ducked into the bathroom and took a quick look at herself in the mirror. An oversized T-shirt hung loosely on her body, her tousled hair was untameable, her plaid pyjama pants were tied around her waist with a clumsy bow.

She needed to look sick. If she'd done this yesterday, with the bags under her eyes and the weight of the world on her shoulders, it'd have been easier to be convincing. She'd have to make do with what she had, which were some mediocre acting skills and a deep hatred and disdain for the beach.

She ignored Gerard's "good morning" as she pulled out her chair and sat in front of a plate of pancakes She rubbed her face tiredly.

"I was starting to think you'd never get up," Gerard said. He hadn't yet actually looked up at Harley as he was reading a book, a cup of coffee in the other hand.

"Well, I had to eventually," she replied flatly. She picked up her fork and began cutting into one of the pancakes with painstaking movements, then abandoned it and poured herself some orange juice.

"No coffee this morning?" Gerard questioned, this time looking up. He placed his bookmark on the page he'd just finished reading, then closed the book.

She shook her head as she stared at the orange liquid.

Gerard took a sip of his drink, his eyes flitting from his coffee to Harley and the blank expression on her face, the far-away look in her eyes, and her pancakes she still hadn't taken a bite out of. He felt conflicted, the two halves of his brain arguing passionately. You're supposed to leave her alone and let her open up at her own pace, sharply contrasted by the, There's something wrong and it's my responsibility to fix it.

"Are you looking forward to the beach?" he tried, hoping that it would perk her up a bit. "We still have a bit of time before we have to leave, but probably once you're dressed and showered or whatever and we pack lunch we should think about heading out."

Harley nodded this time, but told the truth in the confines of her head, No, I really am fucking not looking forward to it, almost as though this private admittance would cancel out the guilt.

"Sounds good," she said weakly, still not breaking her staring contest with the beads of condensation on her glass. She didn't need to fabricate the struggle that came through in her voice, clear as the water in the pitcher in the center of the table.

"How'd you sleep?" Gerard asked tentatively, the only question he could think of that was neutral enough not to go against what Evelyn and Emerald had instructed. Although, with every word—or lack thereof—that Harley expressed, the creases in his worried forehead were getting deeper, and it seemed as though a blade was digging itself farther into his chest.