May [H.S]

22

Harry
•••

Croqueuse d'homme.

The rush of midnight wind dove for the sweat lining the curls beside my ears, eating away at the drips trickling down my back. I lull my head forward, inhaling the lingering smell of the ocean as I force away the sheen of the red stoplight from my vision. Dots sprinkle my lids, all a direct tiresome result of the day, pattering its nonsense in the very front of my head, right where my body exuded stress in little beads of precipitation. With no layer between my bare, damp skin and the abrasive texture of my leather jacket strung around my toned torso, only the breeze could soothe the boiling emotion inside of me, bubbling up and over, out onto the street where everyone could see.

I could actively feel myself falling slowly out of lucidness, dragged down the rabbit hole, caught in a riptide. The blood in my veins rushed, terrified of the idea; being swept away under the current, free-falling down a windy tunnel. The gust from just off the ocean resembled a feverish night in California I'd experienced months ago, and none of that imagery was helping me grasp my stability back.

This was something that was practically inevitable to me, I knew the warning signs like a familiar road, the hairs standing on the back of my neck, the unsettling craving for suppressants, and being fully unable to recognize the person controlling my body.

It almost always happened after. After I'd played the part of some scary, gang-affiliated, gun-slinging prick for an entire day– after I'd done dirty work for Harley. Today wasn't like one of those days, though, Harley had no clue about today, and whoever had an inkling was dead. Blood staining into the white seams of the t-shirt I'd tossed aside, roadkill.

I hated the way I knew I could've prevented all of it, every last thing that's haunting, keeping me up at night. Everything that's happened at my fickle hands. Whatever I'm about to do with the fury burning through my veins. 

Throbbing in disruption from the oncoming, green neon lights, sunnies rested over my aching eyes, preventing the air from doing more damage. I hadn't planned on just jumping on my motorcycle and hauling ass across town, or else I would've worn a helmet, and decided that today wasn't the day to play Godfather, and preferably bring a spare pair of clothes that didn't instantly ignite suspicion from onlookers. Only God knows that Magnolia Finnely likes to catch me at the worst fucking time possible, keep me on my toes.

Understand my surprise when I got a call from Vegemite, audibly distressed and ranting on about how Meg has lost her goddamn marbles. Partying out in a club downtown with an array of friends including ones from The Reapers. The same Meg that promised me only hours ago that she'd stay at my place tonight, stay in and safe after I'd bleakly and firmly explained the importance of it.

Of course, she wanted to know why, what I was up to, and of course, I dodged her questions, just making her promise me that she'd stay on my couch the whole night, rummaging through my cupboards.

I'm sorry I didn't have time to illustrate to her how I think she's drawn a target on her back by hanging around Luke and Joey and casually making friends while drinking at Rubies with them. How I think whoever the hell is stalking her has a motive, knows how important she is to the state of Oregon, to certain people affiliated with the gang. How I'm almost certain that person is on the opposing side so to say and they're not just doing all of this to fuck with her. With California in mind and everything that went down, the timelines are terrifyingly cohesive. 

I'm scared that she's already made her bed like I've made mine.

If Hemmings panicked and lost his shit over Meg going out, then you know somethings seriously gone wrong. He's not exactly the high-strung type, well, excluding this past week over the bullshit that's occupied us. People disrupting the peace at rallies, clashing heads with each other, and acting fools on our territory. It's all backlash from Wentworth being locked up, everyone's got their backs up. Which is another fucking reason I had Meg promise me that she'd stay in and away from the bullshit.