Ladybug [h.s.]

6

Harry

~~~~~~~~

As much as I try to focus on the feeling of the gravel spinning underneath my tires, or the numbing whip of the chilly midnight air, all I can feel is the static shocking against my veins. Socks on carpet; miniature explosions of lightning. The deafening wind floods into my ears and tugs at the ends of my hair angrily as I sit at the back of the gang. Delilah's arms are wrapped tightly around Jack's stomach, fingers intertwined and pressed up against his abdomen. The roads are nearly empty, soft yellow streetlight illuminating pockets of the concrete. Each time the bikes roll below, the wasps on the back light up, ready to sting, and I'm waiting for the inevitable prick from Delilah, too.

Stupid fucking idiot.

I don't know why I thought pissing off Delilah would work in my favor. I should've known that she would stop at nothing to get back at me for it. And, sure enough, as we slow down in the lot across from the drive-in, I catch her eyes through the helmet covering her face and watch her poke her tongue through her teeth. Evil pleasure. Python fangs sinking into skin. Lingering mosquito bites. The strings from the red ribbon tied around her hair ripple in the breeze, sticking out ever so slightly at the base of the helmet.

"There's an opening in the fence around back we can sneak in through." Dean's the first to speak as we all cut off our bikes.

If I'm honest, I'm surprised Dean and Cliff are even still here, considering they didn't want to come out in the first place. They'll both cut out before the night's over, either to pick up some broads, or get blitzed, or maybe just to go crash. Jack, on the other hand, will stay until the night's long over; until the sun starts to peek over the horizon line. Or until Delilah makes him take her back. Whichever comes first.

When I'd told the guys we were going to find "Jack's" bird, their faces screamed what they knew better than to say. None of them believed we would actually succeed, even though they were more than prepared to play along with my little games. But, I knew. Delilah and Eleanor always had sleepovers; just like every other uptown broad in town. And, after Delilah's comment at the hospital, I had an inkling that I could find them together. If it wasn't weekly, it might as well have been. I could distinctly remember nights at either one of their houses, getting picked up at bedtime because I wasn't allowed to stay the night, and being dropped right back off first thing in the morning. The memory settles a sea of acid in my stomach that I try desperately to build a dam against with a gentle cough and hand through my hair.

"Sting?" Jack's voice startles me back to reality.

"What's shakin'?" I ask, quickly shuffling off of the motorcycle and propping it up.

"Did you hear the plan?" Cliff flicks his lighter, blowing out a stream of smoke from the cigarette perched between his lips with a hiss.

"Yeah, we're sneakin' in back like always." With a concealed smirk, I glance towards Delilah, who's got my helmet held firmly in between her palms as she leans up against the seat of Jack's bike. As I take the helmet, I taunt, "Is that too bad for sweet, innocent Deli?"

She rolls her eyes, rising to her feet and pointedly wrapping an arm around Jack's waist, finding a home for her tiny hand in the back pocket of his jeans. "Clearly you don't know much about me, greaser."

I can't help but to snort at her insinuation, earning the looks of the rest of the guys. Biting my tongue, I shake my head and lead the gang in the direction of the drive-in.

You fell down the stairs when you were five and have a scar across your collarbone because of it. Your favorite color is, and always will be, red. The only reason you hide the shit you do is because you're scared of losing your father's respect. You put on a fake confidence that is fueled by the sleazy attention of dirty men. You have three patches of almost perfectly circular birthmarks on the inside of your right ankle. You used to make me take the first bite of apples picked from the trees because you were scared of them being poisonous after watching Snow White when we were 4. Your hand in Jack's pocket right now is clammy like when we'd climb too high and I'd have to hold your hand to help you down. Clammy like it was before you sprinted away after kissing me underneath the monkey bar platform when we were 7 because Eleanor dared us to have our first kiss together.