Right Down The Line

12

Harry's POV:

I straightened my shoulders and tilted my head, looking at myself in the mirror as I considered my outfit. My light blue jeans hung low on my waist, a large forest green jumper swallowed my upper body, and I frowned at my messy hair before walking back into my closet to grab the first cap I could find.

Stood back in front of the mirror, I placed the black cap on my head, bits of my curls poking out underneath.

Tired of looking at myself, I strolled out of my bedroom through the quiet hallway, down the stairs and ventured into the kitchen.

I busied myself making coffee, grabbing a bottle of vodka from the counter while the water heated up on the stovetop. I ground up some coffee beans then poured them into the filter. Once the water was hot, I poured it over the coffee grounds and watched the dark liquid come out the bottom into the decanter. I stared absentmindedly as I continued to pour the water over the grounds, filling up the decanter at a slow and steady pace.

Once all the water was poured out of the hot kettle, I removed the filter and placed it in the sink, pouring the coffee into a mug from the decanter. I twisted off the top of the vodka, pouring about two shots worth into the mug and swished it around as delicately as I could in my hand so as not to spill it. I popped a lid onto the mug and took a burning sip of the hot liquid.

I looked around my spotless kitchen, then out the window to the gray morning. My house was dead quiet, as always.

I saw my phone across the room on the dining table, silently glowing, and I instinctively rolled my eyes at the thought of communicating with anyone. Taking another gulp of my bitter beverage, I dragged my feet over to my phone and picked it up.

I scrolled the notifications through glazed eyes, seeing mostly work emails from my producer and a couple of texts from Jeff. He was always checking on me, trying and failing to be nonchalant about it, which made it more satisfying to ignore. He wanted to be Mitch so badly, but he couldn't. Only Mitch could be Mitch, and I didn't have any notifications from him. I hadn't spoken to him in weeks.

How had I managed to push everyone away?

I swallowed the lump in my throat with another drink of spiked coffee and shoved my phone in my pocket.

Making my way downstairs and through my garage, I glanced around at all my cars and decided to grab the key for the yellow Ferrari.

Once I was out of the city and cruising through the rural roads, I took a full-body deep breath and relaxed deeper into my seat. My one hand rested on the wheel, the other on the gearshift. I admired the grays and greens of the earth that surrounded me. With the radio off, I listened to the engine's low rumbling and the rhythmic wiping of rain being pushed off the windshield.

After driving for who knows how long, the subtle increase in surrounding buildings told me I was nearing my destination. I tapped my foot on the brake pedal and shifted gears while I glanced around at the shops and homes that made up this village, turning my car a couple of times until I saw the old sign of my favorite café.

I pulled around to the back of the building and turned carefully into the narrow alleyway, where I've had permission to park since I started coming here over a decade ago. I didn't usually need to worry about prying eyes around here, but the owners insisted I take the spot whenever I come anyway, always going out of their way to help me stay under the radar.

And as I stepped out of the car, the back door of the old building slammed shut and there stood one half of the couple who owned this café, and she was bounding toward me with arms as wide as the grin on her face.