Deliverance [h.s.]

seventy | the final countdown

It's the final countdown

The final countdown

The Final Countdown || Europe

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9 Days Left

"Is this the criminal equivalent to watching paint dry?" Mac poises his tone beside me.

I let out a long winded sigh as I figured-eight the rubber band to wrap it around the stack of cash. We've been sitting here for hours bundling the two million dollars into set stacks of ten thousand each.

"I honestly think I'd prefer watching paint dry. There's less thinking, less counting." I toss the bound stack into the designated duffle bag as Mac reaches into the other one to collect another round of cash.

"This is fucking bullshit. We should've waited for Jax and Harry, it would've made this shit go by quicker."

"I disagree. Jax would have done something to piss Harry off, like 'making it rain' with the cash and it would have led to a 45 minute argument with zero progress." My lips quirk with a genuine grin as I mindlessly count out the money in my head, "They'll be by later anyways. Whatever is left when they get here we'll employ them to help us then."

I lean over the duffle bag, quickly counting the bound bundles. 330,000; that's as far as we've gotten.

After this, if i ever have to stack cash again, i'm giving myself a fucking lobotomy.

"Why the fuck did we decide to do this today?" I groan out with a fake cry of frustration.

Mac's head cranes towards me with the same droning expression, "It's not like we have anything fucking better to do."

8 Days Left

I needed to get away.

I needed to go. Go do something sane. Go do something meaningful. Go do something that wouldn't have negative repercussions.

I stayed awake most of the night with Harry sleeping peacefully beside me. I searched and searched for faces in the flat above me until there wasn't an inch left uncovered. I needed a plan to put my mind at ease today and when the sun finally rolled into view, spilling through the slatted blinds of my window; i knew.

The morning lulled by until all of us broke for our separate lives, our individual tasks of whatever the fuck we had to do to make ourselves feel useful.

My hand found its way to Eli's untouched motorcycle keys hanging on the hook by the garage door. They've sat unmoved for over 50 days now. His bike hasn't roared to life since his fingertips last touched the handles. The wheels haven't moved against the earth since our last ride together.

I took the cover off of the bike, unveiling its pristine beauty, except now it's tainted with a layer of dust. The film accumulating over it nearly has me buckling before it but instead I take that guilt and I take the hurt and I make it worth something.

I spent longer than I should have baking outside underneath the sweltering early August heat washing, polishing, shining the sleek bike until my muscles were tired and my fingertips pruned. Mac had passed by once to see what I was doing and for the first time in a while I could see a genuine smile; one with renewed hope and happiness.

I'm trying. I really am; I promise. To them and myself; I promise I'm trying.

To be sane. To be careful. To be thoughtful.