PULSE [H.S]

046

"Sometimes the most scenic roads in life are the detours you didn't mean to take." — Angela N. Blount

It's a three-hour drive.

When I told Harry how far away the place was, he didn't complain, but he insisted that he would be driving. I don't mind him driving. I love being a passenger. It's nice being able to stare out the window and not pay attention to the traffic or anything else going on.

He says, "I've never been to Ritzville."

"You're not missing out on anything," I laugh. "It's a small town. There's not much in it."

It's definitely a stark contrast to Seattle, with all of the noise and chaos. This place is different. It's quiet, and the air feels more peaceful. I love the city, but it's nice leaving it once in a while. The city can be overwhelming.

I ask, "Do you think you'll stay in Seattle forever?"

He says, "I don't exactly have the option to leave."

I turn my head, looking over to observe him as he drives us through the roads. I frown, "If you could, though. If you had nothing holding you back, would you stay or go somewhere new?"

"I'd go to England, I think," he replies. "Or somewhere in Europe, far away from here."

I say, "I've never been out of the country."

He glances at me, asking, "Greece will be your first?"

"Yep," I say. I sigh, "This is my first time abroad, and I'll be committing a crime." Then I realize, "I don't have a passport or anything."

He smirks, "Do you really think we fly economy, pretty girl?"

When he calls me that, I go weak. Even though he stole my nickname from me, it sounds so much better when he says it.

"Then how are we getting there?" I question.

"We have a jet," he says. "We jump out when it's above our drop-off point."

"What?!" I almost yell.

When he starts laughing at me, I glare at him, crossing my arms over my chest. I don't know why I fell for that, honestly. It's not realistic at all. He's just such a smooth talker that I want to believe every word he says.

He laughs, "Guess you won't be going skydiving."

"I've been skydiving, actually," I say, and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. I add, "When I was seventeen."

He asks, "Did you like it?"

I say, "It was fun. I just felt so free, like it was just me above the entire world. Well, me and the guy I was strapped to. Would you go?"

"No."

"Why not?"

He scratches the back of his head. He says, "I can get an adrenaline high with both of my feet on the ground."

I smile at him. "You're scared of heights."

He looks at me, scowling. "No, I'm not. Why are you smiling about that?"

I keep smiling, giggling now. I say, "I don't know. I didn't think Mr. Tough Guy would be scared of anything."

"I'm not scared of heights."

"Whatever you say," I say with a smirk. "I could never go bungee jumping, though."

His voice is full of disbelief as he says, "You'd jump out of a plane, but bungee jumping is too much for you?"

"It's different. When I went skydiving, I was strapped to someone. They are the ones that threw us out of the plane. I didn't make that leap myself. With bungee jumping, you have to jump off the platform on your own," I explain. "I'd need someone to push me or something. I don't know if I could make that jump."

He says, "Well, the nice thing about bungee jumping is that you don't have to do it."

"It could be fun, though," I say with a shrug. "If I could get myself to jump, I know I'd love it."

I lean my head against the window as the landscape passes by us. The hum of the engine fills my ears, making me relax. I yawn, feeling sleepy.

"I need to stop for gas," he announces a little later. He pulls into a gas station off the side of the road. "You want a snack or something?"

"Are you going in?" I ask.

He gives me a look. He says, "Seems like it since you can't do anything on your own."

I scoff at him, but I'm secretly happy that he's going inside too. Not because I can't buy snacks by myself, but because I'd rather not make him wait for me if he isn't getting anything.

We step into the small store, and there's an older man behind the register. He sits up straighter when he sees Harry, as if he can sense the threat from across the room. Sometimes I forget that Harry is a little scary-looking compared to most people.

"What are you getting?" I ask him as I follow him down an aisle.

He says, "Don't know. All this shit is bad for you."

I ignore the comment and grab myself a bag of Sour Patch Kids. I know they're entirely sugar and chemicals, but I love them. Snacks don't always have to be nutritional. Apparently Harry disagrees, though. He reads the back of several things, making the same appalled face at each one of them, as if he is shocked a chocolate bar has sugar in it.

"Can you just pick something?" I say, annoyed. "You don't have to overanalyze every single thing in the store. One unhealthy snack won't kill you."

He gives me a warning look, and I stop talking. He eventually settles on a protein bar.

I say, "That's so lame."

"At least there's something good in this for me, unlike the shit you picked out."

"At least mine will taste good."

He rolls his eyes and walks away from me. He grabs himself a yellow Powerade from the fridge, and I must've made a face, because he stops and stares down at me like I'm the most irritating person he's ever met.

He says, "The fuck was that look for?"

"Nothing," I say, sighing. "Can you not be grumpy today, please?"

"Stop making me feel self-conscious about my food choices, then."

I say, "Sorry. I just don't know why you'd pick the piss flavor when they have red and blue."

He ignores me, muttering something under his breath. I follow him to the counter after deciding that it's probably better for me not to get a drink. I don't want to make him stop again so I can pee. Something tells me that wouldn't go over well.

I put my candy on the counter next to Harry's things. The cashier keeps one of his eyes on Harry the entire time he rings us up. It looks like he's expecting Harry to try and rob him.

"That'll be $7.68," the guy says.

Harry pays, not seeming phased by how this guy is looking at him.

We get back in the car, and I munch on my Sour Patch Kids.

I ask Harry, "How's your protein stick?"

He mutters, "Tastes like cardboard."

That makes me laugh.

I spend the rest of the ride quietly looking out at the changing landscape. The longer we drive, the more anxious I start to get. I don't know how Harry is going to respond to this. I'm sharing something with him that I don't share with anyone.

When we pull into the parking lot of the care center, nerves knot in my stomach. He parks, turning off the car and looking over at me.

"Harry," I say nervously. "I'm trusting you with this."

He takes my hand, squeezing it. He says, "You can trust me. I promise."

We get out of the car.

And I lead him to meet my sister.