Verboten

22.

Harry balances his unlit cigarette into the cleft on the lip of the ashtray and turns to face his bed, finding your pocket watch with its outstretched chain laying softly in his sheets. It has become tradition that he brings it with him when he leaves town and although you stormed out of his room without a word tossed in his direction, he knows that you've left your pocket watch here as a prayer for him to come back to you unscathed.

Harry's fingers dip into the serpentine brass chain and holds the small item against his fingertips. He kisses the open face of the watch before lowering it over his head, lifting it into view to take note of the time before snapping it closed and getting dressed. He has zero hours of sleep to his name so he hopes to move in and out of town at top speed, just needing to check the hotel books for his target's itinerary before peeling back out.

He slips a couple coins into his pocket before replacing his stack of cash underneath his mattress, his eyes scanning the room one last time before swiping his key from his dresser, perching his hat on his head and slinking out of his hotel without so much as a creak in the floorboards or a shake of his spurs.

The town is still silent with undeveloped sunrise as he approaches Charlotte, cooing at her presence and patting her forehead and her shoulder. He unties her from her post, swings his leg over her back, gathering her reins in his jeweled fingers and commanding her to trot through town. His eyes remain glued to the Silver Spur Saloon as it slowly comes into focus, deliberating whether or not he should pop into your bedroom before he cuts stick.

In his chagrin, he had forgotten to consider your safety upon your return home and the possibility of your father waiting in the shadows as you climbed back into your window. His gaze flicks to the path ahead and back to the sign that hangs in the front of your building. His chest tightens with the superstition of choosing to skip over checking on you and the worst possible outcome of you needing him as a very real possibility. He would never forgive himself if he had stood only a few yards from your window and chose not to inspect when you required him most.

He sucks in a lungful of air and hops down from Charlotte, walking her behind the saloon and tying her to the rusted wagon wheel leaned up below your aperture. He kisses her nose and hauls himself up to your window, hooking his fingertips into the sill and pressing his feet into the wooden ledge for balance as he peers into your bedroom.

You lie asleep in your favorite nightgown of his; stark white, cap sleeved and silken, the neckline cut so low that he's been known to sneak his fingers into the hem for a quick grope. He licks his lips and imagines doing it now, the finesse and elegance of your skin beckoning him forward as his hunger grows rabidly and begs to be satiated. He digs his fingers into the pane to pry it open but is cut short by the click and squeak of your bedroom door opening.

The shock from dereliction and fear of being caught causes his foot to slip out from underneath him, his body dropping and dangling from the second story as his fingertips clutch the ledge desperately. He cries out in quiet suffering, not wanting to alert the person checking on your obedience but also horrified of the fifteen foot drop below the soles of his shoes.

He glances down at the ground below him and readjusts his hold, trying to swing his leg up upon the ledge for leverage as silently as he can manage. Charlotte whinnies and he squeezes his eyes as tightly closed as possible, muttering a string of curses as his grip begins to loosen against his will.

He fills his lungs with air and mutters a prayer into the sweaty skin of his arm as the last scrap of his hold chips away and his body is freed from the window. He gasps and tries to grab onto absolutely anything on his way down but there are no objects to grasp. His mind and his heart spin together like a hurricane and in less than three seconds, his back is meeting the ground painfully with a loud punch. The back of his skull hits next and his wail is swallowed by the rush of air from his chest as he rolls onto his side and raises a trembling hand to ease his throbbing back.