Blacklist [h.s]

ten

Grace

I feel like my life is a movie. Not even a low-budget movie, but like a Jordan Peele masterpiece or a fucking Stephen King book that people pay $12 to see in the cinema. I felt like my life was a movie because someway, somehow, I'm not dead when I open my eyes again.

I think for a moment when I wake up and see through blurry vision a figure standing in front of me that I've died and this is Jesus standing in front of me.

But when I hear Cooper's voice and a loud slam, I realize I'm not dead (and that my life definitely is a movie). I feel glued to the seat that I'm in (maybe because I've been tied to it for whoever knows how long) and I want to stand up, but I can't find the strength to do so. Not because I'm wounded, but because I'm defeated. Every cell in my body has turned against me.  Agent Hunter is in front of me soon after the slam, tapping my cheek lightly to make sure I'm somewhat alive. His hand is cold on my cheek and I swear for a second it lingers.

"Grace?" he mumbles. "Grace? Can you hear me?"

His voice sounds like concern and not hate-filled—not like he wants to rip my head off every second like it usually is. I know Hunter resents the fact that Harry walked right into our arms and demanded to speak to me. I know because he gives me angry stares and questions everything I ever say. But as selfish as it sounds, right now, I'm jealous that I'm not him. It feels like someone took a fucking hack saw to my shoulder blade. And smacked me in the ribs with a jackhammer. And my fucking stomach is bleeding again. 

When I try to push myself out of the chair, I feel dizzy and stumble into Hunter, but he catches me and wraps his arms tightly around my waist to keep me up. 

"We need a medic," he calls out although I'm not sure who he's speaking to. It's just us two inside the dingy cabin right now. Agent Cooper was definitely already radioing a medic before Hunter helped me up. The doors are closed to the white room that was once in front of me. It looks less horrifying with the doors closed, like this cabin was meant for family vacations and roasting marshmallows, not stabbing girls in their shoulders. As soon as I'm through the door and outside, I feel like I can breathe again. I feel less constricted, less like my life is falling apart, less suffocated by the lingering thoughts that this was Harry's fault. I don't know what happened. One moment I was in court and the next I was here. 

I notice at least a dozen of police cars with their lights flashing parked in a hurry outside of the cabin. Those lights and the smell of fresh air calm me. A woman with short dark hair, clothed in uniform with the letters EMT embroidered on the left shoulder gives me a blanket to wrap around my shoulders. Although it was seventy degrees, somewhere in the scuffle of landing flat on my face trying to run away and having a very sharp object shoved into my shoulder, I've lost my jacket. And I have a massive headache. 

"Hi, Grace?" the girl waves her hand in front of my face. "Hi, I'm Diane. I'm just going to check you out, okay?" 

Her smile is warm and she oddly reminds me of my mother, with the same soft voice, and beautiful smile. I nod. 

Diane asks me a ton of questions, the date, who's the president (I had to roll my eyes) if I was hurt anywhere, and do I need to go to the hospital? And then she clears me with a good to go after putting a butterfly bandaid over my stomach.  She suggest I go to the hospital to get pain medication and X-rays, she's pretty sure I may have a broken rib, but I decided that I'll go later. I want nothing more right now than to go home and lay in my own bed. Hunter walks over to me. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, taking a seat on the back of the ambulance next to me. I nod, pulling the blanket tightly around my shoulders. He places his hand on my knee. The warmness sends a tingling sensation up my leg. "If you need anything, you can let me know. You've been through a lot these past few days, but uh... we're partners and I am here for you." 

It felt genuine. I had never heard such nice words come out of Hunter before. Maybe behind being an asshole, he actually cares a little bit. I don't know. Everything is confusing right now.

"What did he want?" I ask, shuttering at remembering the sight of the white room. 

"I don't know all of the details, but it has something to do with Mr. Styles," he mumbles. 

 Hunter removes his hand from my knee and stands up, offering his hand out to help me up. He squeezes it slightly before he lets go. 

Hunter has his hand on my arm, ready to lead me to his squad car to take me home when a black car pulls up and Harry's jumping out of the front passenger seat before the car is even in park. I turn around with Hunter to avoid the sight of Harry, to avoid the hurt and the reminder that he's the reason I'm here now, the reason I'm a fucking damsel in distress. 

Harry's footsteps stop behind me and I'm compelled to turn around to face him, my body is disobeying my mind. Tears well up in my eyes, but I force myself to hold them back. I wasn't going to be a damsel in distress and the girl who cries in front of everyone too. 

We both know why I'm here. Because of him.

"I'm sorry-" 

"This is your fault, you know," I said bluntly. 

I don't turn around to look at him, but I know his face falls into a frown. I was pissed off and hurt and in a storm of emotions right now. I wanted him to feel the same hurt that I felt.  He's silent. 

"Why did you even come into the office that day, Harry? What the fuck do you want with me?" I ask, finally turning around to see him. His eyes advert from the ground to my face. He takes notice of the scratch on my cheek and touches it gently with his hand. I look down at the ground before taking a step back.

"It's not that simple, Grace. There are many things that you don't know and can't possibly understand. You aren't ready to hear them yet." 

I ball my hands into fists, tiny tiny fists that can't possibly do any damage to a guy of his stature. Tall, lean, muscular. He'd laugh in my face. I've not been one for violence. In fact, I'm a pacifist (sort of) but right now I wanted nothing more than to fucking fight Harry. 

I shake my head at him, laughing in disgust. 

"Ever since you walked through that door that day, my life has been hell. I didn't want this," I yell, taking a step closer to him. "I didn't want you to ask for me, or spy on me, or pull me into your shitty world. I don't fucking care what it was, or what it is that you have to tell me. I don't fucking care. My life was better off without you in it."

And just like that, my fists are colliding with his chest, anger leaving with every connection that I make. He doesn't stop me like I thought he would, he doesn't reach for my wrists to pull them down to my sides. He just lets me hit him over and over again with what little strength I have left. My shoulder throbs and I suck in a sharp breath with every punch that I land. Until finally I'm falling to the ground and he's hugging me tightly. I don't know why but I'm sobbing. Everything from the last few weeks hits me like a giant wave. Every single emotion pours out of me into that moment and into Harry's chest. Oddly, I feel comforted by his embrace, despite the fact that I was angry with him. Or at him. Or whatever. 

I cry quietly, my knees hurting from a rock pressing into them, my ribs, my wrists hurting, my heart hurting. 

He whispers I'm sorry over and over again until I stop listening. Until I stop caring. I pull away from him and sit back on the ground, staring at him in silence, blankly. He's staring right back at me, face stone cold. 

"I care about you Grace, I'm trying to protect you." He mumbles quietly. 

I stare at him for a few seconds longer, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders tighter.

"All you do is hurt me, Harry." 

All he does is hurt me.