Guns and Mirrors

FORTY-SIX

♕Harley Anderson♕

Ray drops me back off at the house when the sun has already set and the dark sky has swept in before he leaves to go take care of other things regarding the gang. It means the world to me that he took time out of his busy- and pressured- schedule of trying to get into Jack's files to help me work through something. There's no doubt in my mind that he must have seen Danté this morning and asked why he was so crestfallen which is how he knew why I was upset. It's strange having more people care about me then I ever imagined. Once upon time, my own family didn't even.

I take a seat outside in the garden where the grass is short and very green, different kinds of flowers growing along it as a border. There's two outdoor chairs and a table in the garden, covered with an umbrella that's shut closed and I enjoy the way the moonlight shines through the gaps of the leaves hanging from trees of various sizes. It's like the trees create a barrier that protects me from the rest of the world and I could stay here all day. In this peace and harmony.

But I know that that peace is about to be disturbed when I hear Danté pull up- but only because I have explaining to do. I have things that need to be said to him. And no matter how much I choke on them, he deserves to hear them.

I hear him park the car in the spare garage before the front door opens. I hear his pause- like he always does in order to sense something out of the ordinary- before closing it shut. I keep my eyes on my feet, resting my chin on my knees that I pull up to my chest. It takes him a few minutes to reach me but by then, I already want to vomit from the nerves.

"Harley," he says in greeting, all disappointment from this morning's conversation- or lack thereof- missing, before he closes the sliding door shut behind him, "what are you doing out here?"

I look up then, enjoying the way he has black dirt spread across his cheek, no doubt from subconsciously scratching his jaw while he worked on a car. "I just needed some fresh air. I needed to clear my head." I reply and I see something like guilt flash through his eyes. Taking a seat on the cushion beside me, he rests an assuring hand on my back.

"I'm sorry about this morning." He confesses. "I understand what you're going through and if this is how you're coping, I am in no place to be judging or questioning you. It... it just hurts. That's all." He says and he forces a smile onto his face. I almost nod, I almost kiss his lips and say it's fine before getting up to go make us tea. But I know that that won't suffice. Not any more. I told myself that I would talk today.

So, instead, I shake my head. And the amount of courage a simple action like that takes is astounding because it's the first step I'm taking to opening up. To healing within myself.

"No Danté." It comes out as a shaky sigh. "You had every right to call me out like that. If anything, I needed to hear it."

My response clearly shocks him because he recoils slightly, eyebrows raised high on his forehead. I look away, focusing on the pink nail polish on my toes.

"I'm sorry for hurting you."

The weight of his gaze on my face doesn't falter and I see the way he cocks his head to the side from my peripheral.

"You haven't hurt me, Harley." He tells me with conviction but I shake my head, a grim smile plastered to my lips.

"I have. I've pushed you away. And I'm sorry for that."

He shakes his head, at a loss for words. "You don't need to apologize for that, okay? It's alright. I'm not mad." Danté makes a move to embrace me but I place a hand on his chest, pausing him from being able to do so. Swallowing hard, I say: "Please Danté. I need to do this."