DIRTY BULLETS

chapter twenty seven

WE HAD BEEN driving for a couple hours now, silence still the prime sound within the truck as neither of us uttered a word. The isolated country roads had slowly become more occupied with other passing cars as we made are way into the suburbs, houses and small villages fleeting passed my window every now and then.

To no one's surprise, I was bored out of my mind as my head leaned against the window and my unenthused eyes looked straight ahead, unfocused. I still felt exhausted from that strenuous walk we took to find this damned truck but each time I had gone to close my eyes, my body refused me sleep. My stomach kept grumbling every five minutes and I swear to God you'd think a plane was taking off at how loud it echoed around the car - there was no way Harry could've missed it. Maybe he would take that as a not-so-subtle hint to stop off and get food. Surely, he would have to eat and sleep at some point, so if not for me, I hoped to God he would stop off somewhere for himself.

My eyes glanced to the handle of my passenger side door, my fingers coming up to trace over the cool metal. If only it was unlocked, I would've happily tucked and rolled out of the moving car if it meant my escape. But alas, I had tried that in the first half hour of sitting in this truck only to find that that was of course not an option.

I had glanced to Harry, as the silly idea came to my head, his eyes staying trained on the road that we drove nearly a hundred miles per hour down. He was still acting as though I didn't exist, and I thought I was taking advantage of that, acting impulsively and not caring if I got injured when my hand had yanked at the handle, my shoulder shoving against the door expecting it to open. Except I wasn't met with the rushing wind of the outdoors, instead it was a painful ache shooting down my arm as it hit the unmoving door as well as a mean laugh from Harry at my expense.

"You didn't think I'd leave the fucking door unlocked, did you? Come on, baby, it should be predictable at this point." He had said, continuing to gloat as he mocked my failure at escaping. My cheeks had heated to a dark red out of annoyance and slight humiliation as I just turned my body away from him in my seat and huffed for the entirety up until the present moment.

Lifting my head from resting against the window, I stretched out the crick in my neck, turning it to the left and then right as I let my eyes flicker over to Harry, the fucking robot. He still hadn't moved from his position, his right elbow resting against the door as his hand lazily sat against the steering wheel and his left hand engulfed the gear stick. Surely sitting like that for hours on end would get uncomfortable.

My eyes glanced to his face as they took in the way his skin glowed in the golden sun, his dark chestnut curls sitting on his head messily with strands framing around his face. I doubted he had styled it, but – and I want to stresshow much I regret admitting it – he looked really good. Very light stubble traced his jaw, though it was nothing too long and it just made him look like some sort of Greek god. I was still partially distraught that a man like him could look so good and I could feel fourteen-year-old me start developing a crush on him, finding his toxic traits so enticing. Though twenty-two-year-old me knew damn well better.

What he looked like meant fuck all when a person was as twisted as he was.

"Are we going to stop off somewhere?" I found myself asking, not really thinking before I spoke. It sounded as though I was a kid asking a parent on a car journey, and it shouldn't have sounded as nonchalant as it did.

My question only got an eye roll though, as me breaking the deafening silence of the car obviously irritated the man. I didn't really expect an answer, though it would've been nice.

But perhaps feeling in the mood to irritate him more from merely speaking, I then decided to ask more questions. I really couldn't do much in the predicament I was in, as I didn't hold a lot of power, but I was realising seeing him steadily grow more and more annoyed at the small things I did was bringing me a small amount of amusement. I couldn't do much, but I could be petty.