Going 78 Miles Per Hour | ✓

45 | Wires Inside Engines

JUEVES
1:50 PM

Reid Harlow

My knuckles brush against the door, rapping on the oak. It took two, three knocks before I dropped my hand to my side, pulling them into tight fists, and tucking away the insecurities that overwhelm me. I don't want to seem fucking needy, but I think that's the type of conclusion she'll draw up either way.

The door swings open and Claudia stands behind it. Her eyes wide, her hand wrapped around a curling wand, and her hair parted into different sections, ready to be styled. The length of her bob has since grown out since the first time I met her, but that's the only thing that's fucking changed.

"Harlow?" She queries, brows scrunch together as she lowers the curler. I don't know if it's still hot, but I took a cautious step back—not wanting to be on the end of the steel if I piss her off. "What do you want?"

I swallow the natural instinct to turn around and walk away, to deal with my problems by myself like I've always done. It's safer, probably a whole lot smarter, and it'll be less of a hassle if I chose that route.

But Claudia—as much as I couldn't stand her in the beginning—she can help me. I know she can. She can help me a lot more than I can help myself and I have to be willing to give myself that chance.

"I want to fucking talk to you," I announce, pointing inside of her bedroom. "Can I come in?"

She makes a face—I think it's because of my swearing—but nods, widening the bedroom door and allowing me to slip inside. Claudia's room is more decorative than Presley's and mine's, with plastic vines hanging off the ceiling, loads of posters of different bands plastered across the walls, and different instruments posed around each corner.

She closes the door behind me, dropping the curling iron on her desk and pulling out a chair. She spins it around and offers it to me, which I take, and heads to her bed on the other side of the room, taking a seat on the edge. "Don't say it like that," she warns, crossing her legs.

"Say it like what?"

"You make it sound like you're about to deliver bad news," she explains, relaxing her shoulders, eyes contact with mine, "and from what I saw yesterday, that should be the last thing on your mind."

I pause, momentarily caught off-guard. 'What do you mean?"

She huffs, like she wasn't in the mood to be playing mind games. I wasn't either. "I think you know exactly what I mean, Reid Harlow."

I scowl, hating my government name. "You know I don't fucking like it when people call me that."

She clicks her tongue, "right, right, I forgot."

I narrow my eyes at her, seeing right past her lies. "No, you fucking didn't."

She merely grins, "it's a nice name."

"I rather not hear it."

"What's wrong with it?"

Everything, I wanted to spit out, the effortless spite on my tongue, but I caught myself. We're not there yet.

"Can we just get back on topic?" I snap, gritting my teeth. Annoyance flares in my chest from Claudia's consistent nagging, but I know it's all in good spirit. Or, she's just that fucking nosy.

"I don't even know what we're talking about," Claudia said calmly, raising from her bed, and heading to a drawer where she pulls out a bag of candy—does she usually sneak food into her room? She offers out the gummy bears, "you want some?"