PRECIPICE [h.s.]

Chapter Forty*

☼☼☼

I feel your fever from miles around

I'll pick you up in my car and we'll paint the town

Just kiss me baby and tell me twice

That you're the one for me

☼☼☼

Jamie's P.O.V.

August 1st 1997

"Come on, we're gonna be late!" I launch myself into Harry's car two seconds after he pulls up to my house.

"Late for what? I don't even know where we are going, and how can we be late when it's not even midday?"

I sigh and throw my head back. "Ah, the fatal flaw of my plan. You don't know how to get there. Come on, switch with me."

I lean over and unbuckle his seatbelt and get out of the car. He doesn't question it, and he gets out of the driver's seat. If he wants to question what's going on, he doesn't. He seems dazed, but I tend to put that look on his face.

I slide into the driver seat, and take off before he's buckled. We're not in too much of a rush, but I enjoy keeping him on his toes.

"So you're really not going to tell me where we're going? And why I needed to pack a bag?"

My stomach does a flip, like the feeling you get before the roller coaster starts. You know it's going to be scary, even if you plan on throwing your arms up and screaming. It's the anticipation that gets to you. Your body and mind are convincing you that the ride is going to start

At...

Any...

Moment...

But the second you relax and convince yourself to live in the moment, it shoots off.

"We never tell each other where we're going, and you expect me to spill?"

He flicks on the radio, unfazed by my reaction. He fiddles with the stereo. "I mean, you are kidnapping me. I feel entitled to some information."

I open my mouth to say something brilliant and witty, but the music cuts me off. Harry was flipping through stations when he stopped on one. I know what song it is before I see the evil grin on his face.

And when you get old and start losing your hair

Can you tell me who will still care?

"Those little boys are not seeing heaven." I murmur loud enough for Harry to hear.

Luckily, singing the song as loud as possible gets him to drop the topic of our location. It's not until thirty minutes later when he somehow finds the song for the FOURTH TIME, that I finally break.

"I can't do this anymore." My knuckles have gone white from gripping the steering wheel. "Grab my orange bag in the backseat. In the front pocket there's a CD, put it in."

I keep my eyes centered on the road. I can't get myself to look at him while he does this. He ruffles through my bag until he finds it. He opens the case. I wish he would just put it in without looking at what it is, but why would he? Why would any human put a CD in without reading what's on it. Damn human curiosity.