alters

15

ʻʻBUT who would send me a knife? And why?ʼʼ I ask frustrated, leaning against my locker for support. Harry fumbles with objects inside his own locker, the clutter of miscellaneous contraption being stuffed into his bag invading my senses. He shrugs, but his whole posture is stiff, nervous.

''I donʼt know, but I think itʼs safe to assume that someone is on to us. I donʼt have many enemies, but the ones that I do have...ʼʼ His head pivots to face me. ʻʻ...would stop at absolutely nothing until my existence on this planet is gone for good.ʼʼ

ʻʻThe downside of escaping a top notch mental institution.ʼʼ I comment.

ʻʻBasically,ʼʼ He attests, pushing the metal door closed. He begins striding confidently towards the school exit, his long legs desperately intent in taking him somewhere. ʻʻCome on!ʼʼ He calls over his shoulder.

ʻʻW-what?ʼʼ I whisper, completely absorbed now in the idea of a teacher or figure of superiority overhearing us.

ʻʻI donʼt want to wait for you,ʼʼ He informs me blandly, slipping through the exiting doors.

Damn it, Harry. I gruff out a gritty sigh, sliding my hands into my pockets. I better not get detention for ditching school early.

I quicken my steps to an easy jog in order to regain my position behind Harryʼs sturdy back, observing the way his muscles clench when he stomps angrily. I dig into my purse and extract a cigarette, lighting it and sticking it between my two lips. ʻʻBut if someone were onto us, why would they send me a knife? Thereʼs absolutely no reason too,ʼʼ I add, but he only keeps his grouchy pace, his curly head of hair swimming wildly in the wind. ʻʻWhere are we going anyways?ʼʼ

ʻʻTo meet a friend,ʼʼ He replies bluntly, zipping up his leather jacket to preserve warmth. ʻʻOh and just a warning: heʼs a bit...eccentric.ʼʼ

ʻʻWho is he?ʼʼ

ʻʻNiall. I forget his last name.ʼʼ He announces plainly before grasping my wrist out of impatience, tugging me along quicker.

Our trail ends at a loud, brick building, colored by fluorescent, beating lights streaming out from cracked windows. Heavy metal music rampages all around us, teenagers and young adults clad in punk attire lounging about outside the building. No sign signifies what exactly this place is, but judging by the crowd and live music, it must be a hotspot for small rock concerts.

ʻʻIs this where he is?ʼʼ I ask as we enter the colorful area. Music drowns out my question, leaving Harryʼs answer invisible and unobtainable. He guides me by grasping my hand and tugging me between sweaty, feverish bodies. A live band howls into microphones and bangs against electric guitars, singing songs about anger and heartbreak. Harry turns me to him.

ʻʻStay here, Iʼll be right back!ʼʼ He tells above the scream of music. I grab his sleeve, halting him as he tries to depart from me.

ʻʻWhere are you going!ʼʼ I severely raise my voice, but he shakes his head.

ʻʻJust stay here!ʼʼ

I huff as I watch him squeeze through the glowing figures, which move at a supersonic speed, banging their heads angrily, crying out lyrics to a song unknown to me. This carries on for one more tune before the band ultimately walks off stage victoriously. I have to admit that the music wasnʼt half bad. It was mostly the deep, powerful lyrics behind the songs that hooked me. One specific part caught my attention right away:

You departed like a storm, messing up my life. Breaking my ship, cutting in like a knife.
Then there lay a crumbled note on my shelf,
And it read, ʻʻmy love, the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.ʼʼ