Tribulation [h.s]

20

Fractured.

Regardless, I made it out. I did the impossible. I thought I could maybe do it again and return home safely to Maggie and fix my relationship with Julie, but the reality of it is, Harry allowed me to live. I'm running on borrowed time, and it seems my time has officially run out.

The clock has struck midnight, and soon, I'll be dead. I'm waiting for Harry to come and kill me now—my harbinger of death.

Everything happened so quickly tonight. I don't think I've fully processed it yet. I'm sure the tequila isn't helping with that very much.

Red lights, and wondering hands. Gunshots, blood and death.

I toss my head back, bringing the bottle to my mouth. Tequila swashes around in the bottle as I take a few more chugs. I bite back the burn, and, swaying, I sit down on the edge of the rooftop, my feet dangling over the ledge. I shiver when a bitter cold breeze grazes by me.

I'm sad. It's going to snow soon. I won't be able to bring Maggie ice skating or bring her to central park to play around and make snow angels. I won't be able to bring her to The Coffee Bean to get hot chocolate with marshmallows or watch her graduate from kindergarten.

Oh, fuck. When tears prick at my eyes, I chug some more tequila and lose myself in the burn again. At least I've saved up some good money—really good money; even after being robbed. I have the most I've had in years, actually. With Julie watching after Maggie and what little inheritance I have going to Maggie, she'll be okay.

Maybe I should go. They'll be safer this way.

I hear the squeak of rusty door hinges as the heavy door to the rooftop opens and slams shut. When footsteps draw closer, I stand on the ledge with wobbly feet and turn around.

Harry's finally here.

He looks up at me with a scowl, but he speaks in low tones. "Sei un fottuto idiota."

I can't help but laugh. "Listen, my Italian is rusty, but I'm pretty sure you just called me an idiot." I take another swig before I offer it to him. He ignores it and steps closer with an impatient sigh. "Fine," I shrug. "more for me then." I drink some more, and that's when I hear a familiar click. I look down and see Harry holding a gun up to me. I go to sip some more, but the bottle is empty. Scowling, I drop the bottle, watching it shatter to pieces on the rooftop.

"Can I ask you something, Harry?" My voice is soft as I gaze over at him. He doesn't respond, but I ask anyway. "Why didn't you kill me that night?"

For a moment, he's silent. He stays staring at me, and I begin to think he's just going to shoot me and let my body fall over the ledge and splatter on the street below, but he doesn't. He actually answers me.

"You reminded me of someone I knew a very long time ago." He rumbles in his deep voice.

I tilt my head and smile a bit. I nearly lose my balance, but I catch myself. Harry unsurprisingly remains unmoving, looking as stoic as ever. But this show isn't over. Not just yet.

"Who do I remind you of?" I ask. He doesn't respond, so I start guessing. "A friend?" I get no reaction, so I keep on thinking. "Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Bother? Or maybe a sister? Mother-" He readjusts his grip adjust on the pistol. Ah. Mothers tend to be complicated topics of conversation, so I decide not to push on it.

"Know who you remind me of?" I question, but surprise, surprise, he doesn't answer. "My step-father." I laugh bitterly, suddenly wishing I had more tequila to drown out the memories of him that start burning in my mind. "That bastard broke me. I have a feeling you're going to do the same, Harry." Again, I smile. It's not a weak or twisted smile. It may be crooked because I'm intoxicated or somber on some level, but still, it's genuine.