BLACKHOUSE [H.S.]

Twenty-One

I breathe out a frustrated sigh, and pinch the bridge of my nose. I can feel another stress headache coming on, something I've been experiencing a lot lately.

I shut off the music, and pull my jacket on, before flicking the lights off and leaving out of the back exit. I take in my surroundings before turning around to lock the door. Blackhouse isn't in a very sketchy area, but I can never be too careful. Especially being a woman, alone in the dark.

I hear the sound of feet scraping the pavement, and I freeze. I quickly finish locking up, and I turn around to see a tall shadow walking up the alley way on the side of the building.

It's almost ten o'clock, who would be out here right now?

My heart begins to race as the shadow grows larger, whoever it is is getting closer. I step back and press my body against the door, fumbling with my keys to grab ahold of my pepper spray.

I hold my breath as a tall figure turns the corner. There's a single light pole in the back parking lot, but it hardly does anything, so I can barely see who it is before my eyes adjust.

"H-harry?" I whisper, squinting in the dark as he walks closer to me. I let out a deep sigh, and bend down to put my hands on my knees in an attempt to catch my breath. "You scared the shit out of me."

I look up to see him wearing a black sweatshirt, and grey sweatpants, his hair spilling over his shoulders. I'm shocked at how quickly his hair has grown over the last week. I can't really see his face, but I can tell that he has dark circles under his eyes, and his cheeks look hollow.

"What the hell are you doing here so late?" I stand up straight and brush my hair off my forehead, my hand still trembling from the adrenaline.

"I need to talk to you," he says lowly. He keeps looking around nervously.

I furrow my brows. "Why?" I slip my hands into my jacket's pockets, chewing on my cheek.

I haven't seen him for almost a week, and he randomly shows up because he wants to talk to me?

"Not here," he whispers. "You need to come with me."

I stand there silently, still confused at the whole situation. He looks at me expectantly, so I finally nod.

"Yeah, okay," I agree, and begin following him back down the alley where I see his car parked, still running. He stays quiet as we both get in, and he pulls away from Blackhouse.

I glance at him, studying his face. I still can't see very well, but I can tell he looks stressed. His brows are furrowed, a deep crease forming between them, and his hair is messy. I watch his fingers tap against the steering wheel, even with no music playing, and my anxiety spikes. He's acting so weird, even for him.

"What's going on? Is everything alright?" I press, my eyes flicking between his face and his nervous hands.

He says nothing, and keeps his head facing forward as he speeds through the empty side streets. His silence isn't helping my uneasiness.

I swallow harshly, and turn to look out the window. I try to take slow, deep breaths to calm myself down, but it doesn't help.

The entire ride to his apartment is completely silent, and when we finally pull up to the building, it's like the awkward tension spills out of the car with us. I feel like I'm able to breathe again.

We step into the elevator of his building, and I'm finally able to get a good look at him under the fluorescent lights. His face is pale, really pale, and the circles under his eyes are darker than I thought they were. His eyes are bloodshot, and he looks like he hasn't eaten or slept since I saw him. I know I shouldn't care, but the way he looks worries me. Something is definitely wrong.

When we make it to his apartment door, he quickly unlocks it and rushes inside, leaving it open for me to follow him. I hesitantly step inside and close the door behind me, slowly making my way to the living room.

His place is a mess. There's empty beer cans scattered across the floor, and the coffee table is covered in small, empty ziploc baggies. My heart clenches when the realization of what they were used for hits me.

Has he been on a bender this whole week?

No wonder he looks the way he does, he's probably been replacing meals and sleep with alcohol and cocaine.

I stare at him quietly as he's sitting on the couch with his elbows on his knees, and his face in his hands. He's tapping his foot anxiously on the floor. I swallow thickly before moving to sit down next to him, staring straight ahead.

"How did you know I'd be at the shop?" I finally ask after a few more minutes of silence.

"I tried your apartment and you weren't there," he mumbles through his fingers. My eyes widen and I turn my head to look at him. I can see his hands shaking now that I'm closer to him.

"Why?" I ask, trying to wrap my head around why he would go through all of that trouble just to find me. He groans loudly, and pulls his hands from his face, crossing them in front of him while his elbows remain on his knees.

"Look, I..." He hesitates, looking up at me with a strained expression. I almost feel sorry for him; something really bad must have happened if I'm the one he went looking for. "Do you remember the other night, at the warehouse?"

I stare at him blankly for a moment. Is he being serious?

"How could I forget?" I reply, biting back a chuckle. It would be impossible for me to forget that night.

"Well, I made a deal with the guy I buy from that I would sell for him if he gave me what I needed at a discount," he sighs. "That's why I was there, meeting Charles."

"Okay..." I nod, urging him to continue.

"After I sold everything I had, I assumed that would be the end of it. I would get Jay the money, get my fix, and be done," he continues. "When I went to see Jay on Saturday, to give him the money, he- he told me that Charles wanted to see me again."

I tilt my head in confusion, not fully understanding where he's going with this. Harry seems to notice and rolls his eyes, his frustration clearly intensifying.

"He said I'm not done selling for him, I can never be done," he frowns, shaking his head. I can see tears welling up in his eyes, but he turns his head from me, sniffing them away. "And he-"

He stops mid-sentence, and I notice him picking at his cuticles. They look torn to shreds, like that's all he's been doing for days.

"He what?" I press. I consider placing my hand on his leg to comfort him, but decide against it.

"Charles wants you there, too," he mumbles, barely loud enough for me to hear.

I feel the blood drain from my face, and my breath catches in my throat. All of the sudden, it feels like the room is spinning around me, and my chest feels like it's on fire.

No.

No way.

I must have misheard him. He said it so quietly, I'm sure I got it wrong.

"Charles wants me there?" I repeat what I think I heard, hoping he corrects me.

Harry pushes his hair off his forehead, and looks back at me. The tears are gone, but he still has that pained look on his face. He rolls his lips into his mouth, nodding in response.

I furrow my brows, and shake my head quickly, standing up from the couch. I slowly back away, placing my hand on my chest; it feels like it's about to burst.

This can't be happening.

"W-why? Why would he want me there?"

"I don't know," he frowns, watching me move away from him. "Katie, I'm so sorry, but we have to go tonight."

~~~~~

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