Incandescent | H.S

Part Nine: Drowning Heroine & Delivering Hits

"Oh, fuck." He swiped his car keys off the counter and kissed Gemmas forehead, "I gotta go. I'll call you, okay? Thank you for your help as always."

"You'll figure it out one of these days, baby bro. Love you." She walked him to his car, trying to waver her concern about him but she couldn't help but feel protective of her brother. He'd been thrown into this world with no clue, the media out to get him and girls using him because of his name.

Harry kept trying to swallow his nausea on his way to the restaurant in Covent Garden. He wasn't sure what to expect. Your text was mildly incoherent, he wondered if maybe you were drunk and trying to say something frantic in order to get his attention. And it worked. He was too concerned and crushed by the situation to ignore you any longer. He planned to eliminate any danger you could potentially be in.

He parked around the corner of the restaurant and ducked his head, not wanting to bring any attention to himself. He peeked inside the restaurant and couldn't see you, but it was such a large space he had no choice but to go inside and scan each and every table. He couldn't see you. You weren't here.

Had you gone home? And had your ex gone with you?

His anxiety increased when he called your phone and received no answer. Each ring enticed a new curse to tumble from his lips.

He frantically looked around the street as if he could get an inkling of where you were.

Need your help right now.

He was here. Here to help.

Where were you?

Your cherry coloured heels and your confusing intentions.

Gone.

Your presence replaced with his wrongfulness and increasing consternation.

He made his way down the street, thinking maybe you hadn't gone too far. He peered into each side street and to his dismay still couldn't locate you.

Any anger towards you that he'd felt had diminished completely, but then a rage returned, flashes of red crossed his vision, and clenched his fists as he saw your ex up a side street not far from the restaurant.

Alex's arms were around you, your body stumbling as you tried to keep yourself upright. He thought maybe his suspicions were correct, that you were in fact drunk and had sent that text to get a reaction from him.

But then he saw your ex slam you against the passenger door of his car, and your fists smacking his chest in protest, he then saw the fear in your features. Your cheeks were wet with tears and your brows furrowed in terror.

Harry drew himself towards the situation slowly, aware of the people in the street still and not wanting to cause a scene. He needed to get you out of this situation safely but couldn't if someone caught sight of him and stopped him.

His step quickened when Alex worked to put you in the passenger seat of his car and his heart plummeted at the idea of him hurting you. Your body was heavily fatigued and at his complete mercy.

You'd trusted this man. And he kicked your cherry heels out from underneath you and made you fear him.

He thought back to when he showed you his favourite watercolour artwork in his office, how one could only interpret peace and ease in being the woman bathing in the stream. But right then, you were drowning in the unknown depths of horror and inequity. Your limbs were tangled in the weeds corrupting the serenity of the scene as you fought for a grasp on the situation to reach the surface for awaited breath.

Harry was the artist, painting your fate. He was working his way towards the car, painting light blue strokes of a forgiving tide to save you from the abyss.