Autumn air was harsh. It felt like a slap in the face from your own mother; it was unexpectedly cold and bitter; warmth having only been recent, yet now, somehow, it was long gone. Especially when it was nighttime, and you were without a coat.
"Zahara, please!" Harry calls, for the tenth time. He was behind me; walking fast enough to not lose me, but not fast enough to catch up to me. "Talk to me!"
His words had lost their oomph. Minutes ago, they were powerful and angry and it felt almost illegal to ignore them. But now, they were empty and pathetic and lacked anything in them to make me want to reply. So, I continued to walk. I continued to walk fast and with a sense of importance, so as not to appear shattered inside and out. So as not to appear as small as I felt.
Times like these, I often wished I had a good relationship with my family. How cosy, how sweet, it would be to return to my childhood home for a cup of tea and a big chat. How lovely it'd be to have perhaps just one single stable relationship in my life. Of course there was Lauren, but she was otherwise engaged a lot at the moment due to her own unstable relationships.
Despite the burning anger within me, it still, in no way, warmed me up. Neither did my fast-pace. All I wanted, was to be home, with him. Warm, safe, happy. But no.
"Zahara, baby, please," he sighs. He sounded more and more defeated each time he spoke. But I didn't care. "Please, can we go somewhere to talk about this?" he pleads.
In my opinion, we'd spoken enough. I'd heard enough. I didn't want to mention it. I didn't want to because I was afraid of what his answer might be. I was afraid that the one good thing in my life could be taken away from me. But the alcohol, the curiosity, it got the better of me. I had to know what he had done. What he had done that could get him disqualified; made no longer the champion. Because what was love, if honesty was not valued? But then, I'd ask myself, what was love, if not with him? Was I overreacting? Was I being completely unreasonable? Was the alcohol causing me to make a bigger deal out of this than necessary? I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure of a single thing. Not right now.
Despite my internal questioning and the exhausting inward arguments I was having with myself, my petty side must have calmed just enough to allow my feet to stop their fast walk. I had hardly noticed that I'd slowed to a stop. That is, until I felt Harry's hand on my own, from behind. He pulled me around to face him; his features glowing red in the dimly lit street, but holding such a deep frown that I felt as though I had done something terribly wrong, not him.
"I love you," he whispers. I pulled my hand out from his.
"That isn't the right thing to say right now-"
"I know. I know that," he sighs, looking down at his feet. "I don't want to lose you, Zahara. I can't lose you," he says, his voice smaller than a whisper; so close to becoming lost in the autumn air.
I wasn't sure of how to respond right now. Because the truth was, I didn't want to lose him. I never wanted to lose him. I'd never felt so safe and secure in my life. The feelings that I felt for Harry were so intense and gorgeous that I never wanted to lose them, to lose him. But I just didn't know what to say right now. I didn't know what was right for me to feel, or think. So, in typical style, I chose to run from my problems.
"Just let me go home, Harry." I say, looking anywhere but into his dark green eyes, for if I looked directly into those, if only for a moment, I'd be sure to lose sight of any sense of morale.
"It's not safe for you to go home alone, drunk," he says carefully.
"What, and it's so much safer to be out here with you?" I spit; words laced with so much venom that I shocked myself.
I'd never seen this look before. I'd seen something similar in movies, or TV shows, when somebody was so indescribably hurt that their face could only show intense disgust, almost hatred. But the hatred on his face, right now, wasn't directed at me. It was directed at himself and for that, I hated myself.
"I-I didn't mean that, Harry. I swear, I didn't mean that-"
"No, you did." he says, the same look of disgust twisted on his face. "You meant it and it's true. Why should you feel safe with me? I've given you no reason to feel safe right now and that's fair enough," he says, his voice cracking. I felt my heart drop.
"Harry, I-"
"Call a taxi. I'm going home." he tells me, his voice low. "I'm sorry for everything, Zahara. I'm sorry you have to deal with this now. And I'm sorry that I'm leaving you here, but you're right and I need you to be home and safe. Okay?"
"Okay," I squeak out, unsure of what else to say because, what else was there to say? He was right, and I was right. I was evil and horrible for what I had said, but in hindsight, it was true. Even if I still felt so completely safe in his presence. I was just being harsh and mean, to hurt him in the way that I felt hurt. But still, it made sense. Why was it safer to be around him right now?
"Text me when you're home," he says. "I know I don't deserve that, I know, but-"
"I will." I croak. Harry nodded weakly, before turning around and heading back in the direction of Luke's place. I wasn't sure if he was going back inside, or if he was just going that way to leave me be. But either way, I felt both dread and relief as he walked away.
-
I was awoken by the sound of a car alarm going off outside of my open window. Groggily, I stood from my bed, and looked out the window. It looked like sunrise, so must have been around 6am. I watched as a busy mother, carrying a toddler and a bunch of bags, scrambled to unlock her car and stop the alarm. There was something so serene about the sight; baby so safe against her chest, so warm amongst chaos. I wondered where she was going. If she was dropping her child at daycare and then going to work, or if she had some sort of appointment. Either way, I chose to envy her chaotic serenity, because as I stood at my open window, watching her and her child, I decided that her days were full of love and warmth and that this little mishap with the car was the only stress she endured in a day, because she had her life together. I knew that this wasn't the case, but that's what I chose to believe.
With a sigh, I closed my window, and padded to the bathroom. It was a cold morning, but I hardly felt the nip of the chill; I was numb, in a way.
After taking a short, hot shower, I dried myself off and did my skincare routine. And then, I returned to my bedroom and pulled on some joggers and a jumper.
I had officially decided against going back to sleep. My mind wasn't racing, my chest didn't feel heavy, and I wanted to take advantage of the numbness. Because feeling numb always felt easier than feeling everything.
The kitchen was that perfect autumn hue; golden, from sunrise, with speckles of sun growing along window panes and cupboards. It was chillier in here than my bedroom, despite my window having been open all night. It occurred to me that coffee was the only way to feel warmer right now.
After brewing the coffee, I sat down onto the sofa and curled up, blanket over my legs, sipping my warm drink. I felt so still, so calm. Again, calm because I was numb, but calm nonetheless.
Lauren appeared, only a few minutes into my sitting and sipping.
"Morning," she yawns. "Why are you up?"
"Just am," I shrug. "Why are you up?"
"Body-clock," she informs me, before pouring herself the remaining coffee from the cafetière. Then, she came and sat down beside me. I rested my head against her shoulder, and she rested her head atop of my own.
It became silent between us. The only noises that could be heard, were those coming from outside of the window. Workmen who never seemed to stop, lorries which seemed to drive constantly, and maybe a bird or two.
"Zack and I broke up," Lauren says to me after a few minutes. I looked up at her the best I could, with her head on my own.
"I'm sorry," I say, taking my spare hand to hers and rubbing a small circle on it. "It's for the best,"
"I know," she inhales. "I know."
"I think Harry and I broke up, too." I whisper, barely able to get the words out of my throat. Lauren's head shot up, and she looked at me with a look of shock.
"What?" she gasps. "When? Why?!"
"Last night," I say quietly.
"Oh my god," she says. "I'm so sorry, Zahara. I'm so sorry,"
"It's okay," I sigh, shaking my head. "For the best, I'm sure." I say, though I didn't believe my own words.
"Why, though?" she asks carefully, but confusedly.
With a deep breath, I mustered up all of my courage to say the words aloud. To say the thing I had been avoiding in my mind.
"A while ago, I don't know if you remember, but Harry was in hospital. Do you remember?" I begin, talking slow and deliberately.
"Because that guy knocked him out?" she recalls.
"Yeah," I nod. "Well, that guy- the one who knocked him out- Harry got his revenge on him after. Do you remember that?"
"Yeah...?" Lauren says, frowning as though trying to piece the story together.
"I overheard something Gates, his opponent last night, had said to him. Something about having something on Harry that could get him disqualified," I explain.
"Right...?" she says, hardly following along, but trying.
"I asked Harry, because I was curious. I wanted to know what it was that could get his title taken away from him," I say. Lauren's frown grew. "He said Hunnaway was fine. That he had thought he was fine, supposedly..." I begin, pausing to take a moment to collect my thoughts. "Hunnaway woke up, but something about the way he'd hit his head, or something... he suffered a stroke, and will never be able to fight again." I say, feeling sick to my stomach as I recalled the things Harry had told me last night. He had said more, attempted to make things seem better than they were. But the reality of it, was that Hunnaway's life had been ruined and Harry was the sole purpose of that.
"I don't-" Lauren begins, shaking her head. "I don't understand. I don't get it. I don't see how Harry did that," she stutters, utterly stunned by the news.
"I know," I whisper.
"How does the guy he fought last night know about this, though? Surely Hunnaway, or Gates, would tell? What does Harry have on them that could get them in shit if they told?" Lauren asks, trying to piece the puzzle together.
"It's presumed that Hunnaway is afraid Harry will kill him if he tells. Gates knows just from insiders, somehow. I don't know. It all seems so weird to me. Everyone knows each other, yet nobody tells, nobody gets disqualified at the end of the day. I don't know what it'll take for any of them to lose their places," I sigh, shaking my head.
"Murder, probably." Lauren shrugs.
"I don't know, it just makes no sense to me," I sigh.
"Has Harry spoken to Hunnaway himself?"
"Not that I know of, no."
"So, how does Harry know about the stroke?"
"Through insiders, obviously. Gates, mainly, I think?" I frown.
"Hm,"
"What?"
"I just think it all seems to make little-to-no sense, that's all," she shrugs. I furrow my brows together.
"Laur, Harry gave a man a stroke because he was angry. It doesn't matter how he found out, or how-"
"I don't think he did," she shrugs. What?
"What do you even mean?" I scoff, looking at her as though she had completely lost her mind.
"I mean, somebody is probably trying to sabotage Harry. Make him quit out of fear. Forced to give up the title, so Gates can have it." she says, as though it was the most sane thing she had ever said.
"Lauren, why would Gates lie about Hunnaway? Surely that'd mean Hunnaway wants the top spot? Your 'theory' makes as little sense as the truth-"
"Gates is lying to get the title, obviously. Hunnaway is in hiding, out of fear, or simply just not on the scene right now. Maybe he's out of season right now. I don't know. On a holiday. Who knows? Either way, something about what Harry has been told, doesn't add up. And I think he should enquire about it." she explains to me.
I was struggling to comprehend what I was hearing, and though I wanted to believe her, more than anything, I couldn't. I couldn't because I couldn't get my hopes up, only to have them crash and burn, and go through the pain all over again.
But, though I didn't want to believe her, I couldn't bring myself to ignore her, either.
"I'm going to ring him," I announce, standing from the sofa.
"Who?"
"Harry," I say. "I need to know if he's okay," I tell her, because if what Lauren was saying happened to be true, Harry could find Hunnaway and see for himself. He could put the issues to rest and all would be right again. Or, things could be very wrong, and in that case- well, I don't know. Things will be bad but that's okay. He can deal with them however he wishes because he's a big boy and I don't need him, or anyone.
My thoughts continued to race as I went to my bedroom to find my phone. But once I found it, I saw 30 missed calls plastered across the screen, all from that same hospital Hunnaway had landed Harry in.
Before I could even figure out what was going on, before my brain could catch up with what my eyes were seeing, the same number began to ring again.