Inherent

Early Friday morning, I receive a call from a strange number. Woken out of one of my rare peaceful sleeps, but while blindly reaching for my phone my sleepy mind discerns the fact that there is no arm strung over my side, no heat pushed as close as possible to my back. I don’t even really think much about the unknown number that flashes across the screen, only focussed on the slightly disconcerting fact that Harry is out again when we are supposed to leave in just a couple of hours.

Even as my mouth groggily forms a muffled hello, I wonder how the hell he managed to escape today without waking me up—like I have every morning thus far.

When an unfamiliar, masculine voice greets me on the other end, however, I become fully aware of just how odd this is. Is it barely even eight o’clock?

I quickly sit upright, paw the sleep from my eyes, and attempt to make sense of what this person is saying. They speak quickly, too quickly for my still asleep mind to comprehend, and it’s clear they are in a rush. I just don’t know why they’re even calling me.

“Excuse me,” I speak for the first time since saying hello. He finally quiets. “But I think you have the wrong number.”

Finally, he slows. “I’m sorry, ma’am, for calling you so early. We’ve just uncovered new evidence and I think we have a lead which—”

“Wait, what?” A little rudely, my voice treads over his once more. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I was hoping you could come down to your residence so Detective Lewis and I may speak with you. I think we have something very promising.”

My heart leaps and in seconds I am stumbling out of bed, rushing to the bathroom with my phone clutched desperately to my ear. “Oh of course, of course. When? Any time is good for me.”

The bathroom door shuts loudly behind me and he can surely hear the slam, but I am far too excited to care. If this is true, if they manage to find the person who did this… as much as it would hurt, it wouldn’t even matter if the rings and jewelry box couldn’t be located too. As long as there is some sort of justice, and as long as Harry doesn’t have to become too deeply involved, then I feel like it would be a win for us. For once a much needed, sure to be celebrated win.

“Well.” There’s a pause on his end, a muffled sound like a hand over the speaker, and I absentmindedly recall that I haven’t even caught his name. I assume it’s the other officer on the case, but I’m too flustered to ask now. “As soon as possible, if you can. This is very important.”

“That’s fine,” I agree hurriedly, fearful I might miss out on this chance otherwise. “Just, I’m staying somewhere else while the house is being sorted, and I’m about twenty minutes away. Is that okay?”

Another muted break, then he’s back. “Uh—yes. That should be alright. We’ll see you then.”

The call is promptly ended, and I am left in the middle of the bathroom with my bare feet on the cold tiled floor with my partial shock.

That really just happened. This is happening.

I only stand there somewhat numbly before I hurry to set off getting myself ready and out the door. With a toothbrush stuck in my mouth, my free hand quickly dials Harry’s number, all while I wish like hell that he was home; but I can’t bring myself to fault him for it. A new worried set of nerves crop up when he doesn’t answer, however, and I am brought to his voicemail. I leave a rushed message.

“Hey, a detective called and told me they have news on the case. I’m heading over to the house now, but I’ll check in with you again in a bit.”

Because I know how much he will worry if I don’t—several mornings ago when all of this first began, he had quietly and subtly asked me not to go anywhere without him, asked me to promise I’d call him if I absolutely had to, that he’d drop everything and go with me. Now concerned myself about going out when he requested the total opposite, too, I send him a text message explaining it all over again just in case he doesn’t check his voicemail—even though I know he will.

Paranoid. This past week has made me nothing but paranoid, and I can’t wait for the ordeal to be over. The possibility of exactly that happening is what gives me the courage to leave the house today, even while recalling the moment Harry told me it wasn’t safe or smart to go over there by myself and without him, that it was better to be cautious.

So naturally, I want to be perfectly clear with him from the start: that the detectives are there, waiting for me, that this is such a pressing matter that I simply cannot wait. I end the message with a discreet plead for him not to worry and to be careful himself. This way he knows exactly what it happening.

Before setting off in my own car, I send him one more probably annoying message that asks him once more to call me when he can. What I mean by that is when it’s safe. Today is the first time he hasn’t answered both my phone calls and messages instantly, and I think I have a right to worry about him myself. In fact, I worry the entirety of the drive, and I’m so tense that my back starts to ache.

Something more gnaws at me. Silently, and whatever it is I cannot distinguish… but it’s there. Ultimately, however, I have no other choice but to call it nerves on top of nerves. This is after all the first time I’ve ventured out of the house since the incident, and of course I’d be a little on edge. I think I have the right to be.

When my little car finally pulls up to the house, though, I’m shocked to see it looking exactly as it always has. The window is replaced, the lawn clean and even freshly mowed. If I didn’t know any better, I would say that nothing ever happened here. But I do know. All too well, my mind quickly creates the vision of what it looked like just days earlier. Shards of grass littering the front yard and glistening in the curtains that blew out from the house in the light wind.

What overpowers that mental picture is the knowledge of who was behind such a quick cleanup and repair. Harry. He’d told me he would handle most of the investigation and contact with the police for me, but I had no idea he would do any of this. Hell, I am still waiting on my insurance company to even get the window fixed. As far as I was aware it was supposed to be taped up with an unsightly tarp right now.

A large smile breaks me from my constant state of nervousness. At the thought of Harry doing all of this without so much as even mentioning it. At how kind and thoughtful and just wonderful he truly is. At Harry.

I think about nothing else as I exit my car and approach the door—don’t even take note of the fact that there are no police cars out front like there should be. No, I just excitedly hike my bag farther up my arm onto my shoulder and climb the steps as I vow to pay Harry for fixing all of this for me. As soon as the insurance company reimburses me.

Assuming that the policemen are already waiting for me from what we discussed earlier over the phone, I think nothing of the door being unlocked. But I do pause in the entrance for a moment after letting it close gently behind me, still wary of the place, of the way it was when I left, of the memories from the last time I was here.

Everything is silent. Eerily so. Briefly I consider running straight out the door and waiting for Harry because really, I can’t handle this on my own. I overestimated my strength. I don’t know what to do if they only have bad news to give me, if nothing is recoverable. I have no idea how I’ll react to such news, without Harry there as my rock, but today I might be forced to find out.

“Hello?” I call out warily, and subconsciously clutch my bag tighter. I feel safe with it, always have—ever since that little bottle filled with pepper spray was first stowed in it, ready for action should I ever need or have the nerve to use it. Ever since Harry gave it to me. Having this small amount of protection helps me feel a little safer… when everything around me screams danger.

No one answers my timid greeting. I frown before taking a hesitant step farther into the house. All is silent, obvious that on one else is here. On a shaky release of breath, unsure of what to do, I can’t help but to let my morbid curiosity get the best of my better senses. I peek into the living room, only to be both shocked and relieved at what I see—or rather, what I don’t see. Save for the few things salvaged from the onslaught of violence, the space is totally empty.

Like outside, clean. The only piece of furniture that was recovered from the wreckage is a small end table, and on it are all the pictures whose frames that were once smashed, broken and scattered across the floor.

The urge to cry is there, again, but for a good reason this time. Such care Harry has demonstrated is unimaginable. Even the rug looks like it has been professionally cleaned. Other than the room having an echo if any sound was made due to it being very nearly empty, one would never guess anything out of the ordinary. They would never know someone stole in here and desecrated the wall with a terrifying symbol that confused the hell out of me. A fresh coat of matching paint has been applied to where the harsh logo once was, and it must have been done days ago because the smell is barely identifiable.

Overcome with emotion, I turn away. Maybe after all of this, maybe eventually I would feel safe here again. Once this is all sorted I imagine Harry will be staying here every night just like before. Not even until I’m okay with being here alone, either—just because. And he’ll do that without my even having to ask. My soft, dubious smile is still present, only growing now. For some reason this has just made me more hopeful for the future than ever, in myself, in Harry, in us.

My reaction is the total opposite of what I predicted having after coming here, and it’s the most refreshing feeling on the planet.

Still inside the living room, I make another call to the detective—to the number that called me earlier, only to receive no answer. The excitement that took over upon seeing this place start to look a little more like the home I love fades some when the call goes to an automated voicemail. Geez, is everyone ignoring my calls today?

Where the heck are they?

Left clueless, I end up vacating the living room and turn down the hallway toward my bedroom, bypassing the kitchen completely. While I’m here I figure I can quickly grab my laptop so I don’t have to take over Harry’s because he needs it for his work, even though he won’t tell me that. The empty space on my dresser where Grandma’s jewelry box used to be is ignored, and I quickly retrieve my laptop. It is cradled under my arm while the charger is tossed into my bag before I’m turning around and leaving as quickly as I came in here, eager to get out of here and to the relative safety of my car.

My bedroom doesn’t feel like my own any longer—it feels foreign, unsafe, and I absolutely hate feeling this way. Just because I have hope for the future, in being comfortable here again, it doesn’t mean I like the vibes it has right now. At all. Being here alone actually makes my skin crawl; this is most likely because the empty, obvious, in my face dresser made me realize that things still aren’t better, and we aren’t in the clear yet. Not close.

After I shut my bedroom door, though, I stop short when my phone’s ringtone echoes down through the hallway. Not half a second after I answer, Harry’s voice booms so loudly I actually jump. And it isn’t even on speaker. Frantically, I push it close enough to my ear to where I can properly hear him.

“Julia.” His abrupt bark is what first greets me, has me staring straight forward as I listen intently.

“Harry?” It’s all I can think to say, knowing something must be wrong, and too scared to utter anything more. I end up making a question out of his name.

“Are you in your house?”

“Why?” I ask, shaken by his rushed, furious tone.

“Get out. Now.”

Immense fear rises in me, felt shooting through my chest, and time seems to slow down. What is happening?

“There is no new lead. The detectives didn’t call you. Get out of there now, Julia.” The harsh desperate impatience infused into his every words sets me almost into total hysterics. Heck, it’s a wonder I even remain upright. Be cool, be cool. Low-key. It takes everything in me not to run out of here screaming for help. A roaring ascends in my ears, my vision tunnels, and I feel faint.

“Jules,” Harry’s tone has softened from its hard edge, though still loud and still ordering. It jars me enough to grab my attention, enough to focus for just a moment. “Listen to me. Act normal. Try and get out to your car, and then drive until I tell you it’s safe. I’m almost to you.”

Several heart-hammering moments pass before I prepare myself to speak so my voice doesn’t tremble. I don’t know what’s happening, what could be waiting for me, how scared I really should be… and that makes it even worse. “Yeah, sorry. Almost dropped my laptop. I just came by to grab it, then I’m good to go.”

“That’s good, baby.”

Good god, I don’t know how I do it, but after only a second of unmoving shock I surge forward in a brisk and hurried walk. I don’t even bother to question him any, and this house now seems more terrifying to me than ever—the door feels as though it is miles away. Already I can feel my pulse quickening.

This isn’t good. This is bad… really, really bad. If Harry is telling me all of this, it could only mean that he must suspect… there might be someone else here. In this house with me. Someone who might want to hurt me.

All the signs are present. The police are nowhere to be found, no one will answer when I call the supposed detective’s number, and now it is obvious that I was lured here. I just don’t know why or by who, but it can’t be good. It cannot be good.

Something is very wrong, and I have to get out of here. Either before some terrifying biker-rogue kills me, or I pass out from pure fear and leave the door open for anyone to do whatever they please with my hapless, unconscious body.

“Stay on the phone with me, Jules. Just two minutes away, and we’re going straight up north to where no one will bother us, yeah?”

“Yep,” I try to chirp it out happily, but it comes more as a squeak than anything. But a genuine smile starts to chip away at my nerves as I think about our plans. Last night we stayed up late, talked about how sometimes my neighbours used to set off fireworks randomly and without any warning well into the morning, and how they used to nearly scare me into a fainting spell. I even had an item relating to it on my nearly forgotten list, in how I could never really take any joy in such celebrations, wouldn’t allow myself. Harry even remembered this small thing from the peek he’d stolen at my journal all those months ago, but no longer could I even think to feel embarrassed about it.

He remembered, and he asked if I wanted create a firework display tonight of our very own. I said yes, and even agreed when he asked if I wanted to help him set off a few.

It is this normal conversation, this silent promise of being happy, that gets me halfway down the hallway. “We have to stop by Uncle Sam’s first, remember?”

Uncle Sam’s—the enormous firework emporium south of Chicago.

“Of course, of course,” he breathes quietly, so I can hear the constant powerful roar of his car in the background as it surely accelerates to frightening speeds. And while I wish desperately that he was right here next to me, I can’t help but to worry about him and his reckless actions in the face of such possibility of danger.

“Take your time, babe. No rush.” It’s stupid, a total giveaway, but I can’t help but to say it. Even while mentioned in a casual offhand way, now it’s obvious that Harry is coming here. And the anxiety is now crystal clear, totally exposed in my tone.

Unfortunately, however, I’ve barely got the last word out as I pass by the kitchen before hearing rushed footsteps from within, and in a split second I am grabbed from behind. No more than a gasp escapes me before a rough, cold hand comes around to smack my phone from my grasp, while the other snakes up my waist to cover my mouth—and therefore mutes any calls for help. My phone lands on the floor with a sharp crack. My laptop falls to the floor with it, but that is more out of my own shock than anything, though it’s impossible to even think about the now inconsequential object for too long. I can feel their body pressed against my back. They’re bigger than me, and stronger, but I squirm and try to free myself from their barbaric grasp anyway. My struggle is valiant though more of a distraction than anything while I try to see if my phone has been broken or if Harry can hear what’s happening. If he’s still there, or if I’m totally alone with this unknown monster.

I can’t imagine how panicked he must be if he can hear this struggle going on right now, or if he was cut off, if he was left to assume what’s gone wrong. I don’t know which would be worse.

Whoever is behind me doesn’t speak, which scares the daylights out of me. All that fills the silent space is my heavy breathing coupled with theirs as they try to thwart my attempt at escape, but then I think of my bag tangled between my body and the intruder’s, the pepper spray buried beneath all of my belongings. Against my struggle—probably thanks to this new glimmer of hope—I loosen their hand on my mouth some, and take full advantage.

“Let me go!” I demand breathlessly, but I’m too terrified and my voice is so shrill, octaves higher than normal for it to hold any force.

“Calm down.” The shockingly soft voice is familiar, so familiar that it causes me to still completely. “I just didn’t want you to run away from me. I knew you would.”

“Alex…” My stuttered reply dies on his name. Unmistakably, without even looking, I know it’s him. Chest heaving from exertion, I take in the thick smell of cigarette smoke that is embedded in his clothing. It’s him. It’s Alex, and I am in trouble. It isn’t even a slight relief to know it’s him and not someone crazy outlaw bent on hurting me, because I don’t know what his intent is.

“What—what are you doing here?” Despite his claim he still refuses to let go. In fact, alarmingly, the hand he used previously to cover my mouth lowers to wrap around my neck. So firmly that I remain frozen just as I was beginning to regather my courage. Fear consumes me; against my throat Alex’s hand is cold and sweaty, unpredictable and hinting at nothing but violence.

His breath hits the side of my face as he huffs out a winded sigh, and I resist the urge to turn away. A wave of more odorous cigarettes with a side of coffee hits me. If I make a move at all, however, I fear that he will tighten his hold until I can’t breathe.

“I just… I just had to see you. And I know you probably wouldn’t want to see me. Shit—I’m sorry for scaring you. I forgot, about your heart.”

The false sincerity in his tone unnerves me. It sounds as though he’s apologizing for something small, trivial, not breaking into my house and scaring me. Hurting me. He doesn’t even mention either my phone or laptop, which are probably both rendered useless from such a drop. And he still doesn’t make any move to remove his hands from me.

“Please, Alex,” I wobble, unable to listen while in this position. “Please, let me go.”

“No, no. I just—I just wanted to talk to you. Shit, I’m sorry.” His voice dies as his frustration, now with himself, continues to mount. Every muscle in my body tenses in anticipation of another outburst. “I only wanted to talk to you. Fuck.”

It seems like only now does he locate his limbs and realise one is held fast around my small, vulnerable throat. He comprehends how bad this is, and because of that for me now too. Very, very bad for me. Now it’s time for Alex to make another decision. It’s time for him to either stop, or make this bad situation a thousand times worse.

Regardless, I know not to believe a word that he has said. He’s out of his mind, strung out or delirious from wanting a fix—either way, he is nowhere near truthful. Not right now, not ever. I’ve figured it all out, belatedly. No detective ever called me. Just as Harry said. And while I know it was not Alex’s voice on the other end of the phone, it was someone who wanted to lure me here. To Alex.

He wouldn’t have done all of this, snuck into my house, terrified me, threatened me, made my heart jolt and hitch, and put his hands on me in such a violent way—if he just wanted to ‘talk’. If he is as innocent as he wants me to believe.

Only a small whimper escapes me at his reply, and I gasp when his hand tightens around my neck, the one at my waist holding tight to my side. He swears again, but not without action. He twists me around so I’m facing him, and with a small cry I stumble backward. Like a predator he follows, quick and rough and this time, both his hands come around the base of my neck, encircling it totally, and I squeeze my eyes shut in utter terror.

“Just listen to me, Julia. Please. I’m so, so sorry.” Now I have no choice but to look him in the eye, fearful that he might retaliate if I don’t placate him and submit to his ‘request’. I meet his desperate irrational gaze, and so he continues. “I was going to give it back. I swear to you. I would never jeopardize what I have with you. J, you have to believe me. Don’t you? Julia?”

Too afraid, too terrified to answer at first and confused by all the nonsense he speaks, it takes him stressing my name once more for me to find my voice… only because I’m too scared to see what happens if I keep quiet.

Jeopardize what we have? We have never had anything.

“What? Give what back?” Each word trembles something awful as it leaves my mouth, but there’s no way I could possibly hide my fear right now. Not when Alex has so clearly lost it, and not when I am his main focus while in such a state. In this way I am probably screwed—he’ll react if I do comply, and he will if I don’t.

I just want to get out of here. I need Harry. Desperately, I wonder where he is and hope despite what’s happening to me that he isn’t speeding over here like a madman, and more than anything that he is not in any danger.

“I…” Alex can’t even speak himself. His already shaky eyes flit down. In guilt. From this alone I know it’s something bad, and in the back of my mind I already know. I already know, but it hurts too much to even entertain. Eyes now squeezed shut, he gently shakes his head, and then his grip around my throat strengthens so it isn’t a light but intimidating hold meant to keep me in place, it is feeling his thumbs bite so hard into my trachea that I choke and gasp.

What were once limp from shock and terror at my sides, one of my hands reaches up to his own, to try and pry it away. Instantly, his head bobs back up and he opens his eyes to look at me wildly, in confusion, and it’s obvious he has no idea what he is really doing. He is in another world, perhaps trapped inside his own mind, in the vice of a craving he can’t sate. His hands quickly loosen, but one unfortunately stays while the other blindly reaches, nearly knocks over the side table after he grabs something off of it, and then he brings it close to my view.

Instantly I recognize the tiny object grasped between his blackened fingers. One of my father's rings—but only one, of four. The thick gold band shines and the single diamond at its center glints against the light. Shock rips through me first at this revelation, and then aguish is quick to grip me, causes me to release one disheartened sob.

“Shut up,” he snaps abruptly, which puts an end to all sound I’d been making. He wavers, like he is only now understanding what he just said, and turns almost apologetic. “Just… don’t cry. Please.”

While I don't understand much of what has happened, I know one thing: Alex stole the most precious objects that I hold dear to me, and he did it without any thought of the person he was harming. The only reason he is acting like this now is because he knows that eventually, no matter what, he would be caught. I would have found out at some point, put the pieces together, or Harry would have himself. Maybe the latter is Alex's main motivating factor.

He stole them—he was the retreating figure I caught running away from all the damage he senselessly caused. He was the one who destroyed everything in my living room... and right up until now, he has showed absolutely no remorse. He didn’t even bother to return any of my messages and calls.

Where are the rest? I frantically wonder what he could have done with them, if they are lost forever. And why, why did he do this to me today? Why is he showing me just one right now?

I only see the ring for one more short split second before his fingers clench over it and he lowers his shaky hand. His other hand slips from my throat to hold my hip tightly, painfully. To ensure I don't get away, though in all honesty my mind isn't too focussed on escape right now, my need of oxygen overpowering all other senses as I take deep, replenishing breaths.

Now that he doesn't have a hold of such a vulnerable part of my body, however, I have some of the courage needed to silently, cautiously reach into my bag with its straps twisted around my arm from the struggle, and I pray that Alex doesn't take note of my wandering hand. I thank whatever higher power exists that kept me from dropping my bag, too, or else I would have no hope whatsoever. I'd be totally screwed, left defenseless.

The pepper spray left in my purse does give me that needed courage, however, lends me the hope that maybe I can get out of this before he hurts me again. For right now I allow him to talk, pretend to listen to the words that frantically burst forth from his mouth, and try to be as calm as I can for the sake of my heart. For the very real possibility of it working against me too. But since I've been taking my medication regularly for this past week, the risk of such an event happening is much significantly lower than it was not long ago.

"I can get the rest back. I will. I just, I realised..."

He realised what he'd done. And to who.

His dead best friend's little sister.

An unforgivable act, one that not even I can look past.

"Alex, it's… you did this?" I don’t know what to say. I almost said that it was okay, but he'd know that was a clear lie, that I could never tell him such a thing. Because this will never, ever be okay, and I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive him. He'd know that I only said it to appease him, even while out of his mind.

Although shocked and disoriented, my trembling fingers finally touch the rigid plastic casing of the pepper spray. Immediately they clench around it, relief flooding me.

All I can think of now is Caleb and what he would say if he could see Alex now. See our home destroyed, the only safe place he ever had, what he would say about our father's rings being stolen. Grandma's jewellery box. By his best friend, the best friend that led him down the path to his death in the first place. The man who kick-started his addiction.

"You took them? Where are the rest?" The one lone ring has been imprinted in my mind near permanently. None of the other missing pieces are in sight. And even while I feel myself grow sicker at these thoughts, my thumb flicks the safety switch on the top of the canister, and I wait for the right moment.

I want to attempt to put at least a little distance between us, though it seems impossible. He won't let go, he won't let go, and I hate that I'm going to have to do this. Fear grips me at the thought of his hands around my throat again, this time constricting until I can't breathe at all, until I lose consciousness. That almost happened just now, but he loosened his hold just in time. It's unclear whether that was intentional on his part, if he really is in that much control of himself and wants me to suffer, or if it was my one small ironic stroke of luck through this entire terrible situation.

"I'll get them back," he assures me quickly, the vow tinged with drug-induced mania. "They'll be safe until then. I just needed to keep them for a bit longer."

Possibilities come to me, fast and hard. He needs to keep them, alright. For collateral.

With my free hand, I slowly and apprehensively reach up to wipe the still flowing tears from underneath my eyes. This is a test to see how he reacts to my movement, if he will snap and try to immobilize me once more.

He doesn't. In fact, Alex seems more out of it than ever. As if it takes all his energy to even remain upright. He sure as hell isn't aware of my obvious actions. When I work up the nerve to really look at him this time, I see how thin and gaunt he has become, how he wavers on his feet, and it eludes me as to where he found such strength to hold me against the wall. It looks like a slight push would knock him all the way over. Not that I'd even entertain trying as much, though, because I know now for a fact that looks can be deceiving. I still feel the strength in his hold on me. I know that if I tried to run, he would give chase. No one who puts a girl up against the wall and chokes her would just let her go whenever she pleases. Alex is long past being civil.

Knowing this, I still falter with the self-defence device I hold in my bag. I don't want to cause more violence, I don't want to bring harm to him as he has done to me. I don't want to stoop to his level, but I might not have any other choice yet.

Deep down, I know I must.

Then, as if to prove me right, his brief calm totally explodes and he rounds on me again. This time, with anger growing in his blank eyes. "You don't believe me."

I hadn't even spoken, and that is what ended up setting him off. My silence voiced my doubt. It allowed Alex to sit with his own guilt in the quiet, how very wrong he was to do this to me.

Unfortunately, it looks as though he believes it is my fault. Like he might take it out on me.

He traps me against the wall, movements rough and uncontrollable, except now his arms come up to cage me against him, and he is entirely too close. "Do you want the truth?"

I tightly close my eyes, but a cry slips out despite my efforts to remain as quiet as possible. “Tell me, Julia. Do you want the fucking truth, or do you just not give a fuck at all about me anymore? Tell me."

Full on sobbing now, I gasp as he grips my left elbow and shakes me hard, so hard my head thumps back on the wall and skews my vision.

Past another loud sob I steel myself, arm tense and ready, with no other choice now. "How could you?"

My loud hysteric demand partially shocks him from his incensed reverie, and it's this moment that I have to take advantage of. Finally, what forces me to defend myself from him. In a split second—before I can second guess it, I withdraw the thin cylinder and depress the button. Six inches away from Alex's face.

He careens backward, back crashing into the opposite wall with loud shout of intense pain and shock before he sinks to his knees, both hands pawing desperately at his eyes.

For a few moments I stand still, heaving from the ordeal and what I've just had to do and the lingering chemicals in the air makes me cough and my own eyes to water. Then, I break into a sobbing run. My frantic hands falter to even open the door, and I stumble out into the deceptively beautiful day.

Blindly I hurtle down the stairs, crying and gasping and I can't even see, only to trip on the very last step—but someone catches me. Around my waist an arm curls, one more at my back to steady me on my feet as they finally hit the stone walkway. It seems I fell right into a familiar, safe chest. Through my panic I faintly hear my name being called, but I can only bury my head in Harry’s chest, cling to him as I murmur his name in return.

“Jules, Jules. I’ve got you.” His gentle hand comes up to cradle my cheek, pushing me back to peer at me in nothing but concern. Already it’s clear that something has gone totally aghast, and already he is fuming. While breathing heavily I try to steady myself, try to look into his eyes and hold onto him as tightly as I can.

“What happened?” He demands lowly, lethal. I suck in another sharp laboured breath, tighten my hold on him in another fruitless effort to ground myself. And I can’t talk, can’t speak of what just unfolded, but already Harry is piecing things together, hard gaze flicking down to assess me, lingering at my neck—which causes my stomach to tie into knots at what it could look like.

Then, he must feel something hard pressed into his side where I have him gripped so tightly and pulled so close. Deft but gentle, he pries my hand away and plucks the newly used canister of pepper spray from my fisted hand. I didn’t even realize that I was still holding it. Expression darkening, I see him lose another once of his control. I can tell he wants nothing more than to tear
into the house in a blind range, but he knows how much I need him right now. More than anything.
“What the fuck happened?” He asks once more, forcefully, harsh but attempting desperately not to shout and scare me more than I already have been.

Behind us, movement is heard within the house. If my ears weren’t ringing from the intense shock, I’m sure I might be able to decipher heavy breathing and whimpering from Alex inside, too, but I’m almost thankful that I don’t. At this noise, Harry’s head snaps up to glare at the door I left open in my rush, and my hold on him increases when he attempts to pull away in rage, in confirmation that something really is in there. That I really had been in danger.

“It was Alex,” I breathe out. “It was him.”

All that had been stolen. Destroyed. Perhaps lost forever. Oh, god.

Harry’s reaction to this won’t be good. Rightfully so.

And conversely, this is not good for Alex. Not in the slightest.

An impassive mask neutralizes Harry’s expression abruptly, and he gently guides me toward his car. I follow with several fearful looks back at the house, at the doorway which thankfully remains empty. I remain immersed in a panic filled haze and end up sat in the passenger seat of Harry’s car, one hand placed numbly in my lap while the other clings urgently to his, unwilling to let go. I am more than rattled—terrified. And I need Harry right here next to me, or I might finally lose my already faltering grip.

I don’t even care about Alex inside, if he might be trying to get away.

Harry kneels, jeans pressed into the sidewalk at his knees, so he is eye-level with me, his hand now holding both of mine upon seeing how utterly lost I am. A sense of déjà vu comes over me however, and that is because an almost exact scene unfolded no more than a week ago when my house was first terrorized. By Alex.

“I’ve got you,” he assures me once more, confident, calm. “You’re fine now. I won’t let him hurt you.”

My breathing is impossible to ease even with his comforting words, even though I believe him fully and without doubt. For a second I really believe I am too far gone and a shot of panic runs through me, causes me to lean forward, tug him as close as possible until his entire upper body is leaning into the car to embrace me. He gently circles his arms around me, patient and this time fully aware of what I am fighting for.

Consciousness.

This is a huge moment. For him, for me, for us.

As much as he wants to storm into that house, despite the clear fury now spilling forth from him in overwhelming waves, he won’t leave me when I am like this. Not now that he knows.

“He took it,” I end up spilling, because I have to tell him, because I can’t keep this pain to myself. Not like I used to. Finally, I am taking the advice issued to me long ago:

“No one has to deal those kinds of things one their own, Jules, and they shouldn’t. You’ll only end up killing yourself by trying that.”

“Took what?” He inquires softly, though his quick mind has already figured out what. He’s only doing this to keep me talking, keep me aware as I try to calm down.

Against him, I feel a hard tremble rock my entire body. “Dad’s rings. The jewellery box. He—he did this.”

My voice breaks, and I lean so far forward I all but fall out of the car as I push myself farther into him, drawing from him the strength I so urgently need. And he follows, accommodates me when I bury my nose in the crook of his neck and breathe in softly, slowly. “He… I thought he was going to…”

The sentence can’t be finished because fresh waves of cold fear splash at me, threaten the careful calm I am trying to exercise. If I didn’t have the mace, if Harry hadn’t given it to me… I don’t know what would have unfolded today. I don’t want to know. “I had to do it.”

“You did the right thing,” he says sharply, easily able to decipher the doubt and guilt built up in my tone alone. “You protected yourself. Where did he hurt you? I swear, I will end him.”

Harry’s barely restrained animosity finally seeps through. I don’t answer, not only because it hurts to think about but also because I hear the sound of a motorcycle in the distance, and my panic very nearly comes back in full force. He sees this, however, and stops me when I crane my neck to try and get a skittish look at whoever is coming. Instinctually, I tense in anticipation of more danger. Danger from The Rogues now, even though it’s clear that they really haven’t had much at all to do with this. If anything.

And that’s funny and sad, if one wanted to analyze that. Here Harry was with the apparent ‘dangerous’ past, and yet every violent thing that’s happened to me yet has been from sources in my own life. He was never to blame, should never have blamed himself ever. It’s all on me, it always has been.

“It’s Lucy and Niall—”

“What? What is she—?”

Though trying hard not talk above his quiet nonthreatening murmur, he hushes me. “Don’t worry about them, look at me.”

I do; through watering, dazed and frantic vision, I try to focus only on him. He locks his eyes with mine, steady and in control, because he knows this is exactly what I need right now. I need his reassurance, I need his love, I need him. And in return, I think, he needs me right now just as much. He needs me calm to keep his calm, to not fully explode. Absolutely no attention is paid to the new arrivals, one of whom has me totally alert and near-panicked despite trying hard to listen to Harry. Then his hand fully covers mine, fingers threaded tightly, and he quietly whispers for me to breathe.

“Breathe with me, Jules,” he coaxes softly and takes deep, easy inhales followed by soft exhales.

I do.

Gingerly his free hand skims the side of my throat even though his eyes never stray from mine and my lungs take a much needed fill of oxygen at his comforting touch, as though the intense fear and pain that another set of cruel, violent hands inflicted upon me only moments earlier are healed. My racing heartbeat gradually fades from within my ears over the following seconds, and Harry chews his bottom lip as he monitors me. I know for sure now that there must be angry red marks where he gently skimmed the tips of his fingers at the base of my throat, that he’s seen them, and past these soothing caresses and murmured whispers of encouragement, he is seething.

Only feet away from us footsteps are heard approaching, but I remain locked in Harry’s gaze—he is now the center of my attention, the only person keeping me together, my rock.

“I love you.” His whisper is fierce, gives way to no possible doubt, and I waver at the sheer force of those few words alone. My hand squeezes his.

“He’s done, he will never hurt you again. I promise you, baby.” I nod once, hearing him, listening to his sincerity, and swallow back the remainder of my tears and fear and hysteria. He lets out a small almost relieved sigh, like he might have thought I wouldn’t believe him, and cards his fingers through my hair before leaning forward to slow a slow, soft, and reassuring kiss to my trembling lips. My eyes flutter shut and the roaring adrenaline flowing through me slows down finally. And I take comfort in him. In him being here, protecting me, being here for me, just as he always promised. “I need you to listen to me. For just one moment.”

Instinctually, I feel that he is about to leave me. And I only realize I am clutching desperately to his shirt when my grip intensifies. He sees the look in my eyes, and I glimpse a pain hidden carefully beneath the darkened angry obscurity of his own… which in turn increases his wrath. He hates to see me like this, hurting and drowning in so much fear, and I know already that he blames himself. Because knowing him he believes I was hurt because he didn’t get here in time—which is wrong, and totally unfair to him. If anything, if the blame isn’t placed entirely on Alex then it’s on me. For ever coming here in the first place. After all Harry did tell me to wait, not to go anywhere until he cleared that it was safe.

I didn’t listen. Having been so invested in the idea of safe police being here to give me good news—something desperately needed right now—I became completely wrapped up in the elaborate ruse. Still I can’t quite believe that Alex would be capable of doing something so malicious, premediated and cruel. Hell, I want to say I never even thought he was smart enough to pull it off.

Abruptly, I stop myself from thinking any further. About what he had planned. What he had planned to do with me. I don’t want to know, can’t bear it.

He wanted to hurt me. He did. A hard shudder runs through me and my eyes prick unwilling with pesky tears, and they very nearly well over. Harry sees the rekindled dread brewing in my eyes as soon as it appears. “It’s fine, they’re fine, and you are too,” he whispers, leans forward to brush his mouth against mine once more, and speaks so quietly that only I can hear him.

“I need you to do one thing for me, please.” The delicate whisper has a rough note to it, a rasp that makes me recall all the nights we spent together in bed when he’d lean so close to my ear and speak in that same tone. Eyes fluttered shut, I can feel the lingering tears drying on my cheeks before I feel him gently wipe the last remainder of them away. Which is good, because in front of Lucy I’d rather not look like a total damsel in distress… though that ship might already have sailed, I at least want to keep myself together when she is near. I don’t want to show her any weakness at all.

But my fingers still shake as they clutch his free hand. I nod anyway, wanting nothing more than to be strong. For myself, for him. “I need you to stay right here for me, with Niall, for just a few moments until Louis and Liam get here.”

I know where he is going—inside. I knew it before he even asked. And he’s going no matter what; he is simply trying to calm me as much as he can before he leaves.

“You don’t have to. We can just… we can leave, call the police. Please, Harry. I don’t—I don’t want you near him.”

To the breaking of my heart, he shakes his head slightly. It becomes more and more clear that in this instance, there is no bargaining with him. No mutual promises to be made that could make all this go away. His mouth silences my frantic though quiet pleads, before he pulls back enough to meet my gaze steadily. I only hope he brings the same calm with him inside, but I know that will be impossible for him.

“I have to, baby,” he says this in his same soothing rasp, and my eyes begin to grow sore from all the crying, and from all that I’m still holding back. “Only for a minute. Then I’ll be right out. Okay?”

Shakily, after catching the same unwavering determination in his soft though set expression, I finally—however uncertainly—nod one more time. While I can’t help but to feel immense fear at the thought of Harry being so close to Alex… after what has already happened to me, I am well aware that I am not Harry. Alex would never even think of attempting to harm him like he just did with me, because he is a coward. And Harry could easily defend himself against Alex even if he wasn’t as sick and frail as he appeared back in the house.

With Harry in this rage, Alex would be more than a fool to tempt his wrath.

“I love you,” he says, louder now, sure and determined and as though he wants the spectators to hear him.

I swallow hard and reply in a shivery quiet murmur, though I am just as certain. “I love you too.”

Only now do I feel as though air is successfully entering my lungs through one breath a time, consistently, and no longer do I have to force myself to draw each one and then release a hard unsteady exhale. Yes, I really am calmer now, and it is all because of Harry’s reassurance. His presence.

Letting him go seems like the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make, which is funny since really I don’t have much of a say in the matter at all. There’s nothing that will stop him from going inside to confront the person who harmed me, seemingly for no good reason at all—if not out of spite. It occurs to me now that maybe Alex formulated such an evil plan after I refused to help him with his money troubles, but smartly not a word of this latest theory leaves my mouth. Harry has probably already figured it out himself, anyway, seeing as his judgement isn’t as clouded as mine. He sees Alex for who he truly is.

Malicious.

“Be careful,” I finally breathe and slowly my desperate grip slips from him. He nods solemnly in a silent promise and is slow to stand, eyes still exchanging silent words of promise and comfort with my own. They harden, however, when he takes in my hunched and still clearly spooked form. But once he turns around, he strides stiffly toward the house and does not look back at me once.

Before my eyes I see the fury in him come to the surface, now uninhibited with trying to help me resist the symptoms of my disorder, and the worry sprouting within me grows at the sight of his retreating figure. Even more so when I see that Lucy, the blonde nearly as tall as him and just as angry by the looks of her as she now stands waiting in the middle of the doorway, probably to ensure the man inside does not get away—like she is actually excited for what might occur next. I don’t know what to make of her, but her presence continues to disturb me.

Unlike her, the last thing I want is for him to do something he might regret in a blind rage. Not for something that is my fault. God, I shouldn’t have ever come here by myself. Not without him, not without telling him first. None of this would even be happening now. I could be curled up in his bed at the apartment, and he would probably be home soon. I don’t know about him, but I would still be totally oblivious to Alex’s involvement in all of this, and all that would be a concern on my mind would be what to pack for our weekend away.

One can only wish things were so simple.

Then, in my sudden fright and discomfort at not having Harry close, I quickly look toward the man that Harry left behind as what probably serves as a guard to me—Niall. This new person stares at me openly, somehow light but with a discernable air of intensity which hints that he is not as easy going and laid back as he appears to me. That despite looking so friendly, he could probably rough someone up if he wanted to. And have fun while doing so as well. Apparently Harry trusts him enough to stay with me at such a moment, so I try hard to beat down my inherent nerves.

“I’m Niall. Mate of Harry’s…” His Irish accent surprises me, and I blink at him in somewhat of a daze though attempting to come across as fully aware. Not as affected by all this as I really am. But it proves impossible to focus, to think of anything that has really just happened, to not listen intently to whatever may be taking place inside the house.

They’d shut the door, and I don’t want to think about why. It is deathly silent, however, and for now all that puts me on edge is pure anticipation. I know that we are now in the calm before the storm, and it will not be this quiet for long. I imagine Alex is totally unresponsive right now, maybe something akin to playing dead. I know how he reacts to pain from witnessing him being hurt before, either through accidents or inflicted by others, beaten by those he made enemies of.

He can’t endure much pain. He just sort of crumbles, cries, and requires assistance before picking himself up again.

My attention is still on Niall despite such violent thoughts. On who he could be to Harry, and though I don’t know him at all I have no choice but to somewhat trust him. His relaxed stance and open, light gaze probably encourage these feelings. And with my one track mind, I wonder what he thinks of Lucy being here right now too.

“I’m Julia,” I reply moments later, voice quiet and slightly hoarse from both the shrieks forced from me mere minutes ago and the subsequent uncontrollable crying.

“I know.” Because of the situation, because of the circumstances upon meeting and the vulnerable state Niall has witnessed me in, I feel beyond awkward and uncomfortable. It isn’t his fault; I just hate for anyone to see me so emotional. Especially someone who doesn’t even know me like Niall. More than that, too, I can’t help but to feel like a baby—though I know through all that happened, through being physically harmed and having several years probably scared from my life, I handled it as well as I could.

If this had occurred just a few weeks ago, I would have passed out cold from such shock and stress. Probably as soon as Alex grabbed me, and definitely when he showed me the ring. And fleetingly I try to remember that, try to hold onto this fact that I am stronger than I have felt in years, happier… and that I can’t let today get to me. I can’t spill any more tears. I just want Harry. I want to hide away for the weekend like we have planned, and absolutely nothing more.

“He’ll be back soon,” Niall promises. He doesn’t appear even slightly awkward with my quiet wariness. In fact if he is as intuitive as I suspect he is past his nonchalant demeanour, he knows exactly how freaked out I am right now. And if he does, he also knows that playing into it would only aid in making it worse. Him keeping his cool helps me keep my own—well, only for a moment until I hear a deep thump followed by a loud crash from inside.

I flinch, eyes wide and attentive, trained only on the house. The front door, more specifically. Niall jumps at the very same time, except he is focussed on me. As though he knows exactly what I want to do—

Go inside. Stop whatever’s happening. Force Harry out of there if I have to.

God, I can’t bear the thought of sitting here doing nothing but waiting uselessly. Not know what’s going on. What if Alex is in there totally of his meds, enraged at what I did to him?

Impossible. I know several things with certainty—Harry can more than defend himself, even if I don’t want him to be put in such a situation at all, and that Alex cannot. Or he should not be able to. Today he really did look worse than ever. A wisp of wind should be able to knock him clear over… but again with a bad feeling growing in my gut, I remember the strength and force he managed to possess earlier, surely fuelled by some unfounded (surely drug-induced) anger toward me, and I am not so sure now. Alex has always held such a deep hatred for Harry, right from the start.

A man in his position—in a corner—is capable of anything.

Injured or no. If he decided to try and take out that same anger on Harry… it would create a perfect disaster in conjunction with Harry’s already intense, fuming rage. I witnessed the look in his eyes as soon as he caught sight of me, what had been done to me. Any little provocation, and he would erupt. Like an angry ball of fire. Alex wouldn’t know what hit him.

“Um—Niall?” I start, genuine—I am about to dare myself to ask what could be taking place now right under my nose. He seems a little surprised that the mousy terrified girl he’s watching over could even address him, and he raises his eyebrows in open curiosity.

But just as he utters a prodding “yeah?” in his thick, almost comforting accent, another crash resonates from beyond the door. This time with an audible cry.

Instinctually, without even allowing myself to think about it, I launch out of the car in a sprint and run toward the door.

“Oi, oi!” Niall shouts, but he doesn’t try to stop me, not even as he catches up easily as is right behind me as I rush up the steps and throw open the front door. For a moment, I conclude that maybe he believes I should see this.

The sight I am greeted with causes me to halt, Niall so surprisingly light on his feet that he stops before crashing into me and steadies me as I sway slightly, still not one hundred percent. But Harry commands every bit of my attention—my heart can wait.

Down the hallway where I’d had my terrifying encounter, he doesn’t appear to notice my presence. Stood menacingly over Alex who is sprawled on the floor, he glares down at the younger man, stare dark, violent. Not for long, though. With a fistful of Alex’s shirt Harry drags him up from the floor to his knees, and then I watch in shock as he throws Alex against the wall, opposite to the one I’d been held up against not long ago, and his hands clench around the wilting man’s throat.

“Stand up,” he spits lowly, dangerously close to snapping. Again, from the looks of things. Now with another split and bleeding lip and a bruise forming over his half-closed swollen left eye, Alex only groans softly.

Farther back, Lucy is silent and unmoving as she merely observes the situation from the kitchen archway, and makes no attempt to stop any of it.

Being in such close proximity to Harry while he is in such a ferocious and irate state makes me nervous, but not because I am scared of him. I am scared for him. For he usually exercises such a huge amount of self-control, seeing him like this causes me to be uneasy. He might not realize his own strength, he might hurt Alex more than he intends…

Something tells me, though, as I silently observe him for those few quick seconds, that he knows exactly what he is doing. And that he will not regret this even slightly.

With two hands wrapped around Alex’s neck, he lifts the shorter man so he’s still against the wall, his feet six inches from the floor. Gasping now because the air is totally cut from his lungs, Alex flails fruitlessly.

“Harry…” I know he is angry beyond reason, I know Alex deserves this, but I can let this go on any longer. Not in good conscience, not if I want Alex to come out of this in one reasonable piece.

“This is what you did to her, isn’t it?” Lethal gazed focussed only on the withered man he is holding suspended in the air, he doesn’t acknowledge me. In fact, my mouth parts slightly as I watch the tendons in his forearms flex as he increases the pressure.

“Julia…” Niall gently tugs at my arm—most likely he knows Harry wouldn’t want me to witness this side of him, but I shrug from his hold and finally step over the threshold. Shakily.

“Come on then. This is what you did to her,” he repeats, venomous. “It feels nice and pleasant, doesn’t it?”

I gasp and begin to feel faint when Harry pulls back, then slams Alex into the wall. I can only watch as his eyes begin to close, although he fights harder to dislodge Harry’s tight, iron grip. It doesn’t budge.

“Harry!” I shout, actually worried now. Alex is losing consciousness, and that is farther than I thought this could have ever progressed. “Harry, you have to stop.”

His jaw jumps at the sound of my risen voice, but still he doesn’t take his eyes from the source of all his disgust.

“Niall.” Though he isn’t shouting, his voice wavers from his just barely leashed rage. “Take her back to the car.”

Now as though he has permission Niall makes a more decisive grab for my wrist, other hand at the small of my back to lead me out.

If Harry thinks I am going to leave him like this he is absolutely insane, and has another thing coming to him. Forcibly, with whatever strength I have left, I push myself away from Niall before he can pull me out and I make a beeline straight toward Harry.

“No! No. You have to stop. Now.”

Totally lacking in hesitance, I approach his nearly vibrating form and lay one hand gently on his forearm, the other on his bicep. He doesn’t flinch at my touch or stray his intense stare from Alex, whose fight has worriedly subsided some.

“Look at me.” My gentle order has some effect on Harry, and though I feel the hard muscle in his bicep angrily constrict even tighter. I swallow hard, fearing he may be inconsolable until all the fight has totally left the man he is slowly strangling, but after a few persistent seconds he slowly turns his head to gaze down at me, dark eyes emotionless. “You need to let him go. You’re going to kill him.”

“Let him go, Harry, please,” I try one more time, and my anxiety shows through in the faltering sentence. Loud and clear, and Harry listens.

Slowly, the dark haze settled over the green of his eyes dissipates, and he sees me. He sees how much I need him—not choking a man to death, but to be here for me in a time where I need him more than ever. I need his arms around me, not coiled tightly around another’s throat. He sees how hurt I am, and the protective side of him that fuelled such a rage in the first place morphs. His seemingly permanent snarl softens, his eyes lose their heat, and slowly… because I know how very much he wants to continue laying into Alex, Harry lets him go.

I take a hasty step backward; not because of Harry, but because Alex slumps to the floor with several deep gasps, his own hands now cradling what is sure to be a bruised and battered neck.

Instantly Harry is striding toward me, protectively winding his arm around me while he tucks me close into his side. “Alright, baby?” His tone has totally changed. He peers down at me in nothing but concern, and the coughing, wheezing man behind us no longer occupies a single thought in his mind.

“Can we please leave?”

But I nearly jump straight out of his grasp when Alex speaks through his constant harsh intakes of air. “I’m sorry,” he gasps out, strained. “I’m sorry, Julia. If I could change it I would. I tried to fix it.”

From what for a moment seemed like her permanent position hovering at the edge of the room, Lucy moves forward with a harsh snarl. “Shut the fuck up.”

Harry’s entire body has tensed, ready to rear back for another round, but his attention is quick to return to me when someone enters through the still open front door. Louis approaches, appearing totally indifferent to the craziness laid out before him. I relax somewhat at the familiar face, but not fully. This is all too much.

“Please, Harry,” I press, voice quiet and uneven and I’m tugging at his arm, trying to get toward the door without actually moving yet. “Please, I don’t want to see anyone else hurt today.”

Momentary shock filters through his angled features. I know he is surprised by this, surprised because Alex doesn’t deserve even this small amount of mercy. If weren’t here, who knows how much farther this would have progressed.

But he nods, watches me carefully, and doesn’t take his eyes from me as he addresses Louis.

“Take care of this.”

Louis nods once in affirmation, and finally, Harry manages to pull himself out of the endless pit of anger and moves forward, leading me out of the house before I can witness anything more.

Notes

So... I can't even believe that just happened myself. This moment between Harry and Alex has been brewing for so long, I couldn't wait to write it and share it with you! This was such a long awaited chapter, I would really love to hear what you thought! :)