Chapter 11

Even though I don’t like to be around people a lot, I do spend an excessive amount of time studying them. And I know that sounds utterly creepy and weird, but what do you expect from a supposedly insane person?

Just seeing people be happy is enough for me.

Valentine’s Day is the perfect day to just sit in a park-even though it’s freezing outside-and watch couples give and receive romantic gifts. It’s all I need to stay happy.

Even though I won’t and can’t fall in love, I like to see others be in love.

Suddenly, my phone begins ringing in my pocket, disturbing the perfect silence surrounding me. I sigh, watching my hot breath as it spirals out into the frigid air; just like smoke.

“Hello?” I mumble into the phone. I’m really not in the mood to talk to anyone; I honestly just want to sit in silence for the rest of my life.

“Hey, Harry. It’s Bethany.”

I suddenly remember that I’d given her my number a few days ago.

“Hey, Bethany. What’s up? Need help studying for that test next week?” I ask, smirking to myself. My voice is oddly quiet and raspy; probably the cold.

She laughs sheepishly. “Yeah, actually . . . I was wondering if you’re free tonight to help me.”

“Yeah, I’m free.” When am I not?

She sets a time, and gives me directions to her flat, and then we hang up.

Looking around the park, I discover that all the young lovers had been smart and went home. I sigh, deciding to do the same even though I wanted to stay longer.

Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I begin to walk back to my car. A few snowflakes fall around me, and I inwardly groan. Not again.

Driving home, my hands start to tremble and my heartbeat picks up, telling me that I’m in dire need of a cigarette. I impatiently tap my fingers on the steering wheel as I realize I’ve left my cigarettes in my flat on the kitchen counter.

I’ve tried to quit a few times, but each time my hands started to shake and my moods started to swing, I gave in.

At last reaching my flat, I burst in, finding it unlocked. Odd. I think. I swear I locked I before I left.

I head straight to the kitchen, happily finding my pack of cigarettes.

“Hello, Harry.”

I gasp, freezing at the all too familiar voice. I whirl around, chest heaving, and meet the cool blue eyes of Des.

“How the hell did you get in here?!” My tone is cold and demanding as I stare him down.

He smirks at me from his place on my couch.

“I see you’ve made yourself at home,” I add in a growl. Anger is rising in my throat, and I have to try hard to control myself from lashing out at him.

“I have my ways, son.”

I roll my eyes and light my cigarette, knowing that he just called me that to infuriate me even more.

And it’s working.

“What information have you gotten?” Des asks, not beating around the bush. He’s always been that way; never one to sugar coat things.

“About Sandy?” I deadpan, knowing the answer full well. I don’t want to tell him the truth that I haven’t even properly met the girl, or that I’m certainly not going to kill an innocent person.

“No. The Queen. Now hock it up,” he spits, eyes blazing.

I blow out my cigarette smoke, knowing I’m in dangerous waters. “None, yet,” I say as casually as I can.

He suddenly stands, and walks up to me, wrapping his fingers snugly around my neck. He shoves me roughly against the wall, jaw clenched tightly.

“Don’t procrastinate too long, Harry,” he chuckles deeply, eyes still flaming. “Time could run out on you.” Des looks at his watch. “Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick—“

I shove him off me. “I get it, okay?!”

He narrows his eyes at me. “You better. Because the more time you take, the shorter your life is.”






I find it hard to concentrate on Bethany’s tutoring session that night. Des’ words are still loud and menacing in my mind.

I think Bethany can tell that I’m distracted, because we’re not even an hour in and she proposes that we take a break.

She makes us each a cup of tea, and switches the TV on.

The American show The Big Bang Theory comes on and I cock an eyebrow at her choice in TV show.

She shrugs. “American shows are better than British shows any day.”

I laugh and sip my tea. “Got anything stronger?” I inquire.

Bethany raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow, mimicking me. “Don’t you need to drive home later?”

I chuckle. “I’m not a lightweight, don’t worry.”

She rolls her eyes and walks to the kitchen. As she takes down a bottle of white wine, I look over some homework she had been working on.

“Number fourteen is wrong,” I announce as she returns with our drinks.

She sighs, exasperated.

“What do you do for fun?” she asks suddenly, not answering my statement.

I place my glass on the coffee table. “Not much; read, take walks.”

“Ever baked cookies?”

I laugh. “For fun?”

She nods. “Don’t laugh, it’s actually quite relaxing.”

“Cool,” I chuckle, scratching the back of my neck.

“Wanna bake some now?” she asks, a mischievous glint in her eye.

I smirk. “Sure.”

I soon find out that Bethany’s right; baking cookies is relaxing-and fun. By the time their ready to be put in the oven, we’re both covered in flour and other ingredients.

“Now, we wait,” Bethany smirks, rinsing her hands off.

The doorbell rings, making me remember why I was originally here.

“Shouldn’t we be studying?” I ask her before she answers the door.

“She shrugs. “Whatever.”

I laugh, realizing that this is probably why she doesn’t do well in anatomy “ADD,” I mutter under my breath.

“Hey, Sandy!” Bethany says when she opens the door.


I freeze. Sandy. I suddenly feel the urge to throw up the raw cookie dough I just ate.

“Harry, this is my best friend Sandy Mathews. She lives next door. Sandy, this is Harry . . . My anatomy tutor,” Bethany introduces us, bringing the tall blonde into the kitchen where I’m still stood.

I’m sure she expected me to laugh; Sandy did. But I don’t. I find it anything but funny.

I nod politely at Sandy, somehow gathering the courage and strength to lift my hand to shake her outstretched one.

This is the girl I’m supposed to murder. She probably has a family, and a boyfriend who love her. I just can’t take her life.

“Mmm, what’s that smell?” Sandy asks, sniffing the air. She has dimples when she smiles. It makes me sick how she reminds me of—

“Cookies,” Bethany smiles, opening up the oven to check on them. “Looks like their almost done, Harry.”

I can’t breathe with Sandy in the room.

“I-uh . . . have to go. I have to work tomorrow,” I choke out. My voice is oddly monotone.

“Oh . . . O-okay.” Bethany’s voice is slightly disappointed, but I know if she knew why I can’t be here, she wouldn’t want me here either.

I gather my stuff and awkwardly mumble a goodbye to Sandy, then walk with Bethany out the door.

“You don’t want any cookies?” Her eyes are pleading, but I know that if I stay I’ll start to melt.

I slowly shake my head. “No . . . It’s okay,” I whisper, feeling awfully rude.

But when was the last time I cared? Only since I started hanging out with Bethany I’ve started caring about my manners and such.

And as I walk back down to my car, I know that has to stop.

Notes

Unedited.