Counterpoint (Hystoria #3)

2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

I startle awake to the sound of a loud bang at my front door, heart racing and sweat-soaked hair sticking to my forehead. My eyes dart around the room until I find my alarm and realise it’s only four in the afternoon. I only slept for five hours, and I feel like it. Everything aches, a dull thumping behind my temples adding to my general discomfort.

A wince escapes me as I sit up in my bed, trying to get up and check who’s at my door knocking like their life depends on it. Every single move hurts. Every fucking breath makes me want to cry. Clutching my phone close to my chest, I close my eyes and count to three before I force myself to stand up, muffling my pained groan by biting my shirt’s collar. Holy fuck. I thought breaking my arm as a teen was painful, but at least they put it in a cast so I couldn’t move it. This… this is torture .

I cautiously make my way to the front door, suppressing pained groans with each step. At least the pain distracts me from my initial panic, but now that I’m approaching the door, it’s back with full force. It can’t be Tom, can it? He wouldn’t be dumb enough to come right back here after what happened. Right? If he’s even out of custody yet, which I can’t imagine. But, just in case, I blindly grab something that could serve as a makeshift weapon as I inch closer to the door.

I glance down at the object in my hand and roll my eyes. It’s an umbrella. Really, Harper? You couldn’t have grabbed the baseball bat leaning on the wall right next to it that Grandma got you for cases just like this? And of the five umbrellas I have, it had to be the pink one with ruffles? It just confirms what Jake likes to throw in my face every chance he gets: I wouldn’t survive in a horror movie. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’d be the first one to die, but at least I’d die in either a spectacularly dumb or entertaining way. I just hope it’s a quick one.

My attention shifts back to my front door with the next knock. Whoever is on the other side is insistent. How do their hands not hurt already? At least now, the banging subsides to quieter but nonetheless firm knocking as I inch closer to the door, tiptoeing and not making any sound. Slowly, I lean forward and check my door spy with my non-swollen eye. I blink, confused. It’s Jake.

I sigh, leaning my forehead against the cold wood of my door. Damn you, Grandma. I should have known she’d go straight to Jake instead of listening to me. So now what? I don’t want Jake to see me like this. I really don’t. But I know without a sliver of doubt that I won’t be able to send him away.

Well, as Grandpa used to say, life isn’t always a bowl of cherries. Right now, it’s more like a bowl of natto - sticky, fermented soybeans that stink up the entire apartment sound like an appropriate condiment to compare my current situation to. Hey, maybe I should have that printed on a t-shirt. ‘Sometimes, life is a bowl of Natto.’ Or maybe those stinky Scandinavian canned fish that make you puke.

Well, I guess life could be worse. It could be much better, too, though.

“Open up, Harper, I know you’re home.” Jake knocks again, and I let out a frustrated sigh.

“What are you doing here?” I shout back through the door. Damn you, Grandma. I really don’t want to let him in and deal with the subsequent drama.

My eyes dart around, searching the room for… something. Anything that could help me out of this bind. And they land on my comfy at-home clothes I left strewn across my living room from before I got ready for Jake’s party, knowing fully well Tom would throw a fit if he saw them on the floor. What can I say? I was in a hurry, and things were different then. It’s hard to believe that was less than a day ago.

As quickly as my battered body allows, I grab them and hurriedly slip into them. A look in my hallway mirror tells me the long sweatpants and hoodie manage to hide most of my bruises.

“I’m just checking on you. Let me in!” he shouts back. Should I run to the bathroom and put makeup on the worst areas? Then again, he’s going to see the band-aids and swelling anyway. And let’s face the music, I can’t run with my ribs hurting like a bitch. I’m sure, thanks to my swollen shut eye, I’ll manage to hit all my furniture if I try to walk fast. God, I bet I look like an Animal Crossing character that got stung by bees. Maybe he won’t notice it too much if I pull on the hood .

“Harperrrr.” Jake is starting to sound impatient. “Open up, or I’m using the spare key you gave me.”

Maybe I can just ask him to leave. Maybe for once in his life, he’ll listen to me. But then, I hear one of my neighbor’s doors creak open. Shit.

I fumble with my keys and the deadbolt, yanking the door open as soon as it’s unlocked, grabbing Jake’s sleeve and hauling him inside before he knows what’s happening.

“Wait here,” I mutter and step past him into the hallway, hiding my face under the hood as well as possible. I never got the chance to thank my neighbors yesterday. Once the police arrived, everything happened so quickly, and before I could even react, they led me to the ambulance and brought me to the hospital. I never even noticed, but now that I’m a bit clearer in the head, it bothers me.

“Hey, Jeff.” I manage a smile, though I’m sure with how my face looks, it’s more of a grimace. Jeff has been my neighbor for the past seven years, and we’ve always gotten along well. He used to live there with his daughter Sally, who left for university a year ago. I’d guess he’s in his late forties, and for his age, he’s a rather handsome man.

Which is another thing that used to annoy Tom. He didn’t like that I lived next to a good-looking man and asked me to move, but I answered him with a resounding ‘no.’ In hindsight, I wonder why I ignored that red flag waving right in my face. I love my apartment, and Jeff is the best neighbor I could have wished for.

Over the years, he’s become something like a fairy godfather to me, helping out with handyman projects or whenever something in the building needed fixing and the management could only send someone weeks later. Without him, I’m pretty sure I would have died of heat exhaustion when my AC unit stopped working in the summer.

Now, his concerned eyes take in my bruised face, and he grimaces. “How are you, Harper?”

“As good as can be, Jeff,” I reply with a shrug and regret moving my shoulders immediately. I can see him inspecting my face from the corner of my eyes, but I can’t bring myself to meet his gaze. Blood rushes to my cheeks. I know it’s not my fault, but this feels so embarrassing. “I’m sorry, the EMTs rushed me away yesterday before I could thank you. So, thank you,” I mumble.

“Nothing to thank me for, Harper,” he assures me, placing his hand on my shoulder. I think he wants to give it a reassuring squeeze, but upon seeing my injuries, he thankfully decides against it. “Please tell me that piece of shit is gone?” His eyes suddenly go from caring to furious as he shifts the conversation to Tom.

“He’s in custody as far as I know. I’m working on the restraining order.”

“Good,” he grunts and retracts his hand. “If you need a good lawyer, please let me know. I know someone. She’s specialized in domestic violence.”

“A friend?” I ask, surprised. That’s a very specific lawyer to have on hand.

“I worked with her during my divorce,” he admits, and for the first time since I came out here, my eyes find his, discovering nothing but understanding in them. “I’ll get you her card and slide it under your door, okay? I think your brother is going to go berserk if you keep him waiting any longer.”

“Thank you,” I say again, wholeheartedly. “Seriously, thank you. ”

“You’re more than welcome, Harper.” He nods and closes his door, leaving me alone in the hallway.

Yeah, no, I’m not staying out here alone. I step back into my apartment and lock the door behind me again.

I don’t spot Jake at first, but I hear him digging around in my kitchen. Eventually, I find him standing in front of my open fridge, judging its contents. I make my way to him, a wince escaping me when I step on a chapstick on the ground. It must have fallen there when I grabbed the umbrella. The noise catches his attention, and he turns to face me.

“Grandma told me to come check on you, said it was urgent. What’s up with that?” My eyes widen, and I quickly shift my gaze to the floor, lowering my head to hide my face. I feel my face growing warm, and a mixture of frustration, anger, and embarrassment makes the blood in my veins run ice cold within a split second, and an uncomfortable feeling spreads in my stomach.

Why does Grandma always have to get involved? I take a deep breath, closing my eyes briefly to gather my thoughts and swallow down the lump forming in my throat before I respond.

“What did she say?” I ask softly, still avoiding eye contact and looking at my feet.

“Nothing.” He’s starting to sound suspicious. “I mean, I expected to get a ‘Congratulations on the album, honey, I hope the party was great’ or ‘Jake, I’m so proud of you,’ but she just told me to come here immediately, under the threat of withholding dessert at Thanksgiving dinner. So naturally, I’m in full-blown panic mode and rushed over as soon as I could. Please , for the love of God, can you just tell me what’s going on? ”

Oh, that cunning old woman. I really need to get her to phrase her promises more carefully. I can already hear her voice telling me as innocently as she can muster, “Well, I didn’t tell him what Tom did; I just told him to visit you.” As if that makes it any better.

But what’s done is done. There’s no turning back now; I’ve accepted my fate the moment I opened my door. I take a deep breath, willing myself to calm down. I know Grandma wants what’s best for me, even if I’m angry now. I can’t avoid this conversation any longer; I might as well get it over with. “Before I tell you, you need to promise me you won’t freak out.”

“Why? Hey, what’s so interesting about the floor over there?” He moves closer, but I match his steps by retreating, still keeping my gaze downward.

“My floor is very interesting, thank you. Now, promise?” I insist.

“Okay, I promise,” he agrees, his tone still wary, and honestly, I can’t blame him. I finally look up, remove my hood and meet his gaze.

“What the fuck?” Jake curses, and I can see him turn red with anger.

“You promised,” I remind him, and he takes a step back before he begins to pace around my living room. He’s got that habit from Grandma, but he nervously rubs his face additionally.

“Well, you can’t make me fucking promise something like that and then drop a fucking bomb like this,” he protests, gesturing toward my face, his voice simmering with anger. “Who did this to you? You definitely didn’t look like this when you left the party yesterday. Did you get mugged? Kidnapped? Why didn’t you call me for the ransom money? ”

“It was Tom,” I reply, matter-of-factly, but it’s hard to get his name over my lips, like Voldemort. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth and makes me feel like I need to brush my teeth for an hour.

“That son of a bitch!” Jake’s voice reverberates through my apartment, and I close my eyes briefly at the sudden loud noise. Deep breaths, Harper. “I knew he was an asshole. Where is he?”

“Listen, Jake, you don’t need to,” I begin, but he cuts me off.

“Where. Is. He?” He emphasises each word as he comes to a stop right in front of me, trying to intimidate me into telling him.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. That hasn’t worked since I was like ten years old. Instead, I stand my ground, placing my hand between us and gently pushing him back until there’s about a foot of space between us. Usually, I’d tickle him, but I’m in no condition for a play-fight.

“He should be in custody,” I tell him instead. Jake’s shoulders slump in relief, and his angry expression switches to one of concern as he takes a closer look at my face.

“So you went to the cops?” He gestures with his index finger for me to turn my head, and I comply. He winces when he gets a good look at my eye, or rather the fact that he can’t really see my eye.

“Yes. My neighbors pulled him off me and called them,” I mutter. Anger flashing in his eyes, he nods and then turns around to resume his pacing.

“Sit down,” Jake orders, and although my natural instinct as his sibling is to protest, I comply. His shoulders tense when a quiet, pained wince escapes me as my butt hits the pillow, worry clouding his face.

He marches over to my bathroom, returning with my last painkiller. Then he makes a beeline for the kitchen, fills a glass with water, and hands it to me. It’s strange to have him do things for me and take care of me like this. We’ve always gotten along great, and he’s an amazing older brother, but this situation is… new.

“Thank you,” I say as I accept the glass and pill, glancing at the clock behind him. I think enough time has passed for me to take another painkiller. When I set down the glass, Jake is right there again, handing me another makeshift cooling pad. I think he found the frozen peas in my freezer. They must have been in there even longer than the paprika. I gently press them against my swollen cheek before shifting my focus back to Jake.

He looks at me with an indescribable expression. It’s worry mixed with anger, mixed with empathy, and tinged of sadness. I can sense all kinds of thoughts racing through his head.

“So you’re over, right? You broke up with him?” he finally asks, caution clouding his voice, as if he’s speaking to a frightened cat, fearful that any harshness in his tone might cause me to flee.

“One hundred percent,” I assure him and meet his eyes with confidence. If there is one thing I am never going to tolerate in any kind of relationship, it’s someone laying their hands on me. As much as I ignored all the red flags, sense finally hit me. Unfortunately, literally.

Jake doesn’t look any less worried, though. “Did Tom get that memo?” Now, concern overtakes his eyes. And I get it. It’s the same worry that has been nagging at me. I can’t imagine Tom becoming an obsessive stalker, but then again, before yesterday, I also would have never thought he’d hit me. So, I guess I never really knew him at all, which means he’s unpredictable. But I’m trying to stay optimistic .

“I hope so,” I sigh, leaning back and groaning as I prop my legs up on the coffee table. “And if not, he’ll hopefully get it when the police hand him the restraining order.”

“You know I’m going to get you bodyguards, right?” I grimace and roll my eyes.

“And that’s why Grandma is on my shitlist now,” I mumble, closing my eyes as I continue to talk. “I don’t want bodyguards, and I don’t need them. I don’t see myself leaving this apartment anytime soon, so no need to worry.”

A knock on my door startles me, and both of us turn our attention to it.

Immediately, I’m on high alert. My heart starts to race, and my hands grip the fabric of my hoodie.

“Are you expecting someone?” Jake asks, giving me a pointed look as he notices my reaction. “Yeah, sure, you don’t need a bodyguard, you’re completely fine, and nothing scares you.” He rolls his eyes.

I shake my head with wide eyes and subtly raise my middle finger at him, pretending to scratch my chin with it.

“It’s probably just Jeff,” I answer, pointedly ignoring his last sentence. At least, I hope it’s Jeff. “He said he knows a good lawyer who specializes in domestic violence and wanted to give me her card. I’ll get it.” I attempt to get up, but Jake shoots me a warning look.

“Keep your ass seated, Sis. I got it.” He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath as he makes his way to the door, checking the peephole before unlocking and opening it.

I can’t see who Jake is talking to when he opens the door and steps out into the building’s hallway. I only hear two muffled voices as he pulls the door almost closed behind him. However, from what I hear, that person doesn’t sound like Jeff at all. Their voice is much higher, and they sound way more hectic than I’ve ever heard Jeff talk.

Jake’s face is indecipherable when he comes back inside, holding a box in his hands with a thick envelope resting on it. My eyebrow shoots up. That’s odd. I’m not expecting a delivery. The last thing I ordered was a light for my vanity that looks like a little cloud, and that arrived three days ago. And delivery drivers never come here this late.

“What is it?” I ask him. “Who was that?”

“A courier,” he says and sets the box down on my coffee table, then hands me the envelope.

“Why would a courier knock on my door at -” I check the clock. “Five in the evening?”

“I’m not sure, but I have a suspicion.” I look at him quizzically, but then curiosity gets the better of me, and I tear the envelope open, unfolding the thick paper inside it.

“Letter of termination…” I mumble, my hand flying to my mouth. Shit. I mean, I figured it was coming. But I didn’t think they would boot me this quickly. I mean, that was less than a day. The restraining order hasn’t even been granted yet. How would they even know about what happened? Either Tom got out incredibly quickly, or he called them from his cell.

Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m out of a job. I don’t even want to read this bullshit letter.

But from the corner of my eyes, I see Jake looking at me curiously, a silent fury raging behind his eyes. I gulp and take a deep breath, then I read the rest of the letter out loud.

“ We trust this letter finds you well. We regret to inform you that, after careful consideration and investigation, your employment with Holland & Hammond is terminated, effective immediately. This decision has been reached due to significant ethical violations on your part, specifically making false accusations against the company’s management of engaging in violent behavior.

The seriousness of making false accusations against any individual, including our management, cannot be overstated. Such behavior undermines the trust and harmony that is essential to the functioning of our organization. Following a thorough investigation into the matter, it has become evident that your accusations lack merit and are unsubstantiated.

Please be advised that you are required to return all company property, including access cards, keys, electronic devices, and any confidential information in your possession, without delay. A representative from Human Resources will be available to guide you through the exit process and address any questions or concerns you may have.

Wishing you the best in your future endeavors.”

My hands holding the paper slowly drop, the paper shaking in my trembling fingers as I struggle to make sense of what I’ve just read.

“But… that’s bullshit,” I mutter softly, my eyes darting over the neat font once more. “What do they mean by ‘false accusations?’ I have the fucking wounds and video evidence to prove it. They never even reached out to me beforehand. I doubt the police report is even finished! How the hell did they ‘investigate’ what happened?” Words tumble out of my mouth, but they make as little sense as the paper in my hands.

Jake takes the letter from me, scanning it with his own eyes. Then, he retrieves his phone and makes a brief call. I’m not sure who he’s talking to because my thoughts are racing at a thousand miles per hour, and I can’t focus on his conversation for the life of me.

What do I do now? My savings can last me for a few months, but what will I do after that? Like the good networker he is, Tom has friends in all kinds of companies and industries. Will I even be able to get another job in town? What if I don’t get one? I know Jake would be more than happy to rent out or buy an apartment for me, but he’s done so much for me already. I don’t want to ask him. It would just be another constant reminder that I can’t deal with my problems on my own.

“Harper.” Jake nudges me. “Pull yourself together.”

“Shut up. ‘Pull yourself together’, I just got fired, Jake! What if I end up homeless? I’m too pretty to sleep under bridges,” I whine, and I can practically feel Jake brimming with the urge to slap the back of my head. Repeatedly. But since I’m injured, he spares me, like the good brother he can be at times.

“Do you really think I’d let you go homeless?” He rolls his eyes, but my panic remains. “We’ll get you lawyers first thing in the morning. I’ll have Nathan find a good employment attorney, and we’ll consult the one your friend recommended.” He holds up a small business card he must have found by the door. “For now, take a deep breath, and please check if all your personal belongings from your workplace are in that box.”

I nod. At first glance, everything seems to be there—my little Disney figurines, the snacks I was stashing in my drawer, and even my favorite mug I brought to the office to brighten my exhausting workdays. The only thing missing …

“My pictures are not there,” I realise. I had frames with family pictures on my desk—one with Jake, me and Grandma, and one of just Jake and me at my graduation. I rub the bridge of my nose. Not delivering those just sounds like the kind of petty shit Tom would instigate. “Whatever. I’ll print them out again.”

“Okay, good. So, fuck them. You focus on getting well again, and I’ll handle the rest. Alright?”

“Alright.” My eyes are starting to fall closed, and I hide a yawn behind my hand. “Listen, if you want to stay and hang out here, feel free. But I need some more sleep because right now, my thoughts are mush. I’ll head back to bed.” Before I can even try to get up, he offers me his hand and pulls me to a stand quickly. “Thank you.”

“Always. Sleep well, little Sis.”

I wake up only a few hours later, in the middle of the night. The faint, low murmurs I hear from my living room, along with the thin strip of light seeping into my bedroom from under the door, tell me that Jake is still here. Wonderful. I sigh and shift, searching for a more comfortable position. The painkiller is still doing its job, taking the edge off, but it’s uncomfortable nonetheless.

So, what’s next, Harper?

I stare at the ceiling as though I might find all of my answers there, but all I see is white paint and small dust particles floating through the air .

Maybe I’m not cut out for the city or for getting along with city people. Well, it’s not like we’re in a bustling metropolis, but it’s certainly more urban than the village we grew up in. Back in that village, everyone knew everyone else. You could leave out a jar of homemade marmalade and a piggybank, and you knew people would pay for what they took.

Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling me that I shouldn’t have left Windmeadow, that moving several states away from home was a mistake. I exhale deeply, closing my eyes. Or maybe I’m just letting my anger out on something that’s not to blame for my current situation. Regardless, it doesn’t feel right anymore. I don’t think I can stay here.

This building doesn’t feel like home anymore. The thought of having to pass by the spot where ‘it’ happened every day from now on makes the hair on my neck stand up and bile rise in my throat.

And if I’m going to move anyway, I might as well go back home. Spend time with Grandma as she bakes her famous apple pie and tries to hide the recipe from me, even though I’ve sneaked a glance at it ages ago and know what makes it so good is the fact that she puts a blend of spices into her pie dough as well. I can surround myself with old friends like Katie. It’s been ages since we last talked.

I could enjoy a slice of cake at ‘Flour Power’, the bakery in Windmeadow run by another one of my former high school friends. Phoebe was always a master at baking. She used to bring me cupcakes to school when it was my birthday, a tradition that continued until I moved away. I always looked forward to those, more than anything else, on my birthday. I’m not surprised that her bakery is a raging success. Seriously, her cakes are just to die for .

I slowly sit up. I think I’ve made my decision. It feels like a surprisingly easy one.

Jake sits at my dining table, hunched over a stack of papers, his head resting on his propped-up hand. When did he get those papers? I don’t even have a printer. He glances up when I shuffle into the living room, a bunch of sheets spread out on the table in front of him. When I raise my eyebrow in question, he just shakes his head.

“Okay, Mr. Secretive.” I roll my eyes and walk over to my kitchen, where I find a plastic bag filled to the brim with medicine. Looks like Jake went out. I almost cry when I open my freezer to discover three brand new, proper thermal pads, ice cold and ready to bring my swollen face relief. I toss the pack of peas and grab one of them to wrap it into the towel so I don’t get any ice burns on top of my swollen face. That would suck.

My stomach rumbles, but with my cheek being this swollen and hurting, I don’t see myself eating anything solid. I open my fridge. There should still be… yes! The smoothie I bought three days ago is sitting right where I put it, and upon inspection, it still looks good.

I grimace when the acidity of the pineapple makes one of the cuts in my mouth sting, but it beats having to puree bread or something along those lines just to have something to eat.

I feel Jake’s eyes on me as I return to my living room and carefully sit down on the couch.

“I’m moving home,” I announce. It feels right to say it. It sure feels like the right choice to make. I just hope it will continue to feel that way once I’m home.