Counterpoint (Hystoria #3)

3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

“You want me to do what?” I hold my phone away from my face and stare at it as though it has the answers to what kind of foolish ideas my brother is cooking up in his head.

“Can Si drive home with you?” I put the device back to my ear. I have heard him right after all.

“Why on earth would I want Mr. I-Complain-About-Everything anywhere near my car?” I shake my head, even though Jake can’t see it. Of all the band members, why does it have to be Simon? “Why the hell isn’t he flying?”

Grandma was ecstatic when I told her I’d be moving home, even more so when I asked her if I could have my old room back temporarily. She’s been planning all kinds of activities for the two of us this fall. Fair to say, she’s happy that I’m coming back .

I’ve been planning my trip back home for the past two weeks. I’ll drive, because I need to get my car to Windmeadow somehow. It has the added bonus that I don’t have to ship all of my belongings back home. Just the thought of packing up every item and wrapping each one super carefully, just for the movers or delivery people to damage it anyway, was too frustrating for me.

While my car might not be very big, most of my stuff will fit in the trunk and backseats. Everything besides my clothes, at least, but there isn’t much that can’t be destroyed during transit, so I’ll have those shipped to Windmeadow. Once I’m gone, Jake will have my furniture sold or disposed of, and I will have a fresh start in Windmeadow.

I’m actually looking forward to the trip, just driving, listening to music, and watching the scenery in the more rural areas. Mostly, I’m looking forward to getting the hell out of this town. What I am definitely not looking forward to is having to endure Simon and his bad mood for the whole ten days I’ve planned for this trip.

“There are no more tickets available,” he says like it’s the most obvious answer ever. I roll my eyes. Of course, if you only look for tickets now, two weeks before Thanksgiving, it’s going to be difficult.

I slowly walk from my living room to the kitchen. “Aren’t you important and rich enough for private planes?”

“We tried, but there are also none available,” he admits sheepishly and sighs. “Only giant and way too expensive charters, and I mean, think of the environment, Harper. Please?”

But I really, really don’t want to deal with Simon. “So why can’t he drive by himself? Is his Lambo too uncomfortable?” The silence that meets me is almost comically loud. “No way. For real? That’s the reason?”

His voice dissolves into a chuckle when he answers. “Have you ever sat in a Lamborghini?”

I burst out laughing. “When would I have ever sat in a Lamborghini?”

“True,” he laughs. “Well, let me tell you, they are really not made for driving long distances. There’s nowhere to store any snacks, no place to stretch your arms from time to time and getting out of them is a bitch. Oh, and since they’re so damn expensive, you have to be alert the whole time. It really makes you aware of just how many idiots are allowed to drive and just how many crumbs your road trip snacks leave.”

“According to Layla, the ‘driving idiots’ part is spoken from experience?” I giggle. Apparently, the first time the two of them met, he drove in front of her like a buffoon and then managed to steal her parking spot, so really, he has no room to complain about dangerous drivers on the road.

“Don’t believe a word Layla said. I swear whatever she told you was vastly exaggerated,” he says and clears his throat. “But to come back to the topic at hand, yes, I’m a rich rockstar, I’ve sat in a Lambo, and they’re uncomfortable as fuck, and I wouldn’t wish a week-long trip in them on my worst enemy, much less Si. So, what do you say?”

“I say no, I really don’t want to.” I stroll back into the living room, where I come to a stand, shaking my head. Damn, looks like I also have the pacing habit.

“And if I say pretty please?”

“Picture me. Now, picture me pushing my middle finger into your face and shaking my head violently. I’m not spending ten days cramped into my tiny car with Simon. I doubt that giant is even going to fit into my car.” I shake my head and start walking again. Now that I’ve noticed my habit of pacing, it irks me, so I go and sit down on my couch.

“I’ll pay for your hotel rooms,” Jake offers, and I sigh.

“I’ve got them covered, but thanks.”

“I’ll do the dishes,” he pleads. I freeze and narrow my eyes as I let his words sink in.

“I’m intrigued. Go on,” I encourage him. Now that I’m not pacing, I’m antsy. My eyes find a magazine on the couch table, and I take it in my hand, playing around with the pages as I listen to my brother.

“I’ll take over dishwashing duty the whole time we’re at Grandma’s for Thanksgiving.”

“The whole time?” I ask suspiciously. Jake hates doing the dishes with a passion. I think the first thing he bought when he got his first apartment was a dishwasher. Then he started complaining about having to fill and empty it. I mean, I also don’t enjoy it, but I don’t complain as much as he does. What I do, however, enjoy is watching my brother squirm with tasks he doesn’t like.

“The whole time,” he promises, but I remain suspicious. I’ve known him for my whole life, after all, and he’s learned his cunning ways from the best, namely Grandma.

“No fingers crossed? You swear?”

“I swear.” I can’t put my finger on it, but he doesn’t sound entirely truthful. Maybe that’s my genetic sibling skepticism, or maybe I’m just paranoid.

So, I clarify. “And you will also do them if I leave him on the side of the road when he becomes too much of an annoyance? ”

“I’ll tell him to behave.” Aha, there it is. He’s evading the question. Not with me.

“No,” I chuckle. “You need to promise you’ll also do the dishes if that happens, or no dice.” Seriously, Jake and Grandma are menaces when it comes to finding loopholes in promises, and I’m not falling for this again.

I already had a stern talk with Grandma two weeks ago after she called Jake on me. I know it was out of love, but I’m still not happy about it. I wanted to process the day before talking to him, catch up on sleep, and sort my thoughts before Jake demanded answers. I’m still not pleased that I got ambushed instead.

At first, she got defensive about her decision, but ultimately, I think by now she understands where I’m coming from. What’s done is done, but I fear this is going to linger on my mind if an emergency situation ever arises again.

“I promise,” Jake finally relents with a deep sigh, and I pump my fist in the air.

“Will you give me that in writing?” I ask him with a wide smile on my face.

“Anything you want, oh my dearest, trusting sister.”

“Then we’ve got a deal.” I sigh. I’m really not looking forward to this, but if he’s willing to do the dishes, it must be important to him. And maybe that’s more significant than my beef with Simon. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning at six thirty. Tell Simon to be on time, or I’ll leave without him.”

“Will do. Thank you, Sis!”

“Thank you, Sis,” I mockingly repeat once he’s ended the call. I throw the magazine somewhere behind me and lean against the back of the couch, tilting my head to stare at the ceiling. Why does Jake always know how to make me do stuff I don’t want to for him?

The last night in my apartment is nerve-wracking. I’m trapped in nightmares of Tom looking for me, hiding behind every corner I walk by, ready to beat me into a coma, his ice-cold eyes the last thing I see before everything goes dark. Then I wake up screaming and in a cold sweat, my heart beating so fast I fear it’s jumping out of my chest or giving me a heart attack.

It’s worse in the hallway. Whenever I leave my apartment to bring more boxes and bags to my car, my hands are clammy, and an eerie feeling spreads in my stomach. I still expect Tom to jump out of a dark corner, like a jumpscare in a cheap horror movie and my nightmares. But so far, he hasn’t broken his restraining order. There’s been no sign of him, but I’m not sure I trust the peace.

To our delight, the law office that Sabrina, the lawyer whom Jeff recommended, works at also has lawyers dealing with employment law. After Jake retained the lawyers for me, the order was through in record time and served to him at work, ironically. I’ve met with both of the lawyers, and once I told them the whole story and showed them the evidence, they got a gleeful spark in their eyes. Especially Sabrina, the lawyer that Jeff recommended.

She was thrilled when I could send her videos from my ring camera of the incident, which also captured sound. While the building cameras should have a better angle, they only record visuals, as far as I know. At least that’s what Jake said; he went through the video feeds for me because I couldn’t bear the thought. He looked tired after watching them, exhausted and brought up bodyguards more often. I’ve continued to refuse them.

Sabrina is very sweet, yet she has the aura of a hardass who you definitely don’t want to cross. Her eyes lit up when I told her that Jeff referred me to her, and I’m kind of wondering what the story is there. Not that I’d ever ask. It’s none of my business and a very personal matter, after all. All that’s of importance to me is that I’m in good hands with her, and I’m pretty sure that’s the case.

Speaking of, saying goodbye to Jeff was maybe the hardest thing about packing up my life. He promised to keep in touch and to let me know if anything unusual happens around my apartment once I’m gone. Sabrina told me to have him look out for threatening messages or see if Tom ever appears in the building and to let her know immediately. As we are starting the proceedings now, my new address will not be on any official documents anytime soon.

So I should be safe in Windmeadow. Hopefully.

For now, I’m leaning against the hood of my car in the cool morning air, clutching a paper cup filled with coffee in my hands that fogs up the sunglasses on my nose. I hide a yawn behind my hand, watching as my breath turns white in the autumn air.

Thank God the cuts in my mouth have healed and I can drink scalding hot liquids again. I didn’t drink any coffee for a week after I came back from the hospital, and it was hell. I thought I was insufferable with too little sleep, but holy hell, caffeine withdrawals turned me into a horrible person. Poor Jake, he had to endure the brunt of it. The cuts on my lip are still there, but by now, they’re only barely noticeable. They look more like the result of dry lips.

I didn’t leave my apartment much over the past two weeks. Instead, I searched for remote jobs, wrote a bunch of so-far-unsuccessful applications, and cooled my swollen face. Now, only a shadow remains from the bruise on my cheek and temple, and the cuts on my face are almost healed as well. The bruises on my throat are still a subtle yellow color, but luckily they are easily covered with a turtleneck or scarf. I’ve chosen the former for today.

I turn around and check my reflection in my car window. If you don’t know what I looked like two weeks ago, you’d probably only think that I look a bit tired. The makeup I’m wearing today hides any traces of my injuries because I am not ready to have that kind of conversation with Simon. It’s none of his concern that I don’t seem to have a grip on my love life.

Cold air fills my lungs as I take a deep breath to ease the tightness in my chest. It’s a nice morning. The sun is just starting to rise in the clear sky and begins to bathe the brick-stone buildings of my neighborhood in a beautiful orange light. Only a few cars are on the road at this time, and no pedestrians are in sight. It’s like the city is only now starting to wake up. As am I.

I take a sip of my coffee and check my watch—6:28 am. Let’s see if Mr. Rockstar will manage to be on time.

I close my eyes for a second, trying to prepare myself mentally for the next few days. Why the hell did I say ‘yes’ again?

I actually used to like Si. Back when Hystoria still practiced in Cole’s garage and sometimes let me sit by and watch. It seems like yesterday that Katie and I huddled in a corner and fangirled our respective crushes: her Paxton and me, Si.

During that time, Simon hung out at our place a lot. He’s an only child, and back then, he was starved for some company since his parents were working so much. Jake and I both really enjoyed spending time with him as well.

He’d stump me in Mario Kart, and the three of us played hide and seek. The two of them used to help me with my homework. Since they were only one grade above me, they were able to tutor me as well and did so more or less successfully. But what I remember the clearest about the time he spent at our place is his laugh. Whenever he was at our place, it seemed like a weight tumbled from his shoulders, and according to Jake, he was far more carefree and happy than at school.

For me, it was nice to have someone else in our house. Our parents chose to travel a lot for work and leave us with live-in nannies or Grandma whenever she had time. They wanted children for all the wrong reasons: prestige and to have successors. Too bad both of us don’t really serve as a great addition to their image. Not having parents around was not always bad, yet also not great. Having Si with us made living there feel like a sleepover with friends instead of lonely.

When I was fourteen, I developed a crush on him. How could I not? He’d protect me from Jake’s teasing. Helped me with my homework, patient as a saint. We cooked together, hung out in silence or had effortless fun. He was always around and super considerate, and the smile he sometimes flashed me melts thousands of girls’ hearts nowadays. I was only his first victim, I guess.

I tried to hide it, but somehow, he found out. I’m pretty sure he sneaked a look into my diary because I did my absolute best not to make it obvious. And he was the only person who knew where I hid it so I wouldn’t put it past him. I never approached him about it, never made a move, yet for some reason, he rejected me, and pretty publicly at that.

I still remember it clearly; the rejection had burned itself into my mind. It was during Jake’s sixteenth birthday party. He invited all the Hystoria band members and two other boys he knew from school for a sleepover. They were playing truth or dare or something to that extent in our living room while I hung out in my room. It was a ‘boy’s party’ after all, and Jake was very clear that he didn’t want me there, handing me twenty bucks for takeout in exchange for my absence. So, I hung out with Phoebe that afternoon and watched her bake muffins for a family function, offering myself for quality checks, then spent the evening in my room. I only had to walk past them when I needed something from our fridge.

“Your sister is cute,” one of the boys had said. It was one of the two non-Hystoria boys my brother had invited. I don’t even remember his name. I stopped myself from going inside once I’d heard him talk about me because running right into that conversation would have been very awkward.

“She’s really not.” Si had laughed as though they’d told the greatest joke of all time. “Have you looked at her? She’s awkward and weird as fuck. Definitely undateable. And she’s annoying as hell.”

I’d felt my face flush with embarrassment and anger. Only the two non-Hystoria guys laughed at that joke; meanwhile, I felt tears spring into my eyes. But even back then, I wasn’t someone who’d take any shit. So I’d marched in there with my head held high, biting the inside of my cheek so tightly it started bleeding, just so I wouldn’t cry in front of them. As soon as Si saw me, he grimaced like someone kicked him in the nuts, and the blood drained from his face.

“I might be awkward, but at least I’m honest. If you talk about me, at least have the balls to say it to my face as well.” The room fell so silent you could hear a pin drop, and I could see the surprise on their faces. But I didn’t stop there. “I don’t need anyone’s approval or validation, least of all from someone who thinks it’s okay to talk about me behind my back. So, if you’re not even man enough to speak to me directly, then kindly keep my name out of your mouth.”

Si looked like he was about to say something, but I didn’t stick around to listen. I turned around and walked off, grabbing a drink from the fridge before I went back to my room, feeling devastated yet proud of myself for standing up to him. Then I went to bed and cried myself to sleep. I think I also did something cringy, like crossing out his name wherever I had scribbled it into my diary. I was pissed .

I heard a soft knock on my door later that evening, but I ignored it and acted like I was already asleep. After that night, whenever he came to our house, I’d avoid him like the plague. He’d proven that he wasn’t who I thought he was, and I wasn’t interested in knowing someone who’d talk about me like that.

But it’s okay. We’re all adults now. We’ve changed. I definitely don’t have a crush on Si anymore. The opposite, actually. I don’t give a damn. I haven’t spent time with him in years, so he’s a stranger anyway—only my brother’s friend, not mine anymore.

Which is going to make this ride so damn awkward. If he ever turns up, that is. I check my watch again. 6:39 am. He’s late.

Dishes be damned, if Monsieur Rockstar doesn’t turn up by 7 am, I’m leaving. He’ll either have to deal with the discomfort of his Lambo or, heaven forbid, use public transport. For all I care, he could walk back home. I wish him a pebble in both of his shoes, unpleasantly placed blisters and permanently wet socks, if it comes to that.

I tap my foot against the ground impatiently, sipping on my now lukewarm coffee to warm up. I’m enjoying every minute I can stand and stretch my legs before I have to spend the next few hours behind the wheel. At the same time, I’m eager to leave, getting increasingly anxious that we’ll get caught in commuter traffic and sit around for hours without moving. More and more cars drive past the parking lot, and the city is starting to wake up. Only ten minutes earlier, I would have called this morning serene and calm, but the rising noise level tells me that it’s about to be as chaotic as every other morning here.

6:53 am rolls around, and I’m starting to get angry. The breath of my frustrated sigh turns white in the early winter air as, finally, a cab turns up in my building’s parking lot. It comes to a halt in front of my car, and a familiar ginger man climbs out of it. I always forget how freaking giant he is now. Back then, he was about the same height as Jake, but sometime after puberty, he had a sudden growth spurt, and I think now he’s almost two metres tall. Add to that his amount of working out, and that man is a damn mountain.

Which means, still totally my type. Such a shame about his personality.

He hands the cab driver money and exchanges a few words with him, then retrieves his bag from the trunk. After waving at the man once more, he walks over to me, his eyebrow cocked up in question.

Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I let my eyes wander over him. He’s wearing all black today. Jogging pants, a sweater, a jacket, and even his hat are black, hiding his copper hair. The only colorful thing he’s wearing is a light grey scarf and blue reflecting sunglasses. I wonder if he’s appraising me the same way that I am checking him out.

“Good morning,” I say with a tight smile once he’s close enough before unlocking the car. He doesn’t answer. So much for ‘we’re all adults now,’ I guess. “You can put your duffel bag on the back seat.”

“Where? It’s cramped with your shit.” I roll my eyes and take a deep breath. Then another one. Everything is going to be fine, Harper.

“I know you played Tetris as a child. Either find some space or put it on the ground in front of your feet. Or your lap.”

He grumbles but manages to find a spot right behind the passenger seat.

“Are you migrating or something?” His eyes wander over the bags and boxes I’ve stuffed in there.

“Or something,” I say noncommittedly and take off my jacket before I slip behind the wheel. Simon does the same and buckles himself in, getting comfortable in the passenger seat. It looks kind of comical how he folds his giant frame into my car.

He smells differently. It’s an observation that randomly plops into my head. He used to smell like cheap shower gel and laundry detergent. Now, my car is filled with the scent of cedarwood and leather. It takes me aback. But I guess he changed in a lot of ways since we last shared an enclosed space like this. A wave of nostalgia hits me, memories of us hanging out and laughing together.

“Your car is really small.” The nerve of him. My car isn’t small; it’s just not made to accommodate fucking giants like him.

Gone is the nostalgia, shoved aside by annoyance. He can’t even manage to utter a greeting, and all that comes out of his mouth are complaints. I haven’t even started the car yet, and I already regret saying ‘yes’ to Jake’s demand, dishes be damned. Well, to be fair, I already regretted it before Simon stepped out of the taxi, but who cares about semantics?

“Well, it’s not an SUV,” I say, annoyed, and start the engine. Indeed, it’s not one of the giant, black SUVs he’s used to. Instead, I drive a cute red Corolla that I named Lola. Jake got her for me when I was accepted into university, and I’ve been driving her ever since. It’s been eight wonderful years so far, and I won’t let anyone say a bad word about her. She might not be the most modern and sleek, but I love her nonetheless. “Alright. Let’s go.”

“What the-” Si exclaims and holds onto the ‘Oh Shit’ handle. “Why are you driving like a maniac?”

“We’re still in the parking lot, and I’m going like 3 miles per hour. Calm down, princess.”

The princess does not calm down.

“You’re driving way too close to the car in front of us!” “That light was yellow already!” “Slow the fuck down; that car wants to merge!”

Only five minutes and two stoplights later, I’m ready to kick him out of my car. And throw his ridiculous duffel bag right after him. I wouldn’t even make Jake do the dishes. I just want… peace. And quiet. When he opens his mouth as I come to a stand at the next light, I explode.

“Listen up, princess; I’m driving perfectly fine. The only thing that’s distracting me from paying attention to the road is your goddamn whining. So shut the fuck up and let me drive! I want to reach the freeway before every person with a job gets on it. ”

“Well, you should have left earlier for that,” he remarks and rolls his eyes. I take a deep breath and flex my fingers on the steering wheel, holding onto it for dear life as I try to reply calmly.

“Well, whose fault is it I couldn’t leave on time?” Luckily for him, he doesn’t answer that. At least he’s quiet for around three minutes before he speaks up again.

“Can we get coffee?”

“No,” I say, beaming inside, and take a good sip out of my paper cup. “Should have managed your time better for that. We gotta hurry.”

“Should have managed your time better,” he repeats in a mocking tone and looks out of the window like a pouting child.

Well, if this isn’t a great start to a wonderful adventure.