Counterpoint (Hystoria #3)

13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

I sigh heavily. My Winter Wonderland fantasy played out a lot better in my head.

The first thing I do in my room is put on my pajamas, wash off my makeup and throw my covers onto the armchair, then pull it closer to the window and order a hot chocolate from room service even though it’s really damn expensive. I’m in emotional turmoil, so I might as well treat myself.

I groan when I take the first sip. Holy moly, this hot chocolate is next level. It’s rich and velvety, and it literally tastes like molten chocolate. It’s probably the good Swiss stuff. Jake brought me chocolate when he went there for the first time, and ever since then, I have forced him to bring me more whenever he travels back from Switzerland. The stuff is so damn delicious .

But I soon get bored in my spot. Maybe it’s the fact that no snow is falling. Yes, that must be it. How dare the weather not play along?

I should have brought a book. I mean, I have some in my car, but I’m in my pajamas already, so I’m definitely not going out into the cold again. And I think it’d be buried way down in some of my boxes anyway. I could listen to some audiobooks, but I don’t have the patience for that when I’m not multitasking. I sigh.

There’s got to be something I can do to distract myself. Otherwise, I will keep thinking about the way Si took my hand in the restaurant, the way he looked out for me when the waitress ignored me and the way he made me orgasm over and over less than twenty-four hours ago.

And I can’t continue to think about those things. Because if I do, I won’t be able to say goodbye tomorrow, at least not without another heartbreak. I didn’t want it to happen. Had I known it would turn out this way, I wouldn’t have given in when we were in that elevator. I would have missed out on some amazing orgasms, but at least my heart wouldn’t feel any more fragile than it already does.

Because I know this isn’t going anywhere. It can’t. He’s looking for someone to start a family with, and my life is in shambles. Then there’s the fact that I apparently suck at choosing romantic partners. Who’s to say that even if he said yes, even if he wanted a relationship with me, it wouldn’t be to the detriment of his friendship with Jake when it inevitably goes south? I can’t do that to them.

My life might be in shambles, but that doesn’t mean I have to break their friendship just to have some shattered company.

Before I can spend any more time lamenting that the hard, cold reality of my winter wonderland fantasy is much different from my imagination or continue to contemplate how to distract myself, my phone rings.

“This is Harper,” I greet whoever is calling me at this time.

“Hey, Harper, this is Sabrina.”

Instinctively, I sit up straighter, my heart beating like I’m taking part in a hundred-metre sprint. I didn’t expect to hear from the lawyer any time soon, thinking the whole process was going to take forever.

“Hi,” I greet her again meekly, clearing my throat when my voice threatens to give out.

“Sorry to disturb you this late in the day,” she continues, and I hear her rustle with papers on her end of the line. “There has been a development, and I just wanted to get you up to date on both fronts if now suits you. It’s nothing bad, don’t worry.” I can’t see her, but she sounds like she has a reassuring smile on her face; that makes me feel a bit more calm.

“Okay, yes, of course, now is fine,” I say and jump up, starting to walk to the bed, then turn back around and walk back to the window. God, I’m pacing. It really is a family thing, isn’t it?

“So I’ll start with the very good news first.” More paper rustling and then a quiet, triumphant whistle. “We got a letter from your former employer. Sending along the police report and inquiring what kind of investigation they led did the job. From the way the letter reads, their lawyers are about to piss their pants; excuse my language. We’ve got them good.”

A gleeful chuckle escapes her, and I also feel a smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

“That’s fantastic!” I exclaim, almost stubbing my toe on one of the legs of the armchair .

“Right? So they’re offering you your job back, although I think that’s more of a formality. What’s far more interesting to you is the settlement money they’re offering as an alternative.” She tells me the figure, and my eyes grow wide. Damn, I could buy a house with that. Well, a small house, somewhere far away from civilization, but a house nonetheless.

“So, what would you like me to tell them in response? Are you returning to employment or accepting the settlement? Would you like us to negotiate higher? Or would you prefer to sleep on it and get back to me when you have had time to consider it and then decide?”

“Oh no, don’t worry, I’m taking the settlement.” I shake my head. There’s no reason to fight them any further. Of course, I will never complain about getting more money, but I’ve made my mind up to move back home, and I won’t be changing it anytime soon. If I get any money out of it soon, all the better; I’m not going to risk that with greed.

“Fantastic, I’ll draft that letter right away. That brings us to the less thrilling news.” She clears her throat. Suddenly, my heart is in my throat again, and I just know that I’m not going to like what she’s going to tell me.

“I also got a letter from your ex’s lawyer. He is also looking to settle,” she says matter-of-factly, and I gulp past the lump in my throat.

“Absolutely not,” I press out before she can continue, and I hear her sigh heavily on the other end of the line.

“Okay. I hear you, but please let me tell you what they’re offering so you can make an informed decision.” I make an affirming sound and listen without further interruption .

She reads me their offer, outlining their suggested path to resolution. They would not contest the Order of Protection; they would agree to pay me a paltry sum, and in exchange, we would agree to dismiss the case. I shake my head faster with each new point she reads to me. My eyes fixate on one of the ugly art prints on the wall of my hotel room. I don’t give a fuck about what he’s offering.

“I don’t want his money,” I reiterate once she’s listed all the points. “What he’s offering could barely even cover the medical bills I racked up in the hospital. There’s no way I’m taking that settlement.”

“So, would you like me to draft a number?” Sabrina asks, clicking a pen. “I could include cost for future therapy sessions, the cost of moving, increased security measures, emotional damage, et cetera.”

“Honestly? I don’t want to make this easy on him,” I admit sheepishly, my heart beating furiously. “I want him in jail, anger management classes, mandated therapy sessions, that sort of thing. I don’t want this to happen to one of his future girlfriends.” Or, God forbid, wives. Just the thought of a poor soul trapped in a marriage with him sends a cold shiver down my spine.

“I know,” Sabrina sighs, and I just know she’s going to hit me with an unpleasant truth. “But I need to be real with you, Harper: given that he has no prior reported history of violence, I doubt he’s going to jail, even if we escalate. He will most likely get a few months of probation, and maybe he will be ordered to take anger management classes.”

“But then it’s on his record, right? So if it ever happens again, he’s going to jail?” I inquire, my fingers playing with the hem of my shirt nervously .

“It would be more likely that he’d go to jail,” she explains, another weary sigh escaping her, “not a guarantee, though. However, if we proceed with the charges, it could take months, if not years, until you see any justice. If you even see the justice you are looking for. I’m not trying to push you in any direction, but I want you to come to an informed decision, okay?”

“Yes, of course. Thank you,” I tell her, disappointment settling heavily in my stomach.

She goes a bit more into detail about what continuing with the suit could achieve versus what a counteroffer for a settlement would entail.

“I want it on his record,” I let her know when she finishes. “That is the only way I would even remotely think about settling. I want it on his record so if he ever does it again, he’s hopefully going to jail.”

“Okay, I’ll draft the letter,” she assures me.

I blink, confused. “Just like that?”

“Yes, just like that, Harper. If this is what you want, I’ll see if I can push it through. I’ll include everything else you’ve mentioned into the counteroffer; he will need to plead guilty so that this will stay on his record, we’ll ask for mandatory anger management classes and therapy, and I’ll bring the settlement to a sum that will cover your medical bills, future therapy and then some, for the emotional and psychological damage. But don’t forget, this is a negotiation. For now, I’m aiming high, and until their counteroffer comes in, you can have a good think about how to proceed and what your hard ‘no’s’ are, alright?”

“It’s not ideal,” I sigh and start gnawing my nails. “I don’t know, Sabrina. I’m overwhelmed.”

“Then sleep on it. Talk to your brother or grandmother about it. And when you’ve come to a decision, call or message me. I need your decision by next week, Wednesday, to send them the counteroffer within the deadline they set. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes, of course,” I assure her and quickly find a pen and hotel notepad to jot down a reminder and the deadline.

“Perfect. Have a good evening, Harper. You have a lot to think about.” And with that, she ends the call. The sudden expectation of such a big decision weighs on me heavily. My ragged breaths echo in the otherwise silent room, and I pinch my thigh in an attempt not to spiral.

I’m safe. Nothing can happen to me here. I’m okay. Everything is fine.

Okay, the last one might be an exaggeration; nonetheless, I close my eyes and repeat these sentences in my head over and over again until my breath finally calms. Then I continue until the logical side of my brain finally kicks the emotional side in the butt and jumps in.

A part of me wants to be done with Tom, sever all ties so I never have to see or even think about him again. That part wants to take the settlement and forget about that miserable excuse of a man.

The other part of me wants to see him stand trial, wants to see him confronted with what he did. Will he be angry? Or will he be frustrated or full of shame in front of a judge and a courtroom? Then again, what if the judge is one of the lenient kind and lets him walk without any kind of retribution? Then everything was pointless, and I’ll be sitting on a bunch of medical bills I can’t pay by myself, and I would have to ask Jake to take them on, which is the last thing I want to do.

Sighing, I climb into bed. Maybe Sabrina was right. I should sleep on this decision .

The only issue is I can’t. No matter how often I toss and turn, something is missing. And I know exactly what, or rather, who that something is. It’s a giant, grumpy ginger rockstar whose room is somewhere not even on the same floor.

I could go to him. Maybe word-vomiting about the situation will help my thoughts calm down because right now, they’re zooming through my head like a Formula One race, but at the same time, I don’t really want to talk to Jake or Grandma about it. It’s getting late; I’m sure they’re asleep already. Somehow, I doubt that Si is sleeping yet, though.

But there must be a reason that he’s reserved two rooms, right? What could it mean, besides that he doesn’t want to share one, and ergo a bed, with me. Finding out what room he’s in and knocking on the door in the middle of the night would just be needy. I can’t do that.

I’ll have to get used to this anyway. Tonight is only one night earlier than I originally thought. Shucks, though. I was hoping for one more night of good fucking. One more night of indulging my teenage fantasies, wondering what it would be like if it were real. How it would be to wake up in his arms every morning because the three times it happened were really damn amazing. Teenage me would dream about our wedding and what our kids would look like, but I am absolutely not going to go there. Not when I know nothing will come of it. I’ve already had my heart broken by him. Even if he was unaware, I’m not setting it up to get shattered again if it’s not already too late.

No, instead, I take a corner of the blanket and snuggle it between my arms. My thoughts are jumping all over the place. What am I going to do once I’m back home? The settlement from my former employer is quite nice, but it won’t enable me to just freeload for the rest of my life. I need to get another job, but the current job market is a mess. I’m also not asking Jake for help because he’s already doing enough for me.

I wonder how Tom reacted when he got thrown into custody or when he was handed the restraining order. Does he regret it? Does he miss me? Not that it would change my mind on the order or the lawsuits, but after years together… I wonder. Did all those years mean nothing to him? Am I that disposable? Unloveable?

Tears stream down my face, staining the nice-smelling hotel pillow. Maybe I am undateable after all. My track record seems to prove it. I should just stop dating, honestly.

My mind starts to ramble. Grandma mentioned there were some stray cats in Windmeadow, and maybe they’ll let me adopt them. I bet they’re better company than the people I’ve surrounded myself with. Not that the bar is very high.

I keep wandering that trail of thoughts. How would I feed those cats? That sounds difficult in the long run without a job. Maybe I can get Grandma to adopt them and just hang out a lot at her place. I yawn, and finally, sleep overcomes me.

“Did you really think you could hide from me?” The door to my room slams open suddenly, and Tom marches inside as if he owns the place, the door creaking on its hinges. His cold eyes find me, and I hold my breath. “You really thought running and your ridiculous order would stop me?” I reach for my phone, but he jumps for it and chucks it out of the window. “That’s so cute.” His cruel laugh sends a chill down my spine, and I struggle away from him. But I can’t move. Can’t get away from him—no way to escape.

He steps in front of me effortlessly, his cold laugh filling the room as his hands reach for my throat.

I wake up with tears streaming down my face.

“Shit,” I mumble and swipe my sweat-drenched hair away from my face. Another nightmare. But this is the first one that wasn’t set in my old apartment, but the room I’m currently in. Shouldn’t I get somewhat used to the nightmares at some point?

My mind starts spinning, still reeling from my nightmare. Maybe I need to learn how to lucid dream. Being able to punch that fucker’s face in my dreams would probably greatly improve my ability to handle them. Granted, I’ll need to hope that I’m not one of the people who start to hallucinate due to it. Knowing my luck, each of my nights would start with lying in bed, paralyzed and staring at a creepy demon monster hallucination above my bed. So maybe no lucid dreaming for me, but therapy.

My thoughts spiral. Shit, I have so much to do once I’m home. I grab my phone and start typing my to-do list. Writing things down usually helps me sort my thoughts, but I stare at the empty file on my screen, suddenly overwhelmed. Okay, Harp, let’s start easy. Number one: find a therapist. Number two: find a job so I can pay for said therapist because who knows when I’ll get the settlement money. Shouldn’t it be number one, then? Doesn’t matter, I can still adjust the order later. Number three: bake a pie with Grandma, just because.

I circle ‘Find a job’ with vigor. I guess that’s where I’m starting. I’ve started applying to remote jobs already, but with everything that’s been going on, it’s hard to put my focus on the job search. Once I’m home in Windmeadow, I have to get back to it.

I check the clock. It’s six in the morning already. Too early to get up and too late to get some more decent sleep. So, I scroll through my social media apps until it’s time to get breakfast.

When I enter the breakfast hall, Si is already sitting in a far corner. If he were any smaller, I wouldn’t have seen him. I guess his height doesn’t only come in handy when he flings me around the bedroom.

Wearing a black hoodie, he has the hood hanging low into his face as he nurses a cup of coffee. I get one for myself and load a plate with a croissant and some fruit before I wordlessly sit down opposite him. Not that I’m hungry after that nightmare, but skipping breakfast I’ve paid for is not an option.

For whatever reason, the vibes between us have changed over the night we’ve spent apart. He only greets me with a curt nod before his eyes return to his phone, his posture rigid, and I catch a glimpse of bags under his eyes. Maybe it’s my imagination, and I’m overreacting, but he seems more… hostile? Like the days of joking and fucking never happened. I look at him over the rim of my coffee cup.

He doesn’t look like he’s slept well, either. It gives me a hint of satisfaction, knowing I’m not the only one that struggled tonight. Serves him right for booking the two rooms.

“Good morning,” I mumble before I dig into my croissant. He grunts in response. Great, so we are back to square one; I didn’t imagine the vibes being off. Today’s drive is going to be so much fun. Thank God it’s going to be a short one.

I’ve offered to take over the last stretch of our drive. The current plan is to drive him to his parent’s home first before my trip ends at Grandma’s house, so it wouldn’t make sense for him to drive and me to take over in Windmeadow. We’re on time, so it really is only a four-hour route, which means I don’t see us stopping anywhere on our way.

Scattered snowflakes make their way from the sky to my windshield as we drive onto the freeway. It’s still early, and we’re almost alone. The only cars passing are in the opposite lane every now and then. Welcome to Bumfuck, Nowhere, I guess.

When I glance at Si, I realise he’s asleep. Good for him. I reach for the console and turn on some music. Quietly, so I won’t wake him up and have him give me any shit for putting on Taylor Swift again. Because if there was ever a time to listen to heartbreak songs, it’s right before dropping your crush off at his parents’ house, not knowing if and when you’ll see him again, but one hundred percent sure that nothing is ever going to come of it. It sucks that I can’t scream along to the lyrics. Maybe I’ll take a longer route from his parent’s house to Grandma’s to have a good screaming session. Here’s to hoping that Lola is soundproof for all the residents of Windmeadow. Because after I drop him off and inevitably have my heart broken again, they won’t want to hear me bawling along to heartbreak songs at the top of my lungs.

I enjoy the soft music and relaxing drive for a good two hours, reminding myself that whatever happens when I drop him off is not the end of the world. We’ve had a fling for just a few days. Really, it’s ridiculous how quickly my crush came back from the dead .

From the corner of my eyes, I notice his hand twitch just before he wakes up. Then, his nose scrunches in the most adorable way before he opens his eyes.

“Good morning, starshine,” I greet him, turning the music even further down. “Feel better now?”

“No,” he grunts and leans his head right back against the window. “I slept like shit.”

“Well, at least you slept,” I mumble and roll my shoulders. They’ve gotten stiff and borderline painful over the course of the last hour, tense as I couldn’t keep my thoughts off the nightmare from last night and wondered what would happen today. My fingers itch to call Jake or his lawyers to get reassured that they have their eyes on Tom and he can’t get anywhere near me.

Maybe I’ll call Jake once I’m at Grandma’s and he can’t pester me about playing therapist for Si. I’ll see him in a few days for Thanksgiving dinner at her place, after all. Even though he can be a bit of a shithead, I’ve missed talking to him these past few days.

Come to think of it, I should probably let Grandma at what time we’re going to arrive.

“Can you shoot a quick message to Grandma?” I ask him and grab my phone from the dashboard. Windmeadow is already on the signs, so I don’t think I need a map for the rest of the drive. “Please tell her I’m going to arrive between one and two?”

“Of course.”

I unlock my phone with my thumb and hand it to him unlocked. He types for a few moments, then hands it back to me. “All done.”

“Thank you. ”

He nods and crosses his arms in front of his chest, trying to find a comfortable position and continue his rest. After days in the car, though, that appears to prove difficult, and an annoyed sigh leaves him when he realises he won’t be going back to sleep.

“So, what are you going to do back home?” he asks.

It’s a good question. Usually, people would know what they’re doing the next day. Or the day after that. Not me, though. I have absolutely no idea.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’m jobless, now homeless. Looking for a job is on top of my to-do list, but I haven’t thought any further than that yet.” And getting a therapist, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“So typical,” he mutters, and I glance at him, startled, before refocusing my eyes on the road.

“What do you mean?” I ask him warily, my stomach doing anxious flips, my shoulders tensing again.

“I mean that you take nothing seriously.” My heart stills, and a coldness sweeps through my veins, my stomach turning. What’s going on?

“Excuse me?” I ask him to clarify.

“You heard me,” he says confidently, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You don’t take anything seriously.”

“Where the hell did that suddenly come from?” I hate that my voice trembles as I ask him that, but I’m in shock. What the hell is happening?

“It’s not sudden.” He throws his hands in the air exasperatedly. “You’re fucking indecisive and jump around on whims because your brother is the one paying for it. ”

I bite my lip to hold back the tears forming in my eyes. Yeah, Jake having to pay for my life is not something I’m proud of, but I’m fucking trying because I hate it. What more can I do?

There is a service station ten miles from here. I take a deep breath. I can make it that far.

“I mean, come on. You quit medical school for fucking art. Art, ” he spits. “But let me guess, that’s fine because good old Jake will have your back and pay for every fucking whim of yours. It’s a miracle you finished your art degree without jumping into the next idiotic field. Maybe interpretive dance would have been right up your wheelhouse.”

A cruel laugh leaves him, making the temperature in the car feel like it plummets by several degrees. Nine miles.

“And now you’re running away from your whole fucking life because you’re too damn scared for commitment.” Each word feels like he’s ramming a chef’s knife into my heart, twisting and turning it as he laughs at me, squirming in agony.

“Wow, you really had that rant ready to go, huh?” I raise my eyebrow, an eerie calmness suddenly washing over me and my heart freezing in place, keeping the cracks at bay. “Where did you get that from?”

“What other reason would there be to run away from your fiancé? You’re too chickenshit to pull through and rely on your brother to solve all your damn problems. Let me guess, he’ll cover for you while you’re out of a job?” He rubs his face. “The fact you yolo-ed your way out of a job just to move your shit back home and whine is exactly like you. ”

“Listen, Si. I get you’re struggling with Hystoria on break, but I am not the person to let your frustrations out. Consider this your last chance to shut the fuck up.”

“That has nothing to do with you being a fucking coward.” He laughs cruelly. Tears start to stream down my face, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop them. Not because I’m sad but because the anger inside me burns hot, needing an outlet. I need to stop the car and calm down. I can’t remain on the road as infuriated as I am, or it’s going to end in an accident, and I don’t think Si is worth hurting myself.

“A coward, huh?” I say with a calm voice, followed by a humourless laugh. I wipe the wet trails from my face angrily, ignoring that the next tears follow suit before I continue. “Nice to know that’s how you really see me. And I love that you’ve made up your mind about me with less than half of the information.” Six more miles. “You want to know the reason I’ve dropped out of medical school? I only slept two hours a night to study for exams and lived off fucking instant ramen because it was all I could afford from my scholarship, and I didn’t want to ask Jake for money. I was so damned stressed and overworked that I collapsed on my way to an exam.” I take a deep breath.

“They had to keep me in the hospital for a week. It took me months to get my weight back to normal. It took Jake another two months to convince me not to go back and continue destroying my body and mental health. He paid my tuition before I could even apply for scholarships and grants. But I’m guessing you don’t have the slightest idea of how stressful university is, do you?” I know I’m aiming below the belt, and I’m not proud of it, but it needs to be said. Because he really has no fucking idea. “So don’t you dare call changing professions a fucking ‘whim.’ I am not going to apologize for doing something that doesn’t fucking destroy me.” He looks at me, shocked, but I am so fucking far from done. You want to let your anger out on me? Fine. You dish it, you take it.

“And it’s grand of you to judge why I ended my engagement when you have no idea what happened.”

“Well, what happened then? Did he look at you wrong, and you decided that’s it? Tom was perfect in every sense-”

I take a deep breath, trying to stop my hands on the wheel from trembling—four more miles.

“He fucking hit me, Simon,” I interrupt him, almost shouting at him. I just want him to shut up. “Tom nearly knocked me unconscious and choked me out right in front of my apartment until my neighbors stepped in and pulled him off me. And you wanna know why? Because I greeted my fucking brother with a hug and a fucking kiss on his cheek. My face looked like I had a match with a gorilla and lost spectacularly. I couldn’t fucking speak properly for a week because he choked me so hard. Now, can you imagine what it feels like to pass the exact spot where your most traumatic memory occurred, day after day?” Three more miles. “And then my job fired me after I pressed charges for ‘spreading misinformation,’ but yes, I totally yolo-ed my way out of it. Because that’s all I do, yolo my way through life, damned be all consequences, because I have a rich brother,” I rant, keeping my eyes fixed on the road. I’m so angry I don’t even want to look at him.

“I didn’t mean-” He tries to get a sentence in, but I’ve had enough.

“Oh, you meant every single word of your little tirade.” I laugh drily—two more miles. “And I’m seriously wondering what I ever did to make you form such a damn low opinion of me. Or is this the kind of ‘oops’ moment like you had in your teens? Because that excuse is not going to fly with me anymore.” The exit to the service station is in sight already, and I merge into the exit lane. Almost there.

“You don’t know-”

“No, I don’t,” I interrupt him. I’m so done. So fucking done. “And neither do you. You’re saying I’m running? Maybe you’re projecting. As far as I see it, only one of us is panicking about their life, and it’s not me. Because I can’t fucking afford to. I need to sit my ass down and figure it out.

“You don’t want to think further than Hystoria, and that’s fine. Take all the time you need or retire; I don’t care. But don’t you dare berate me for having to take a step back and think of a plan just because I don’t happen to have seven-digit and above amounts in my bank account. You’re the pathetic one, tucking his tail between his legs, whining and hoping that Hystoria will come back on its own magically. At least I’m not pretending to have a grip on my life and knowing when I need to take a step back and regroup.” I take a deep breath, all anger leaving me with an extended sigh. The only thing that remains is indifference.

I drive into the service station and pull up at a sidewalk, stopping the car. “Now get out.”

“What?” I continue to look straightforward, not sparing him a glance.

“You’ve heard me,” I mock him, wiping tears off my face again. “I said, get out.”

“We’re not home yet,” he protests, and I shake my head.

“Good observation, Sherlock. Get out.” Finally, I tear my eyes away from the road and spare him a quick glance. Shock is etched on his face as he looks at me with a ticking jaw and angry lines between his eyebrows.

“How am I supposed to get home?” How cute that he thinks I’d give a fuck.

“Respectfully, that’s not my problem anymore. You don’t get to talk to me the way you did in my own damn car and expect me to chauffeur you home. I’m not one of your little fangirlies eager to please you. Get out. Get yourself a taxi, I don’t give a shit. We’re done here.”

He gets out and looks at me challengingly. I reach behind and grab his duffel bag, throwing it out of the passenger door, where it lands at his feet.

“Close the door, Simon,” I demand. He remains frozen to his spot, looking at me with an unreadable expression. “I said fucking close the door, Simon!” I scream at him. The shock seems to help because he finally does as I ask. As soon as the door shuts, I speed off, leaving him stranded two hours away from Windmeadow.

I can’t fucking wait to be home.