“We wait for -” I started but stilled at the sound of metal bending. “Oh my God, he’s opening the doors. He’s going to jump.”
“No,” Harper whispered, backing into the corner of the elevator, staring at the ceiling.
Immediately, I pressed the stop switch once more, repeatedly pressing the first floor button. Much to my relief, we were moving downward. I hoped to God we’d reach the first floor before he reached us. A loud thud sounded above us and Harper and I stilled. I bent to grab my wood ‘bat’ and backed my way to Harper’s corner, tucking her behind me. The elevator was still moving but we were nowhere near the first floor. I knew John would be joining us soon. I turned to Harper just as John began to peel back the escape hatch above us, the sound of metal twisting and bending.
“Harper,” I said, meeting her eyes.
“No,” she said, crying and grabbing my face. “No, Callum. Don’t do anything stupid, please?”
“Listen,” I said, ignoring the feel of her warm hands on my cheeks, a feeling I never knew if I’d feel again, “I’m going to fight with everything I have but as soon as those doors open, I need you to run like hell, okay?”
“No!” She said, frantically searching my face with her hands. “Please, don’t, Callum. I can’t leave you!”
“Harper!” I said, grabbing her shoulders. “He only has one bullet left and I swear to God if that bullet comes anywhere near you I will never be able to forgive myself.”
“And you!” She screamed in my face. “Will you-” She started but John came crashing to our feet just as we rounded the second floor.
Almost there, I thought. I grabbed the table leg and rushed him, swinging at his hand as he aimed the gun for my head, knocking it away. Harper immediately reached for the revolver but john kicked her in the stomach before she could reach for it, making her double over. I swung as hard as I could for his head but he leaned back just enough for me to miss and my bat met the wall beside him instead, giving him just enough time for his fist to connect with my jaw and I staggered back against the wall.
When I righted myself, John had bent to pick up Harper, sickeningly attempting to sooth her with troubling words that she made him do that to her, so I took advantage, swooping up my makeshift bat and cracking him over the head as hard as I could. John fell to the floor in a massive lump.
“Oh my God,” Harper cried, reaching out for me.
I tugged her to my chest just as the bell alerted us we’d reached the first floor and the doors opened to reveal surrounding officers, their guns drawn. We practically fell from the elevator as they swooped in to collect a very out, very heavy John Bell, the sickest bastard I’ve ever come across in my entire life.
“Thank you,” Harper said, tears streaming from her face. “You saved my life, Callum.”
“Shh,” I told her, rubbing her back. I placed my hands on her face, pushed the coppery hair from her tear soaked cheeks, and rubbed my thumbs across the salty wetness. “It’s over, love. It’s over.”
It’s all over.
And my stomach plummeted to the floor, a strange mix of relief and colossal regret.
Chapter Seventeen
I'm On Fire
Callum
Harper and I watched as two EMT’s placed John in an ambulance and drove away with a police cruiser following behind, a collective, pent up sigh came barreling from both our lips. The detective took our statements on the scene and we were given the clear to go home around five in the morning. We rode the subway in a dazed disbelief, quiet, and afraid of what this meant next for us. I opened the door to our apartment, closed it and locked it as Harper began a sticky walk all the way to her bedroom door. She didn’t want to sleep alone but didn’t know how to ask me.
“Come on,” I said, dragging her by the hand to my bedroom.
The room was pitch black despite the fact the sun was coming around soon. I need complete and utter darkness to fall asleep or it won’t happen. I closed the door behind us and felt around for my dresser, pulling a random large t-shirt from my bottom drawer. From the feel of it, I guessed it was, ironically, my Barcelona tee. I explored my nightstand with my hands, looking for the remote for my stereo. Finding it, I hit play and my Stateless album rang softly through the room, drowning out the sounds of the city that never sleeps.
I felt Harper sink into the bed and reached for her, pulling her across the top, towards me, and sitting her up. I pulled her hat and coat off, peeled off her t-shirt, and pushed my own on top of her head. I unlaced her boots and tossed them at the end of the bed. Shaky hands reached for the top of her jeans but she’d already started undoing them. I heard her slink out of them and toss them with her boots.
The intimacy of the situation didn’t escape me, nor Harper, I’m guessing, but undressing her in my bed never played out like this in my dreams. In my imagination, she wasn’t practically catatonic, or bruised, or beaten, or scared out of her wits. No, that was not how it was supposed to be. I peeled back my steel gray sheets and tucked her beneath them before enfolding her in my arms and we were both asleep before our heads hit my pillows.
A loud pounding woke me from a dreamless sleep. I sat up right, still on edge, glancing at my alarm clock, nine a.m. Harper sat up, but I pushed her back down.
o;No!” I screamed, thinking of what he must have done to those innocent women.
He slapped me across the face again to shut me up and kept working. When he edged the jacket off my shoulders, he kept it there for extra restraint and began unbuttoning my plaid shirt, exposing my white tank top. He sighed loudly, grotesquely happy at his progress and the sight before him. His fingers were unusually warm as he lifted the hem of my tank. As it edged up my torso, he pressed delicate kisses to my stomach, stopping at my belly button, sinking his tongue inside. I turned my head and vomited all over the floor next to me.
He sat up abruptly. “Do I disgust you, Harper?” He asked, the hurt evident in his voice. “Do I!?” He roared. “Get up,” he said. “Can’t have you tasting like vomit.” He threw me out the door and I stumbled onto the carpet. He gripped my upper left arm hard as he pulled me up and walked me toward the restrooms on the opposite side of our floor. He pushed me inside over to the nearest sink. “Wash your mouth out,” he ordered.
I obeyed him, rinsing out my mouth but when I raised my gaze into the mirror above the sink, I barely recognized myself. My face was bruised and bleeding. My bottom lip was swollen as well as my right eye from each back hand I’d received. I was surprised to see that the blood vessels in my eyes hadn’t actually burst, that it had been my imagination.