CHOICES (Completed)

MISCHIEF MANAGED

“Hardin? Can you hear me? Hello? Hel-“The line goes dead and I groan. What do I do, now? What did he mean to tell me? Connor, he said Connor. Who is Connor? What, is over?

Oh god.

He’s drunk and I don’t trust him at all, when alcohol is running through him. Do something Tessa! I burst my knuckles and bite my lip, desperately trying to think of something, when, wait-

Right. I pick up my phone hastily and scroll down to his number, dialling it. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.

“Hey, Tessa?”

“Hi, Steve. Um you’re still in the computer club, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Great. So can you track a location from a cell phone number?”

“I guess so, if there’s no heavy encryption.”

“Do you have Hardin’s number or should I forward it?” The line goes silent for a few seconds and I wait, for his answer.

“You want me to track Hardin’s location?”

“Yes. Which you will.” I can sense him hesitating from his voice. But I need to have this done. Hardin can’t hurt himself. And he usually does when he’s high.

“Tessa, it’s uh, not really ethical to tra-“

“Okay don’t give me that firstly, it doesn’t suit someone who fixes a tracker in his girlfriend’s bracelet and then justifies it by saying he’s concerned about safety-“

“Wait, Lily told you that?”

“Lily tells me everything. And secondly, I need you to do it because Hardin’s drunk and I think he might do something stupid.”

“Stupid, what do you mean like suicid-“

“NO, I mean like driving, drama queen. So do it.”

“Fine, fine, relax. Give me ten.”

“Okay.”

I hang up and rest my head against the steering. It’s almost evening. I check the time, it’s eight already. Almost night then. I close my eyes and start counting to twenty. My mind drifts to Xavier’s words from that evening. I had tried so hard to give up control.

“Pass me that, come on, don’t just be a showpiece. Make yourself useful.” Hardin chuckles behind me and hands me the can of baking powder, which I grab in a hurry.

I try to open it, but the lid is too tight. I take a knife and try to open it, when I feel his hands snaking around my waist. I jump slightly and then relax, while he rests his chin on my shoulder.

“Remind me again why we are doing this?”

“WE are not doing anything. I am doing this. Your passing the can and snarky sarcastic comments don’t count as contributions.”

“Under what compulsion, may I ask? I struggle with the lid, trying to open it, but to no avail. Who the fudging fudged up psycho shut it so tight. Unless, his mother cooks- uh-

“I, I just want to prove to this harsh and cruel and judgey world that Theresa Young can cook amazingly well.”

 

He sighs, and plants a feather kiss on my shoulder blade, while I fight with the knife continuously.

“And you had to do this in my kitchen.”