Cover Your Tracks [HS][2014 VERSION]

56. Lego House

"I'm gonna pick up the pieces, and build a Lego house. When things go wrong we can knock it down . . ."

The city acts as a mirage as we trudge on; sacred land with which we strive to reach. I feel weak with lack of food and sleep. The throbbing of my ankle does little to compensate as Harry supports my deadweight, making the task seem effortless whereas I tremble with the effort.

Among the sky are constellations hidden within millions of stars. I would be happy just to lie on the ground, shoulder to shoulder with him, gazing up at the fairy lights. My imagination paints the picture and I see us there, him next to me and I to him. Him staring up at the stars with eyes that I deem equally captivating—bright and radiant under the moonlight.

Me watching him, watching the stars.

The night seems to swallow us whole, hiding us in a shadow of darkness cast across the barren field and nipping at our exposed skin. Imprinted in the short expanse of grass are our imprints, two of his and one of mine. The remaining leg hangs between us. It grows heavier with every step we take, wearing away at the little strength that I have left.

Harry slows and for a moment I worry that his strength too is withering away.

"Come here." His hair droops over his forehead now that his bandana isn't there to hold it up. The curly tendrils cover his eyes before he sweeps the fringe across his forehead with long, deft fingers. "Lemme carry you."

"You already have," I remind him in protest. "It's not necessary, really. We're nearly there."

He lengthens his gaze towards the edge of town—towards the twinkling lights that grow more impressive than the stars and the neon lights barricaded inside dark windows. Neither of us possess the energy to argue the subject further. We continue to trudge on, me limping and him bending down as to allow me to hang my arm comfortably around his shoulders.

The imaginary line forming the city limit is broken when we reach the edge of town. Cars whirl past us as we walk along the shoulder of the main road, rattling our cold, tired bones and disheveling our unkempt hair. We both shiver against the wind and it is times like this that I feel no shame in snuggling into Harry, wrapping my arm around his bicep for warmth and security.

Eyes follow us with curiosity as we make our way through town and into the nearest motel. I know not the name, for the letters inside of the sign out have long burned out. The lobby is empty and dim-lit just like the world outside, cold and uninviting. The chair sat behind the tall desk is without an occupant.

Harry holds our interlocked wrists beneath the counter while we wait, hiding the evidence and the intensity of the situation. He can hide the chains that bind us, but there's no disguising the blood and gore spotted and caked across his otherwise flawless face. It, surprisingly, is void of scars and tattoos.

Unlike the rest of him.

The receptionist seems unfazed upon making an entrance, merely plopping down into their swivel chair and glancing around the small lobby. His eyes fall over the empty chairs and foggy windows before settling on us, a young girl and bloody boy. Homeless, and without money.

Harry leans across the counter. Hidden discretely beneath it are his left arm and my right, chained together, as well as the majority of the blood on his t-shirt.

"Room for two, please."

The receptionist rakes his eyes over Harry, taking in his battered and bruised appearance. When he eyes fall on me, I cower behind the protective male. The man looks between us once over before blinking slowly, face void of emotion and actions of purpose.