More than a Melody (H.S) ON HOLD

56

fifty six

There are many things in life that scare me.

Dark roads, solitude, fireworks, vulnerability, crowds, death, love, drugs, grasshoppers, men, heights, fast cars.

But nothing has ever scared me as much as losing Harry. It is a fear that is unmatched, a single emotion on its own.

When he looks to the rearview mirror, and squeezes my hand, I feel nothing but this pinpricking fear. As much as he's loosely attempted to convince me that he could never be discarded of by the cartel, I could not trust him. Because I could not trust them. They were barbaric, not an ounce of humanity existed within their conscious. Compassion and morals were not necessities, it shrouded their desires. Supremacy, money, tradition, control. This is all they strive for. Harry and Miles have made that clear.

So I did not trust Harry's word. And for this very reason, I do not wish to let go of his hand. Instead, I hold on tighter, feeling the loss of acceleration as the car steers off to the side of the road.

"Pretend to be asleep." Harry whispers to me, taking off his coat and laying it across my shoulders to cover my body, "they haven't been following for long, that I know. I'll speak with them. Stay in the car, lock the doors. Do not hesitate to drive away if anything happens, do you understand?"

I go to argue but bite my tongue once the inner door handle clicks and Harry steps out. His torso immediately becomes illuminated with blinding rays of orange. He doesn't say another word as he swiftly locks the door and slams it shut, disappearing. I lay my head against the cool glass, eyes squinting helplessly to see past the scattered light and into the night. I was too scared to move but too anxious to sit still. My heart was in my stomach and my temples throbbed against the window. I hear muttered voices but nothing more. The engines were far too loud.

I peek down, spotting Harry's cell in the cupholder. Without an ounce of hesitation, I slide my hand down and retrieve it, turning it over as I struggle to turn down the brightness. In seconds I am dialing Miles's number and pressing the screen to my ear. I knew it was risky, calling on Harry's cell and not the burner phone, but I didn't know where he was or whether Harry would be okay and I needed someone. I needed my brother.

The call rings only once, but Miles doesn't answer.

Because his number no longer exists.

It was now just an automated message, claiming the line had been disconnected and was no longer in service.

The phone slips from my hands and in between the cracks of the seat as I try my hardest not to throw up.

Harry just spoke with him. We are already being followed.

I reach between the seats and try calling again, and three more times after that, but am only met with the same haunting message; "We're sorry, your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please check the number and try again."

"C'mon, Miles, c'mon. Please be okay," snot leaks down my cupids bow from the pressure of holding back the tears. I blow out steady breaths to keep from sucking in too quickly and hiccuping too loud. I try and silence my sorrows as I scroll through Harry's contacts, searching for anyone to call. But there is no one. No one who knows I am still alive.