Tell Me The Truth -H.S. AU

3

I did not end up calling Johnny later like I told him I would.

Instead, I spent the rest of the night laying in bed, staring at my ceiling, and trying not to think about the way that in knowing him for less than twenty-four hours, Harry saw right through me.

I caught my mom eyeing my busted, and now a bit swollen, lip when I got up in the morning. For a second, I thought she was going to ask me what happened, instead she dug a tube of concealer out of her bag and handed it to me before she left.

I decide to take a quick shower before I leave for work, turning the water as hot as it will go in hopes it will wash off the feeling of Johnny's hands ever touching me. Unfortunately, it doesn't work like that. I'm not sure there's anything that could burn hot enough to take away the residual feeling of hate that he leaves on my skin.

Once my hair is mostly dry, I slip out of my towel and pull on some jeans and an old Harley T-shirt of my dads, tying it in a knot in the front. I spot a black bandana hanging off of one of the knobs on my dresser and roll my eyes when I immediately think of a certain tall, green eyed Englishman. I grab the bandana anyway and tie it around my head, fixing my hair in a messy bun.

Fuck you, it's Sunday, no one is going to be there anyway.

I look in the mirror one last time before leaving and my eyes fall to my swollen, cracked lip instantly. I grab my moms concealer from the counter and gingerly dab some on my damaged skin. Just because no one else will be there, doesn't mean I have to look at it.

I pull up to the shop on my motorcycle and kick the stand down, pulling my helmet off of my head. I only ever really take my bike on Sundays, when I'm alone, because I don't want to hear a goddamn thing any of the guys in the shop have to say about her.

With my helmet tucked under my arm I unlock the first bay door and shove it up the roller with a loud grunt. It only goes about halfway up from me pushing it, but I don't bother to roll it up any further with the pulley. Once my bike is safely placed inside, I lower the door back down and lock it.

"Cool bike."

A scream rips it's way out of my chest as I whirl around to find Harry standing in front of me, greasy with wide eyes.

"Dude-" I choke out, one hand placed over my heaving chest as I try to catch my breath. "You've got to stop doing that."

"Sorry." He chuckles, turning back to the work bench beside him.

"What the fuck are you even doing here?" I question, wondering how he got in, simultaneously trying to beat the butterflies in my stomach to death with a stick when a dimple pops in his cheek. "It's Sunday, everybody is off."

"Except you, apparently." He mutters, not looking up from the tools he's cleaning. I don't respond and walk up to stand right in front of him. He looks up at me and I raise my eyebrows, still waiting for an answer. "Mav gave me a key. He said I could come in after hours if I ever wanted to work on my own shit."

I furrow my brows at him in confusion, dad doesn't give anyone a key. Cas doesn't even have one. He pulls a familiar Harley keychain out of his pocket with a golden key dangling from it to show me. He waves it in front of my face before shoving it back into his jeans.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" I ask. It seems he's literally always here.

"No." He deadpans, not looking up at me again.

I roll my eyes and turn back to my bike, about to grab my notebook out of the compartment under the seat when I hear a familiar, God awful, engine roar outside.

"Fuck." I mutter, slamming the seat compartment closed and glance at Harry, who is now on his feet trying to look outside through the windows in the bay doors.