Getaway Car [HS]

Chapter Twenty-One

The next two days are spent in idle agony.

Harley laid on the couch beneath the safety of her plush comforter and didn't move to do anything other than use the bathroom, shower, clean her cuts, and eat. While she binge-watched multiple television shows and subsisted solely off of microwaveable pizza—because it was the easiest thing to make in a short amount of time before her body started to ache—the new burner phone that was dropped off on her doormat did not ring yet.

She knew it was only a matter of time, though. Through the hazy fog of her memory from the night Leo had her beaten, she remembers him telling her about the job they're due to fulfill soon very clearly. As she indulged in escapism and rested as much as she could to recover from the ruthless beating she took, it's not as if she forgot the storm clouds looming on the horizon.

Unlike the first time he gave her a burner phone with the expectation of him calling at any minute, she doesn't wait around in anticipation of his call now that two days have passed. She already knows what time of day he operates in, so she plans her day accordingly around Harry's familiar pre-killing schedule. The daytime belongs to her.

She has spent most of it resting.

The bandages on her face were due to come off, and in their absence scabbed over scars decorated her pretty face. It was an effort not to hurl something at the mirror when she realized she'd likely be left with these marks for a few years. Mercifully, the bruises on her body weren't as sore as they were last night. It still ached with sudden movement, but it was manageable. As long as she continued to rest for the remainder of the day, she knew she could handle driving for him tonight.

Now, she's away from the couch only for long enough to make herself something to eat. It's nothing elaborate. Just a sandwich, so she doesn't need to be up and moving for too long before her body begins to throb in pain. But, when she reaches for the cutlery drawer to cut it in half, the knives are all gone.

She mutters under her breath, "What the fuck?"

A quick check inside the dishwasher does nothing to help, either. No matter how many times she combs through every drawer in her kitchen and every section of her dishwasher, they're nowhere to be found. Rather than exerting herself more than necessary, she decides to make it a problem for her future self. How they went missing, she doesn't know, but it's the least of her concerns right now.

She's finally settling back down on the comfortable nest of blankets and pillows laid atop her couch, the remote and plate of food in hand to resume her recent TV show obsession, when it happens.

The burner phone rings.

Her head whips around in the direction of its grating noise. It buzzes and moves around in a circle on the coffee table. Suddenly, reality comes rushing back. She'd done a masterful job of ignoring it until now. Now, her gaze is drawn down from the paused screen ahead of her to the black flip phone.

She thought she know how she'd feel when the time came for her to see Harry again. Part of her anticipated the sharp pain in her chest, as well as the sickening sensation of her stomach churning as it always does when she's called before a job, but she hadn't expected this. The excitement. Why is she still excited to see him? Logically, she knows how she feels. She meant what she said the last time they saw each other, so why does she feel like this? Why is there a part of her, however small, that reacts this way to him?

Rather than trouble herself with getting to the root of this feeling, she allows the phone to ring to voicemail and strides off toward her bedroom to get dressed. At this point, she never needs to answer the phone. When he calls, she knows what it means, and he'll give her the target's address once they're in the car together, which is fine by her. The less interaction they have to endure, the better. If he speaks to her for too long, she might be compelled to snatch the gun from his hands and turn it on him.