Coalescence ➳ H.S.

Thirteen: The Truth

Harry's POV

There was a definite stinging in my muscles. I wasn't even sure if I could pick my head up. I strained to move my fingers, and even that hurt to an unknown degree. I felt so weak and pathetic.

With every ounce of strength I had left, I managed to reach out and grab my cell phone. I had to let Sperling know—

No. I couldn't.

I couldn't tell her anything. I couldn't lift myself out of this position. The only way I could help her was to hurt her, and I had already done enough of that.

Bria was right in saying that I used Sperling. Who was I kidding? The only reason why I went to Sperling in the first place was because she was vulnerable. I saw a weakness and I took advantage of it. I never wanted Bria in jail—not until now, at least. Sperling exerted so much energy to help me get what I want and all I did was put her in danger.

I couldn't risk anything; I wanted her safe. I wanted her family safe. There was no way I would disobey Bria for Sperling's sake. Bria had changed so much—the only thing remotely recognizable about her were her eyes—still a warm honey brown—but even her voice had changed; cooler than the north winds and unfazed by remorse.

I racked my brain for possible solutions to my predicament but could produce nothing. I couldn't be nice to her or she'd come back and look for me.

This is the problem with lying, I scolded myself, there really is no way out. Pick yourself up, you piece of trash.

I moved my arms, heaved the weight of my torso up, then clung onto the handle of the door as if it were a life support to keep me upright. I massaged my shoulders, trying to get the blood circulating again.

The only thing I could think about was Sperling.

It wasn't long before I could move my legs. I got up after picking up my things, my knees weak and threatening to give way to the weight of my body, but paused to admire the photograph of a sixteen year old Sperling—just as pretty, just as sweet—and the smile she could ignite in me even after everything that just happened.

I had been careless; had I not saved all of those photos on my phone or kept the picture on my wallet (perhaps even taken it in the first place), neither of us would be in this position.

I had to choose between killing her under the surface or having her die for me. Frankly, I couldn't care less what happened to me.

I needed her to be okay.

***

I'm not sure what came over me but after searching the building I was in for nearly twenty minutes, I concluded that Sperling went back to the hotel. If I went back straight away, I would most likely succumb to her and would've probably used up the condom, as Bria suggested.

But I couldn't. I had to stay away from her for her sake.

So, naturally, I found myself at a lonely corner of a bar, drinking at a steady pace until the clock struck twelve midnight (stupidly, I should add, for it made everything hurt that much more than it initially did).

"Nous fermons," snapped the bartender, "C'est mardi, non? Allez chez vous! N'avez-vous pas une épouse?"

"Sorry, I don't speak French," I said. He nodded his head, snatched my drink up and poured the rest down the sink. So much for the city of love. I left a meager tip on the counter and left, stumbling on my steps down cobblestone paths and regretting every advancement I made towards the hotel.