The Rusty Old Minivan

Chapter 31

"In. Pay. Out. All right?"

Louis nodded. Maybe he replied, judging from the nod Harry gave him back. He couldn't know for sure. Couldn't hear his own voice for the sound of his heart, thundering in his throat, or his blood, pumping at record speed.

In the last couple of weeks, he'd been scared in a way he hadn't in years. He'd been lying awake, night after night, clutching the sheets in shakes and cold-sweats. He'd had a constant pit, gnawing at his insides, a ball of acid, tugging at his chest. He'd been scared in the only way worse than fearing for his own life could make him; he'd been scared for his children.

But this, right now, standing outside the door that he'd followed Harry to that night which seemed like forever ago today, he felt the fear more physically than he ever had. A paralyzing, full-body ache. One that only came with knowing, knowing exactly what you were getting yourself into, and doing it anyway.

Last he'd been here, he'd walked into something he had no idea what was. He'd been blinded by rage, brave with it, and he'd walked himself right into it.

This time, he wasn't blind. He wasn't angry. He knew exactly what this was and that scared him. So much.

"Okay," Harry said, staring at the doorbell, "you ready?" He looked like he needed the yes more for his own sake than Louis'.

"No," Louis said, and rang the doorbell.

*

They followed the pavement in silence, their arms brushing as they dangled between them, but never really touching.

Louis' watch told him that they'd only been up there for all of six minutes. He would've believed anyone if they told him it'd been hours.

Now, walking out of there, walking out of what had stolen night after night of sleep for the past long while, he didn't feel relieved. They paid off their debt now. They'd finished it cleanly, they'd come out of it safely and Louis didn't feel relieved.

Most of all, he felt drained. A strange twinge of depression, like from feeling so much, so intensely, so consistently through every hour of the day, and now suddenly having to remember what it felt like to be normal again. He'd almost grown accustomed to it; the constant fear, the anxiety and the never-ending feeling of not having steady ground under him. Like something having had a grip on the rug under his feet, ready to pull it the second he turned a cheek. Like having exactly three weeks to worry about and three weeks only, and now that those three weeks were over, realising that life didn't end. That it had to go on.

He looked over at Harry. He was following his own feet with his gaze, dragging along the dusty pavement. His shoulders were low, his arms dangling at his sides, but he didn't look relieved either. He just looked tired.

When they reached back to the minivan, they didn't utter a word to one another. Harry pulled off the pavement, flicked the radio on low and drove them back to Tabatha's. Louis rested his face against the window, watching the town passing by without really watching at all. This was the end of it. This was the happy ending.

It just felt like the end.

They pulled into Tabatha's driveway, came to a stop and unclicked their seatbelts.

Neither moved. Neither looked anywhere but straight ahead, out at the afternoon sun coming down on the dusty windshield.

Louis spoke first. It wasn't really a choice. It wasn't really a need to. It wasn't even really a thought. He just asked the question hanging in the air, right there in the space between them, so easy to erase, but so impossible to cross. He just asked; "where does this leave us, then?"