Chapter sixty-six

Harry's emerald eyes are glinting under the grand, sparkling chandelier, gleaming brighter than the candles burning above. I want to go to him, throw my arms around him, but I feel as if I'm being pulled back by a heavy restraint. My arms are bound, and each time I try to escape, the energy drains out of me. My eyes reach for him, begging him to come closer, but it seems that the longer I look at him, the further away he goes. Then cold water begins pooling around my ankles, rising quickly, clenching tightly to my skin. The moment I take to glance down at the rapidly rising water whips Harry away, because when I look up, he's gone. He didn't save me.

I wake with a start, breathing hard. I glance up at the doorway, and the silhouette of Harry flashes for a moment. I throw my hands over my eyes and groan. I realise that I forgot to put on an alarm last night, and it might be too late to follow the note's directions. I can't even be sure that I remember what it said.

My phone reads six forty-eight, and with the comforting thought that I still have another ten or so minutes to make my way out of this room, I flop back down, trying to press myself into the mattress, hoping hopelessly to dissolve completely.

I slide out of bed in anything but a graceful manner, stealing Lilli's jacket she insisted on bringing yesterday when she made an accurate forecast of the weather. Turning the note's contents over and over in my mind, I wander almost subconsciously to Deck seven, led by my night of continuous contemplation over this. The sun is shining brightly, and the warmth of it through the thick glass windows brings hope for a good, new day. But the rays of gold also highlight something different.

Two somethings.

A pair of dark silhouettes stand on the deck on the outside of the window, their figures framed beautifully by the sunrise ahead of them. One of them is tall, with broad shoulders hunched over the railing, and he seems to be laughing. His back shakes rhythmically, and he glances upwards, towards the horizon. The petite figure beside him has the most beautiful frizzy hair and a flowy dress dancing around her. She seems like the most model-like, perfect girl, nudging herself against him. I cringe at the awkward space between them, and I know immediately who he is.

The note was meant for him, but I received it. Harry's been keeping a secret, if not many secrets, from me, and I managed to find out. There's this girl who he's meeting up with early in the mornings, when he thinks no one knows where he is, what he's doing, but I do. Harry has no idea that I'm less than five metres away from his special moment, watching him from behind a thick glass window.

I scowl. And not just because Harry is keeping a secret from me, but the fact that Lilli is completely right. She warned me, she told me to be cautious, and I just completely, immaturely disregarded her.

There is something going on that none of us know about, and it's the reason Harry can't tell me about himself, it's the reason he flinches when I say something that touches a subject I shouldn't know about, and it's the reason he's going to have a round, purple bruise next to his eye.

Just as I'm about to square up and storm outside, I realise that I actually don't have enough evidence. This could be just one big coincidence. The note was worth nothing, Harry simply decided to go for a walk at this hour of the morning, and this random girl doesn't have any association with Harry whatsoever. I'm just here, on the tips of my toes because I'm hot with rage from last night. Because my brain couldn't help but believe things would take a turn for the good.

Naïve.

I shouldn't be here, pressing myself suspiciously against a wall, ready to expose Harry for the unforgivable amount of nothings he's done, when he really hasn't done anything.

That's the problem. My blood boils.

I inhale deeply, but nothing about the stuffy air of a cruise is refreshing or calming. It's like petrol, dousing the fire. I need to be cool about this. I need to be inconspicuous, and I need to be smart. There's a mature way of going about this.

I unclench my fists. That's a start. I exhale. I realise I've been holding my breath for this whole time. Then I wander down the hall, letting my fingers brush against the wall as I go. When I reach the other set of double doors, I slowly push open the door, holding it tight as I slip through the gap, carefully shutting it behind me. Fortunately, the swell is higher this morning, and the sound of the ocean against the heavy metal sides of the ship is enough to cover for me. But it is also enough to cover their conversation.

I sneak closer and closer, ducking behind the wide metal beams. I need to make sure neither of them are suspicious, or I'll have no escape then. As I slide in and out of view from them, nimble and quick, I curse at myself internally for not wearing something less noticeable. Or, at least, throwing on a beanie. But who would pack a beanie for a Pacific cruise? No one.

I take that back, Lilli would.

I'm not Lilli, I think to myself. I don't judge before I find the truth.

Unintelligible rumbles turn to soft mumbles, lost in the crashing of obnoxious waves. They become mumbles, murmurs, slow and steady, but they still don't mean anything to me. As I throw myself behind the next poll, I almost freeze when the girls' frizzy dark hair flicks in my direction.