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Harrowhark paces back and forth in her shoebox of a bedroom, chewing on her cuticles. Every so often, she pauses and moves the curtains aside to peer into the grey morning light.
6:05 AM.
In a few minutes, Gideon Nav would arrive in her shitty, battered Jeep Cherokee– the one she'd fixed up herself the summer she turned sixteen and together they would leave Drearburh behind.
Harrow always figured she'd die here.
Drearburh was the Nonagesimus's and the Nonagesimus's were Drearburh. Her family had lived and died in this tiny, forgotten town since the very beginning. Her parents were the latest to join the ranks of the deceased and her great-aunts weren't far behind.
6:07 AM.
Harrow peeks outside again. The street is empty.
She turns away with a huff and resumes pacing. Reminds herself that while Gideon may be a supreme pain in the ass, she was also a woman of her word. If Gideon said she'd do something then she'd do it, come hell or high water.
It was incredibly attractive and deeply frustrating in equal turns. Harrow wouldn't want it any other way.
Abruptly, Harrowhark drops to her knees and checks over her luggage again. It wasn't much and she had checked it over several times already but once more wouldn't hurt. It was better than chewing up her fingers at any rate.
Her clothes, mostly black with a hint of dark grey or white peeking through were neatly rolled up and tucked in a duffel bag.
A small suitcase held the contents of her bookshelf along with a handful of trinkets, mostly gifts from Gideon.
A crystal ball. Some oddly shaped rocks. A rat on a keychain. A few bones, scavenged and cleaned from roadkill.
Finally, her faithful and worn backpack carrying whatever miscellaneous things she wanted on hand for the drive.
Leaving had been Gideon's idea of course. She didn't belong in Drearburh anymore than a fish belonged on land. The only reason she was here was because her mother had the misfortune of dying on the church steps, still cradling a newborn Gideon in her arms.
They'd grown up in each others pockets, best friends and worst enemies, utterly inseparable from the moment Harrow had bitten the other girl's hand for the crime of attempting to take one of her crayons.
Harrowhark had always known Gideon would leave one day, convinced herself she would be content with letters and phone calls, maybe a visit or two every few years.
She listened patiently to Gideon's plans and begrudgingly tagged along on apartment tours. Played the role of a good friend, good girlfriend even though every reminder that she'd soon be left behind stung like a knife to the back.
It never occurred to Harrow, that Gideon would want her to come too. She'd said as much, immediately regretted it when Gideon made a pained face, the one reserved for when Harrow said something especially sad.
("Harrowhark," Gideon said, which is how she knew it was serious. The other girl hardly used her full name. "Of course, I'm taking you with me. I'll fold you up in my suitcase if I have to."
"You'll do no such thing. I'm not getting in your suitcase, you freak." Harrow sniffed, concealing her relief beneath a veneer of irritation.
"You literally collect bones but I'm the freak here?"
"Yes."
Gideon pushed her off the bed.
Harrow climbed back up and punched her.)
Harrowhark blinks away the memories and hovers by the window, idly rubbing the prayer beads in her pocket. Her relationship with the church was an ugly, complicated thing but going through the motions of prayer still brought her comfort.
She only gets halfway before the low rumble of an engine reaches her ears and Harrow scrambles to grab her belongings and meet Gideon outside.
She pauses in the doorway, gives her childhood bedroom one last look.
Plain, undecorated walls, scratchy beige carpet.
Her twin bed with its ancient, creaky wooden headboard is neatly made. The bookshelf is empty and dusty, permanently sagging beneath the weight it held for so long. The desk and the wardrobe, furniture she inherited and never truly owned.
Harrow shuts the door behind her with a soft click as she walks away, does not look back again until she's locking the front door for the last time.
"There she is," Gideon straightens up from where she'd been leaning against the car and spreads her arms, "my midnight hagette."
Harrow has never been more grateful her skin is dark enough to hide the heat rushing to her cheeks. "Shut up."
"Never." Gideon flashes a crooked grin and opens the door for her with a mock bow. Harrow sighs and unceremoniously shoves her things in the backseat, watches with something alarmingly close to fondness as Gideon scurries around the car and opens the passenger door for her.
"I can open doors myself, you dweeb." Harrow says and climbs inside, immediately fiddling with the radio.
"I'm a simple butch, Harrow." Gideon says, sliding into the driver's seat. "Can I not do nice things for my girlfriend?"
They've been dating for nearly three years at this point and the word girlfriend still set off a riot of butterflies in Harrow's stomach.
"You can do whatever you want as long as it's far away from here."
"Whatever I want?" Gideon wiggles her eyebrows, golden eyes gleaming with the promise of future mischief.
"Griddle." The nickname is both a warning and a prayer on Harrowhark's lips.
Gideon laughs and plants a sloppy kiss on her cheek but finally, mercifully shifts the car into drive and pulls out of the driveway. She's driving entirely too fast for a residential area, at least ten over the speed limit.
Harrow scowls and scrubs at her cheek. "You're awful. I hate you."
"I'm a fucking delight, Nonagesimus. You love me."
"I do," Harrow says in the soft, reverent tone reserved for Gideon alone. She tucks her knees to her chest and watches the scenery fly by. "I really do."