Harmony

Winona

He’d left a note for me that morning.

Notes weren’t my thing.

Not anymore.

I’d only ever gotten two. One from HJ telling me he’d never write me again—which was ironic now that I held another one of his notes in my hand—and the other . . .

The other one was from the only other person I’d ever loved. It was a bad one, a deadly one. One that made me want to lie down and die with him.

My mood soured. The man better wake me up next time he was going to leave me for hours on end.

Plus, the note wasn’t even good. There weren’t any hearts or balloons or our names scribbled next to each other.

I’LL BE BACK in a couple hours. The cabinet next to the bookshelf has food.

HJ

PS Do you think Cleopatra was ever kidnapped?

PPS Books written by Poe are on that shelf if you want to read.

BY FOOD, he meant granola bars and apple juice. My stomach growled in protest when I’d eaten three and still felt starved.

When I heard footsteps in the hallway, I sat up in the bed. I chucked one of the bars at