Page 8 of Bad Girl
I blinked them away.
I’d already given him enough.
??????
I called my parents while I waited for the boarding call.
They didn’t know I was travelling alone. There was no point worrying them unnecessarily—my mum would spend the whole five days sending me safety articles and my dad would want a detailed itinerary and the address of the nearest pub within walking distance of wherever I was staying. He would no doubt grill me about the prices as soon as I returned.
I kept it brief. Cheerful. The version of me they expected.
My sister sent a message while I was still on the call.
Sara:Safe travels, have fun!??
Standard. Warm enough on the surface. I stared at it for a moment longer than I needed to.
We’d grown up in the same house, shared a bedroom until I was eighteen, knew each other’s worst moods and secret fears. And now we communicated in emoji and the occasional voice note. I didn’t resent her for it—she was living her life and that was fine, that was good. But there was a quiet loneliness in it that I couldn’t quite shake. All those years of closeness and then—nothing. Just the gradual drift that nobody planned and nobody stopped.
I slipped my phone into my pocket and looked out at the runway.
It was drizzling. Of course it was. This was London saying goodbye in the only language it knew. Grey skies, damp tarmac, the kind of morning that made you feel vaguely guilty for leaving.
Then the clouds shifted.
The sun came through so suddenly and so brightly that I had to look away from the window, spots swimming in my vision. When I looked back the rain was still there, catching the light, the runway gleaming.
I sat with that for a moment.
Something slow and unfamiliar was building in my chest. Not quite excitement. Not yet. More like the first breath after holding one for a very long time.
I was leaving. Five days. No one to cook for, no one to manage, no split bills or lukewarm dinners or carefully worded texts designed to avoid friction. No more prostrating myself to people who handed me back the bare minimum and called it enough.
No more biting my lip.
Freedom. Adventure. Nature.
I checked my bag for my inhaler.
It was there.
The airline attendant’s voice came over the tannoy—boarding for my flight. Around me people immediately stood, as if the twelve inches between their seat and the queue made any meaningful difference. I stayed where I was. I always did. What was the point of rushing on to sit in a metal tube and wait anyway?
I let the vulnerable passengers board first. Then the families. Then the eager ones who needed to be first for reasons I’d never fully understood.
When the queue had thinned I stood, collected my bag, and took one last look at the grey London morning through the terminal window.
Then I walked toward the gate and didn’t look back.
Chapter 5
Nika
The first few days were spent sightseeing in Split.
The gallery, the palace, the cathedral. I bought little knick-knacks for my family—a small ceramic tile for my mum, something embarrassingly touristy for my dad that he would absolutely love and never admit to. It was all so perfect. The people, the weather, the strange warm sense of familiarity I hadn’t expected and couldn’t quite explain.
Like something recognising me before I recognised it.
