Page 86 of Tears of Ink

I down my drink and slip off my stool. “I’ve got to get back. I’ve another busy day tomorrow.” All I can hope, I think to myself, is that I’m in a better mood. My eyes slide to the side and see the guy make a move to leave too. If I can just erase Elijah from my head, I know it will help. I just need to forget.

It’s late and dark outside. I don’t know how late, but the yellow street lamps are lighting the car park. “Hey, Faith” the man calls, and I whirl around.

Just close your eyes and do it, Faith, then you can get rid of him.

I’ve been telling myself this for a long time. No one can control me. I choose how and when.

What I haven’t realised until this very moment, is that over the last few days my mind has been so full of Elijah I haven’t thought of anything else. No bad memories. No cravings to help me forget.

The realisation floors me.

But he doesn’t want me…

Lost and frighteningly alone, I contemplate the man in front of me. “Sorry, I’ve got to get going.” I begin to back away.

“Come now, Faith, you’ve been making eyes at me all night, I know you’re keen.”

Am I keen? God, I’m so fucking confused, I don’t know what I’m doing.

I shake my head, but my hand reaches for the guy’s shirt. What my hand is doing, I don’t know. I’m torn. Confused.

A flicker to the right makes me turn a searching gaze.

Elijah.

Sat on the table top of one of the pub’s picnic benches, he’s watching me from under hooded lids. My legs shake a little, my knees wobbling as I lurch a step towards him. “What are you doing here?” I don’t give the random from the bar a second look and assume he walks away as my attention is pulled to the place it should be.

“I missed you.”

His words unravel every single talking to I’ve spent the day giving myself. They floor me.

“Are you busy?” There’s an element of scorn to his tone and my stomach twists. I have nothing to be guilty about, we are nothing to one another, he’s made that clear, but a nibble of unrest bites me inside.

The way he fills my head, his scent, his presence, is all encompassing.

It doesn’t erase the disappointment I’ve felt all day. I step another foot closer. And then another. My heart pounds in my chest, my tongue dry and tingling.

“I’m not busy.”

He knows, though. I can sense it. He knows what I was thinking of doing with that stranger, but he will never understand why.

It’s my sting, my burn, my protection.

He tugs me closer, his fingers weaving into the knit of my sweater. “What are you doing, Faith?” His question is a low murmur.

My insides coil and tighten, that age old need to run edging me to make a dash for it.

“Nothing,” I mumble, but a wave of emotion floods me from the inside out.

“Is this because I was busy this morning and couldn’t chat?”

“No.” I stare at my sandals.

“Faith?” He tilts my chin, so I look at him.

“No. It’s not that.”

“What then?” A hardened edge creeps into his words. “Because as far as I can tell, you stink of vodka and were leaving the local with a guy, who honestly doesn’t look like he’s washed in a couple of days.”