Page 144 of Take Me Away
Kit’s face. The way he looked at me under the harbour lights. I love you, Isla Quinn.
Maisie, patient and trusting as I tried to braid her hair without hurting her scalp. You’re good at this.
The pub full of voices singing for Peter. The feeling of belonging I’d never let myself have before.
All of it gone now.
All of it destroyed by a man who drugged me a decade ago and decided this week was the perfect time to finish the job.
My throat tightens. I won’t cry. Haven’t cried since I arrived. Crying feels like admitting something, and I’m not ready to admit anything except that I’m tired. So fucking tired of running, of hiding, of pretending I’m strong enough to survive this.
Maybe I’m not.
Maybe that’s okay.
A knock at the door jolts me out of the spiral.
I don’t move. Piper has a key. She’ll let herself back in if she needs something.
Another knock. Louder. More insistent.
‘Piper, I said I want to be alone!’ I call out, voice muffled by the duvet.
Nothing. Just silence. Then—
‘Isla?’
I freeze.
That’s not Piper’s voice.
It’s deeper. Male. Familiar in a way that makes my chest constrict.
‘Isla, please. I know you’re in there.’
No.
No no no no.
It can’t be.
I throw off the duvet, scramble out of bed. My reflection in the mirror is horrifying – hair unwashed, eyes puffy, wearing the same T-shirt of Kit’s I snuck out of his bed wearing. I look exactly like someone who’s given up.
Another knock. Softer this time.
And then a small voice. Higher. Younger.
‘Isla? It’s me. Maisie.’
My legs nearly give out.
Maisie.
Maisie is here. In London. At my door.
Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God.
They can’t see me like this. Can’t see the apartment, the mess, the evidence of how completely I’ve fallen apart. Can’t see what Marcus has done to me.
