My body feels like it's about to implode, and I act without thinking. My hand slaps her face, harshly.
Never in my life have I gotten violent, but right now, I am backed into a corner with no way out, and she is the threat. After all, it is no different from what she did to me a couple of minutes ago.
An icy look washes over me as she turns and leaves without another word.
I can’t tell how long I stand there, but a while. Because when I’m back to my senses, my body feels cold and I have goosebumps everywhere.
I need to get my clothes and phone. My phone. Calling Bella. She’ll know what to do. She’s used to crisis.
I dart downstairs to the library, find my clothes there—the ones Victoria has gotten for me. But they at least feel like me. I search for my phone in full panic mode until I find it slipped from the coat’s pocket underneath a pillow.
I unlock it, and the moment my eyes fall onto the notifications, I am falling. Drowning. Suffocating.
Hundreds of notifications.
Calls.
Messages.
Emails.
I can’t.
Can’t.
I scream and throw the phone away.
I hate notifications; they give me anxiety on a normal day. Today, I am unable to cope with it.
It cracks loudly upon impact with the floor. I don’t care. I’d rather burn it at this point.
I need to vanish.
Get my cats, a new phone number, and move to a place so remote that no one will ever recognise me.
But how am I going to get my cats? I don’t even know how to get back home from here. There is no way I am flying in that helicopter with her again. And now I might have broken the only tool that would help me get back home.
Tears flood my eyes.
I need a plan, but I can’t think properly.
So I do the only thing I can do to escape reality: reading. I’m in a damn library after all.
I take the book I saw last night, The Count of Monte Cristo, grab a wool blanket, curl up on one of the sofas with my back against the armrest and begin to read with wet cheeks.
When I hit page 204, exhaustion rolls over me. My eyes burn, and I am so tired that I read the same sentence over and over without actually reading it.
I lean my head sideways onto the backrest. Maybe I can close my eyes for a tiny moment and forget everything.
“Mia,” I hear and shoot up. It takes me a moment to orient and understand where I am and that I am living in a nightmare.
Victoria sits on the couch next to me, her hand on my calf. I draw up my legs and grab the open book that threatens to fall down. I must have fallen asleep.
I feel sick to my stomach, and my body is weak. Exhausted. I’m not made for crisis. Worst thing is, I have to jawn. Again and again. As if my body is trying to compensate for the exhaustion.
“I arranged for you to fly back with Simon,” she says. Her voice is cold and distant.
“I’m not putting a foot in that thing again,” I say.
