My hoodie sleeve has pulled back, exposing a slice of my forearm. A tangle of black ivy tattoos and aged scars. So different to her unblemished skin. A different story is told for each of us.
I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe. To make sure she goes forward without ever feeling a fraction of what I have.
No one touches her.
I cross to the bed. My heartbeat is ringing in my ears.
The new heart stone I’ve found is warm when I take it from my pocket. Small and grey, and one of the many I’ve collected over the years. I’ve kept every single one over the years, whether in the bottom of a bin bag as I moved house to house, or as they are now, in a battered old tin in my kitchen. It looks right, sitting in her palm.
A perfect fit.
She doesn’t stir.
In a moment of madness, I reach out to her, swiping a piece of hair from her face, wishing I could feel its softness. My gloves are still a barrier between us.
‘I’m back, Kitty Kat.’
Dragging myself away from her feels like a knife to the back. What I want is to climb over her and gather her against me. To bury my nose in her neck and breathe her in. To take her face in my hands and kiss her until we both forget the rest of the world exists.
But I can’t. Whatever she remembers of the boy from that summer, I’m not him anymore. The years have turned me into a monster, bloodied knuckles replacing dirty knees, and thick muscles where my skinny arms once were.
She’d be right to be frightened.
The scrap of pink cotton snags my gaze again as I pull myself from her. Stooping, I pull it from her trousers and ball it up in my hand.
A little piece of her to bring home.
I let myself out of the flat, locking the door behind me and heading through the alley. When I reach the street, I pull off my mask and press Kat’s panties to my face, inhaling deeply.
Fuck me. I’m done for.
I pocket the key and start the walk home.
EIGHT
KAT
Morning comeswith a stripe of light across my face, making me groan. My mouth is as dry as tarmac on a sunny day, and there’s a thumping at the base of my skull telling me I consumed too much wine last night.
‘Oh god,’ I groan, rolling over and stretching before bundling deeper into the duvet.
An itch in my palm has me opening one eye. There’s something small and hard there.
I open my fingers to see a small grey stone heart, with a shock of black down the centre.
Squealing, I drop it and scramble back on my bed.
It’s not a heart stone I’ve seen before.
Turning, I check my window, but the latch is still firmly in place. Dashing through the flat, I check the door and other windows. Nothing. Locked up tight.
Ellie is fast asleep in bed, and alone.
What the fuck?
Returning to my room, I take stock of it. Nothing looks out of place. There are no notes. But the stone…
Is the boy back?
