Page 16 of Wicked Ruin

Christ. I’m still processing what he said, what it means.

I keep my pace even through the corridor. Through security. Out into the car park.

I'm almost at my car when someone steps into my path.

Not aggressive. Just—there. Big lad, younger than me, standing easy, like he's been waiting a while and doesn't mind. He has the particular stillness of someone who's done this before.

“Nice of you to visit,” he says. Is that an American accent?

He walks away without another word, hands in his pockets, like he's just heading to his own car.

I stand there for a moment before I get into my car.

They were already here. Already watching. Probably saw me enter.

I start the car and drive home.

Chapter Three

BRIDGET

Declan

How’d the treatment go?

Next question

Declan

Trouble. Tell me.

Is it possible to hear a growl in a text?

Painful and embarrassing and I wanted to die, but I didn’t, and I’m here to tell you about it

Declan

But did you die?

Declan

For Christ’s sake. I don’t suppose Italian wedding soup would help?

Me: I really can’t eat right now. Cheer me up?

Declan

There once was a lad from north Dublin. Who couldn’t quite fit his fat nob in. He said fuck it to hell, and rang her wee bell, then cried when she called it a bobbin.

WHERE DID YOU EVEN LEARN THAT???

Declan

Declan

EXPLAIN YOURSELF

Declan