Chapter Three
Emery
My chest tightens, and I fumble with my keys, dropping them onto the stained carpet flooring in front of my apartment door. Glancing down the dimly lit corridor, I let out a shaky breath. The image of Sebastian chasing after me is burned into the forefront of my mind, and I almost expect him to come storming around the corner. The paint is peeling off the walls in parts, and there are patches where the wall has eaten away, revealing the wooden slats beneath it, but he’s not there. No one is.
Before trying again, I take a deep, settling breath and pick up my keys. The door opens with a creak when I unlock it, and I look over my shoulder one last time before slipping inside and shutting the door behind me. Sliding the deadbolt in, I lock the door, letting my forehead rest against it for a second as I try to soothe the panic running through my veins.
I’d ran as fast as I could through the park until I reached a street on the other side, right as a taxi pulled up, letting someone out. I jumped in before the man could even shut his door, rattling off the address to my apartment block. It wasn’t until the car started moving, and I was slumped as low in the seat as I could, that the pain set in, and I realised what I was missing.
My chest still aches with the thought of losing my camera, more so than the pain coming from my ankle.
So stupid.
I can’t get the look on Sebastian’s face out of my head.
Why couldn’t I leave him behind?
I can’t explain why I didn’t disappear as soon as I could. It wasn’t meant to be this way, but when I saw him that day a few months ago, I couldn’t seem to pull myself away. Four years’ worth of fantasies and obsession came crashing down on me, and being close to him became more important than getting further from the man who ruined my life.
My ankle throbs, but it will have to wait. I don’t want to risk letting it swell if I take my shoe off.
The apartment ismodest,to say the least. Apart from the bathroom, it’s just one room with the only furnishings being a small circular dining table with one chair and a single bed on the far side with a bedside table. The kitchen is tiny and extremely old-fashioned with bright pink painted walls and cream cabinets.
It’s outdated and rundown, but it’s private and close enough to the city.
My attention goes straight to the wardrobe opposite my bed as I move further into the apartment and head directly for it. When I pull the doors open, my backpack—always packed and ready to go at a moment’s notice—sits tucked into the corner, waiting. It doesn’t have a lot in it, only a couple changes of clothes, but it’s nearly all I have. Grabbing the bag, I carry it to the bed and place it on the mattress, though that’s not all I have hidden in the wardrobe.
I won’t be able to go anywhere without the money I have stashed away, so grabbing the lone dining chair, I begin to drag it back to the wardrobe. The chair squeaks as it slides over the linoleum flooring, and I limp whilst trying to keep as much pressure as I can off my injured ankle.
In the opening of the wardrobe doors, I position the chair and carefully step up onto it and reach for the top shelf, straining my arm as far as it will go. The chair wobbles slightly, and I wince at the pain, but then I feel the edge of the small wooden box.
With the box clutched against my chest, I grab the back of the chair with my free hand for support as I step down, but I can’t stop the whimper that escapes with the awkward movement.
Making my way back to the bed, I sit down beside my backpack and lift the lid off the small box. My heart races as I stare at the contents inside.
This couldn’t be all.Could it?
My hand shakes as I pull out the only money I have left.It would be enough for a plane ticket, but I still don’t have a passport. And there’s no way this is enough to buy me oneanda way out of here. Not that I even know where to get a passport.
Goddammit!
I bury my face in my hands.
I knew I had burned through a lot of money in the few months I’d stayed here, but I didn’t realise justhow much. This apartment was the cheapest place I could find where I could pay cash, and they didn’t ask questions, but it still ate away the money meant to be my escape.
Maybe I could get a train or bus ticket somewhere—the further away, the better. If I could get a cash job and work for a couple of months, I might be able to save enough that I could afford to finally leave this all behind me.
It’s not much of a plan, but it’s all I’ve got. With that decided, I shake off any lingering despair and get up to gather the few loose belongings I have around the apartment. There’s not much to collect other than a few pairs of underwear and a t-shirt, but with so few possessions, I’d rather not leave anything behind.
Having lost my camera, my mind fills with the only other thing that almost means more to me than the missing device, and I pause at the side of my bed. My journal lays atop the crinkled sheets when I lift the pillow, and I grab it before dropping the pillow back to the bed. I haven’t made any new entries since I’ve been here, and I’m about to put it straight into my backpack, but I find myself undoing the leather bindings instead.
Opening the journal’s cover, two photographs sit in the crease. The first picture is one of my parents taken before I was born, and I run my thumb over their faces, my heart aching as fiercely as it does every time I see them. It’s the only thing I have left of them—that and the memories which are slowly slipping away with the more time that passes.
Putting the picture back in place, I pick up the second. Though not as old as the first one, its edges are slightly bent and frayed, exposing the amount of time it has spent in my hands.
Sebastian’s blue eyes shine through the photograph. He’s younger in this photo, maybe twenty-four or twenty-five. He’s not smiling, but he’s lighter. Not in size, even though he has definitely bulked up some, but he’s missing the weight on his shoulders he carries around now. Sebastian looks the same here as he did the first time I ever saw him, and I can’t help but be drawn back to that night four years ago. It was the night I nearly ended it all, and if it weren’t for him, I would have, and he doesn’t even know it.
He doesn’t knowyou.