Nineteen-year-old, Bea Somerton, knows exactly how she wants to live. Become a doctor, remain in remission from her childhood Leukaemia and have a happy, normal, life.
The last thing she expects is to meet rising star and troubled musician, Holden P...
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Slaughtered. I am going to be slaughtered by my parents.
It's barely past five in the morning. Wisps of my fragile hair float across my face as Holden drives down my street, headlights off.
Absentmindedly, I twirl a strand of my hair. I try not to picture last night's events. The clumps of hair now resting in the base of my bin.
Despite deciding that I'd only be on tour with Holden for a week, and that I wouldn't miss a single chemo session, I still feel the guilt eating away at my stomach. I need to be resting and I know my parents will be angry. I know Parker will be furious.
It's my life, I remind myself. My one existence.
I roll my suitcase down the driveway as silently as I can. The wheels clatter along the pavement as I make my way towards Holden.
"Hi," I smile.
Wordlessly, he grabs the suitcase with one hand, his muscles flexing. Tenderly, he grips my cheek with the other, bringing his lips to mine.
His thumb grazes mine briefly after we pull away, and he opens the passenger door for me. I watch him open the boot of his car, lifting my heavy suitcase effortlessly into the back. He drags a hand through his dark hair as he crosses to the driver's side.
He starts the engine as I climb in, the air-con blasting despite the mild temperature. One-handed, he pushes the car into drive as he zooms up the street. The radio plays quietly in the background as I watch his tense shoulders and locked door.
"Something's wrong," I observe.
"It's nothing," he mumbles.
"It's obviously something," I accuse. "Tell me, Holden."
"Somerton—"
"No more secrets, okay?" I interrupt, grabbing his hand as it rests on the gearstick.
"I've just... I've never brought a girl on tour."
"I'm not Sophia," I state.
"I know," he whispers. "I know that."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
"We've barely made it up the street and we're already fighting," I whisper, staring out the window as the houses roll by.
"I'm not fighting with you, alright?" he sighs. "You wanted to know what I was thinking, didn't you?"
My thumb taps absentmindedly on my thigh as I think over his words carefully. "You're right," I nod. "Sorry, I'm just — I'm just worried. My parents are going to kill me for this."
"If you want to stay—"
"No," I shake my head. "It's not that at all. I want... this."
