𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐓 / / 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐊

CHAPTER 32

Stella wasn't sure how long she had been walking for, but her feet ached like a mother fucking bitch. It was dark now, well, dusk really. Her eyes felt heavy, she desperately wanted to sleep but she just couldn't bring herself to go home and face Barry or the boys.

She was certain a few people had called her name, but she was so consumed by her own need to keep moving that she had become oblivious to them. Drowning out the noises of her surroundings so that all she could focus on was the static in her brain, the numbness that clouded her judgement. The sound of waves crashing together was non existence, the same for the birds chirping above her as they searched for cover as the night sky dawned. Yet, her feet kept moving as she desperately tried to search for something, but what that something was Stella did not know.

There was no going forward from here, her life would never be the same again. Fucking Agatha, it all started with that stupid storm. Before she hit, life was good — complicated, sure, but nothing that Stella couldn't deal with. Hell, anything was better than this.

She had walked passed Bohdi Moore's house and mindlessly toyed with the idea of going in, seeking comfort in the boy she knew would care for her in a half decent enough way. He was sweet on her, she knew she could play that to her advantage. Take cover in a surrounding she knew would be safe, with someone who would at least hold her until she felt brave enough to conquer the outside world again. Yes, Bohdi would have been the safest option, but Stella Swayer didn't do safe. She did chaos, danger and destruction, something risky and unpredictable which would fill her veins with adrenaline — just to give her something to feel. It was an instinct to conduct such reckless behaviour, it had been drilled into her from the countless traumas she had experienced in her life thus far. The more of a risk, the more of a thrill and so the more of a feeling. It was a way to escape, almost, by putting herself into circumstances that others would frown upon.

And that's when she noticed she was in the last place anyone would expect to find her.

Figure 8 never really changed, except for when Halloween or Christmas decorations went up. The rest of the year the pristine houses stood proudly and the families inside them knew little of what hard work really was. As they drank their bottled Voss water, or filtered straight from the fridge, whilst eating organic fruits and concerning themselves with what dress they would wear to the country club later that day, they didn't have a lot to worry about. Not like the folks from the Cut. Where she was from, people fought to put food on the table most days, lived in poverty wondering if the roofs over their heads would survive the next storm. That was the problem with Kildare, there was no grey. You where either rich, or you weren't. Simple as that.

But Stella wasn't concerned about the ongoing war between the Pogue's and the Kook's. That was the least of her worries right now. Stella was on self-destruct mode, a path that would only lead her to trouble, but this was the problem with Stella Swayer — her coping mechanisms where not the most acceptable to say the least. She knew it was wrong, what she was about to do, where she was letting her feet take her. She was seeking comfort in the worst way.

Standing outside the white door, Stella raised her fist and knocked twice, the only thought that crossed her mind was the hope that he was there and not out gallivanting with his friends. She pulled on the sleeves of the hoodie she wore, scrunching the material into balls within her hands whilst she waited for—

"What are you doing here?"

She could understand the confusion on his face as he stood holding onto the door handle, looking down at her with hazy eyes. He'd been smoking, she could spot the signs straight away. Stella sucked in a deep breath before she spoke. "Can I stay here?" She asked. "Please?"

Rafe Cameron clicked his tongue as he took in her appearance. She had red eyes too, but not from pot that was for sure. "Barry know you're here?"

"No," she answered quietly. "I'd rather keep it that way."