Delectable (Sinclair Bryant)

Purple Rain

Sinclair blazed down the hill with the fervour of a much younger man, Sian at his heels.

Water splashed around her bare legs as she shuffled to keep up with Sinclair's long strides; her old, white pumps now completely ruined by the quickly formed mud. Their clothes were drenched with the cooling summer rains, accentuating every muscle in Sinclair's back through his maroon T-Shirt. She had never seen him like this, not even during their fight. He was usually a beacon of calm and control.

They traversed the paths they had taken in much the same way. Silence. Sinclair was so mad he daren't speak, scared of what would come out of his mouth.

The usually wise man, couldn't believe how stupid he had been. To still allow Natalie access to the house. And letting her know he was leaving for the Christmas period? Fuck, he was an idiot. A colossal fucking idiot.

She was waiting for him that day, parked up outside his house as he frantically returned to pack a case. A gift in hand, all wrapped up with a bow. She'd asked questions of course, to which Sinclair gave little away. In words, anyway. But she knew enough; that Sinclair was leaving on very short notice and without Sian. It had clearly aroused some suspicions in his ever plotting, manipulative ex- wife.

The anger he bestowed upon the ground, with his heavy plodding feet made up the soundtrack of his seething.

The street that Sinclair's car was parked on was empty when they made it back. Everyone safe at home, avoiding the downpour.

"I need the keys," he said as he turned to Sian, who had followed behind him the whole way.

"Is that wise?" she asked, bracing her arms around herself. The tank top she was wearing no longer proficient for the weather. The goosebumps on her arms could be felt under her fingers; she wasn't sure if they were from her nerves, or if it was because she was becoming cold.

"I need to go to Natalie's and I can't walk it from here," he said bluntly, if not a little harsh. Not that he meant to, he was just having a hard time concealing the sheer hate inside of him.

"I'm driving you home," she replied with a tone that left no room for negotiations.

She walked around to the driver's side quickly, unlocked the car and planted her saturated body onto the cream leather seat.

Jesus, that's cold! She thought with a shiver passing through her.

Sinclair stayed put, letting the thunderous skies have it's way with him. She'd left him no choice for now, he wasn't about to yank her out of the car.

Conceding that he couldn't do much, other than be her passenger again, he grabbed the wet handle of the Jaguar and opened the door. Sian had put the heater on already, and he felt it blow out towards him.

He sat down in silence, resting his hand over his battered face, before swiping the excess moisture from it. A mixture of the skies and sweat.

As bold as Sian had been to get in the car, she soon realised, as she was watching Sinclair stand in the rain - like a stubborn child refusing to come inside - that she wasn't entirely sure how to navigate her way to Sinclair's estate by herself.

The engine purred and the heaters continued to blow hot air around the car as they both sat in some strange impasse.

"I might need directions," Sian admitted, speaking first.

"I've moved," he said with a dullness that was so unlike Sinclair. Droplets of rain fell from the front of his usually floppy hair and Sian found herself having to stop herself from pushing it back from his face.