Never Summer Again

Bonus Chapter - Mark

Mark

Score: Midnight Rain - Taylor Swift

Three Years Before

As I climb into the car, a shrilling, high-pitched noise blocks whatever bullshit Patrick is saying. I slam the door shut and look out through the curtain of rain, falling over the car window, for Lydia. She's standing in the rain and still refuses to look at me. She looks like a statue, the only movements of her body the shaking from her quiet sobs.

Seeing her like this breaks my heart into a million pieces. Knowing that it was me who caused her to feel all this pain makes the pieces come together only to be torn apart, again and again, until they are so tattered and torn, that they can't be put together anymore.

I did this...It's my fault...

This can't be true! I was so close! If the fucking Baby Lord had waited just a couple more hours, I would have made it.

My phone chimes inside my jeans pocket and I reach and fumble for it. My hands are stiff from the cold. It is just now that I notice that my clothes are drenched. They are sticking to my body, squeezing me like a cold, wet glove that I cannot take off.

I feel like I'm fucking drowning in my own skin...I can't draw a proper breath. I feel like my vision is narrowing and I force myself to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. I need to focus on something.

I read the message from Martha, which is flashing on the screen of my phone and I shake my head, blowing out a breath. I lift my eyes from my phone and my stare is immediately met with the driver's disapproving glare in the rear-view mirror. I can't fucking blame him. We've caused enough trouble for him to have all the right in the world to throw us out.

"...should've seen this coming..." I hear Patrick's voice through the haze, filling the space of my skull.

"What the fuck did you just say?" I snap out of it and turn my head in his direction so swiftly, I'm afraid that my neck might snap, too.

"Gentlemen," the driver growls, warning edging his voice.

I turn my head to the front of the car, facing the headrest of the driver.

"What did you do that for?" I squeeze through gritted teeth. "I told you I had your fucking money..."

"It's not about the money, Mark," Patrick says, his voice cold as the rainwater, dripping from my hair into my eyes. "It's never been about the money. Do you think I fucking care about fifty thousand pounds?" I can feel the fucking smirk in his voice.

"What, then," I ask, although I already know the answer.

"I couldn't let you walk away with her, Mark," Patrick says, and I know he means that. "I couldn't let you have her."

"She's not fucking property, asshole!" I say, white-hot rage bubbling in my veins.

"Says the man, who bet her in a game of poker," Patrick sneers.

I turn around so quickly that even I am surprised when I realize my hand is wrapped around Patrick's neck. It fucking sucks that he's right, but that doesn't mean I can't beat the crap out of him anyway. Blow off some steam.

"Gentlemen, please," the driver says and I drop my hand to the seat between us.

I turn towards the window and watch the raindrops fall onto the glass. Weirdly, the patter of the rain on the glass and the darkness outside somewhat manage to soothe my nerves.

"And what, you think she'll come running back to you, now that she knows the truth?" I manage to say, way more calmly than I thought I'd manage.

"Oh, no, I'm not that delusional," Patrick laughs. I turn to face him again, but he's looking at his hands in his lap. He looks almost...sad? "Lydia will never look at me again, after everything I did to her and said tonight."