He'll have to break all the rules to keep her, but first she has to break just one and let him in...
It's taken four years, but Anna Fray has finally put the past behind her. Mostly. She fills her days working in a bar and her nights watching bad ro...
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I waved half-heartedly as Callum tooted his horn and sped off down the road. The pristine white of the German compact car seemed at odds with the worn red bricks of the terraced houses lining the street. He disappeared around the corner as my keys slid into the lock.
My head pounded as I forced myself against the thick wooden front door, using every ounce of residual energy to push it open. The same action two days ago had been easy. I had been so full of hurt and fury, that I'd been numb when I finally returned to the flat after the fight. I had roamed the streets for hours, until blistered soles and sodden clothes forced me to return. In that haze, I hadn't looked at the front door beside my own as I'd jammed my key into the lock, and I hadn't tempered my swing as I flung the door shut behind me. Instead, I had let it thunder against the frame, the large bay window in my bedroom rattling in disapproval. Now I inched the door shut and nudged it closed – anything to limit the thudding headache. It felt like each heartbeat, every rush of blood, battered against my skull like the crash of waves against looming cliffs.
Aching feet carried towards my bedroom, and I dropped my overnight bag at the threshold. My bed called to me, even in its state of disarray. Crumpled bedding and bunched up pillows lay strewn across the king-sized bed. The covers I usually cocooned myself in during winter, were kicked to the floor and a small round divot showed where Nightmare had snuggled up while I'd been away.
I hadn't slept after the fight. I couldn't. Despite how warm and comforting Nightmare felt nestled beside me. By the time dawn peaked over the slate roofs, I had my bag packed for Fire Festival and a stash of food and water left out for Nightmare. I was gone before the amber sky turned blue.
The rest was a blur; a restless, listless, thoughtless blur.
I could vaguely remember the rush of wind against my skin as Callum drove, too fast, up the Northumberland coast. His music had blasted against my eardrums as it blared out of the open window.
If Emma or Callum had cared about the cold, they hadn't mention it. Instead, they had let me lie my head against the headrest on the back seat, my eyes closed, while the wind lashed at my skin. The refreshing sting kept the tears at bay, at least long enough for the bottle of vodka to make me as numb as the cold made my skin. That was the last conscious thought I had before the hazy parade of obnoxiously loud laughter, music and the descent of darkness.
From what I could remember, the setting for the festival had been beautiful, in that quiet, brutal, kind of way. The wild coastline, with its vast expanse of grey-blue sea, and muted green dunes rolling into the golden sand, was soon replaced with a palette of black and orange as bonfires raged on the coast.
An old castle rose from the dunes and watched over the carnage. In the space between our arrival and stumble down to the beach, its ruddy stone walls softened under the rosy glow of sunset before disappearing into darkness, as the sun sank out of sight.
What had once been quiet and peaceful, with the hush of waves caressing the sand, was ravaged by the blast of music and crackle of flames. Each burning pyre acted like a beacon, drawing revellers to it as they stumbled along the sand, bottles and cups grasped in their hands. They were a far cry from the families and elderly patrons who had come for the actual Fire Festival within the castle's grounds. With its artisanal market, glowing art installations and family friendly fun, it was the PG-rated version of what happened beyond the castle walls.
