DAYLIGHT FADING

thirteen | i buried it too deep under the iron sea

                       | thirteen: i buried it too deep under the iron sea |

                                                               or

                                                | floods: fightstar |

The man in front of me is a stranger.

He looks the same – all pale skin, dark hair and those infuriatingly nice cheekbones, but there’s an angry set to his jaw that I don’t recognise. I had expected this kind of rage after all of the interviews but seeing it in real life is so different.

“I said,” his voice is a hiss, “what the fuck are you doing here?”

I flinch backwards at his voice crescendos into a yell. Two years ago, no matter how angry he was, I would have never been in any doubt that he wouldn’t hurt me but I’m uncertain now. The look in his eyes promises murder.

I take a few steps backwards until I hit the counter, my eyes never leaving his. I am about to be killed. He is about to tear as many pieces out of me as he can and I can’t do anything to stop it because I deserve this.

His lip curls into a sneer. “The Lacey I knew would have fought back,” a part of me bubbles into the same rage I can see in his eyes. He thinks that I’m going to be the same, after everything? He scoffs and begins to turn away.

“I am not the Lacey you knew,” I snarl at his back. I know at least half of my anger isn’t even at him but I’m channelling all of my hate for what Angel turned me into at the only man I know who has his head stuck too far in his problems and his hatred to care.

“Oh, is it Angel now?” he says it in such a mocking tone that I do something I never thought I’d do in my life. I walk right over the broken plate on the floor as he raises his eyebrow at me, confident that I will balk.

It’s the eyebrow that gets me. My blood feels like it’s boiling and my chest tightens as I walk right up to him and slap him round the face.

“Fuck you,” two years ago, when I was the Lacey he knew, I never would have had the balls to do that. Maybe even on a normal day now, I still wouldn’t. But the sight of him and all of the things he thinks he knows makes me want to hit something.

His eyes are wide as he touches the side of his face, drawing in a sudden breath when he makes contact with the place where my hand made contact. Honestly, was he expecting me to hit like a sissy? Bastard.

I’m struck with the sudden urge to hit him again, so I just walk round him and walk out of Louisa’s house. It’s rude of me to leave without saying goodbye but I am so angry that I’m not sure I could be sincere or not come out with something sarcastic.

God, I need a smoke.

I unzip that blessed pocket in my dress and pull out the cigarette I put there in case of emergencies only to fight that I didn’t have the foresight to bring a lighter. Fuck’s sake.

I huff, putting my fag back in my pocket and snarling out my annoyance. For god’s sake, why can I not have nicotine when I need it most? Does the universe not know how much better this would be if I could do this with a cigarette in hand?

I barely have time to register the hand on my shoulder before I’m whirled round to stand face to face with a slightly yellowing cheek. The distance between us is dangerously small and I can the familiar bright blue of his eyes.