Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
ISABELLE
Ididn’t sleep. Not because the kitchen activities moved to the shower, Alex fucking me against the glass, Seb licking me until I screamed on the very counter he first propositioned me by.
Nor because Ben gently fucked me in the bed, the others disappearing under the guise of getting food, but really, I knew it was to give us time alone.
Those things didn’t stop me from sleeping. If anything, my body had been so consumed by them that I had no reason not to sleep.
It was the acute loss I was anticipating.
My heart hurt, chest feeling like it was cracking open. I’d given up on trying to sleep in the late hours of the morning in order to concoct a plan, anything to not lose them, and now I had to give up on that.
I couldn’t say goodbye to them, though I already had.
I found I was at the edge of the bed, Seb’s arms a cocoon of warmth and reassurance, without which I knew I would have become untethered from my reality, lost to heartsickness.
I eased free from his hold, not optimistic about my escape plan, but the fear of seeing their faces when I said goodbye was motivation enough to try.
Seb didn’t move, not until I was sitting upright, his fingers glancing over mine.
I froze, heart stopping in its determined pulsing.
I willed it to stop several times during the night. Selfish, I knew, but I’d have preferred nothing to this.
I stood, dragging in the deep breath I needed, knowing what I’d find when I looked at him.
His eyes, illuminated barely by the light coming from the dressing room, the curtains not drawn – by me – on purpose.
His frown matched my pain, and I couldn’t even pretend to smile.
He did, though, and it was agony.
I grimaced, fighting the tears.
I stood, looking down on him. Eventually, he simply nodded, so I snuck into the dressing area and picked up my bag.
Returning to pass the bed, I took one last look at them, sprawled over the mattress.
Seb hadn’t moved, his lips parted, mouthing silent words, and a tiny sob broke free. Tears streamed down my face, and I did nothing to stop them.
I closed my eyes, carefully replying without a sound.
“I love you too.”
Then I moved. I moved as quickly as silence would allow. The door was ajar, this one not by my design.
I stole across the hall, carefully avoiding the creaking floorboard, downstairs and placed the bag onto the table.
Pulling free extra layers from the top and dressing with haste, I felt for the snacks and bottle of water I stored there yesterday under the guise of one of my many suspicious bathroom breaks.
The men thought I was crying. I was.
Shoes, coat, gloves, all on. I unlocked the door and stole out into the morning light.
The snow was half-melted. Enough to be on my way.
I knew the path. I knew the route.
I knew I needed to move, because if I didn’t do so right now, I would collapse under the weight of my heartbreak.
I wanted to run, to sprint, to see if the speed of my exit could condense the sharp agony of it. But my thundering feet and the risk of falling, well, that would have me back inside the house. Another way I wouldn’t be leaving.
I rounded the lake, passed the workshop, the tether between my heart and theirs stretching until I didn’t think I could take the pain pulling me back to them, doubting my future and wanting to take the risk.
I could marry Seb. I wanted to. My father could accept it. I’d be ostracised from society – not that it would be a loss to me.
I knew it wasn’t that simple. Alex knew it wasn’t that simple, but it hurt, and the offering of silly paltry excuses and justifications made me feel like, for the tiniest sliver of time, I wasn’t dying.
In reality, though, I was dying. This was killing me.
And when I couldn’t bear it anymore, I ran.
I felt zero pleasure at how easily I wound my way across the fields until I saw the houses of the village. If anything, I wished I’d become more lost.
I felt exposed, no phone – something that hadn’t bothered me when I was making a wild dash from the cottage to the hotel, but I also now had no way to tell how I was doing on time.
The watch I’d drowned on my journey a month ago still refused to tick, like a reminder of when my old life had ended and the new one begun. The new one with Seb, and with Ben, and even with Alex.
A life I hadn’t the imagination to conjure up.
A life that had also expired.
I tugged my coat higher around my chin and trudged through the watery snow into the village.
I knew well enough that I was a missing person; I also knew that in a village like this it could go one of a few ways.
Either the village was so tightly knit that a single newcomer would garner tremendous attention.
Or, they had so many tourists coming and going, being as close to the port of Dover as it was, that I would be a face amongst hundreds, if not thousands, of tourists.
Yet, I slowed as I skirted around the main thoroughfares. It was winter, still snowy, and tourism would be slow. But, my face was on the news, maybe not constantly, but most likely it would be daily.
I cursed myself for not taking the time to even consider the current news cycle. My desperation to ignore the severity of my situation had overridden simple logic.
I could only pray that the fearmongers that were the news stations had something else to prioritise.
I took out the almost illegible maps, hiked my bag higher on my shoulders and followed the road towards the pub that would be my meeting point. I was early, I thought.
Meeting point two. In the event that the hotel became unusable or too risky, they had told me to meet them at this pub. That was the original instruction. And the only additional part of the message Alex had received.
He hadn’t lied to me. There had been a voice message, and it was clear enough. One week, at midday, at meeting point two.
The back of the bar, that was the original plan from a month ago. The hotel had a room and a restaurant, or the pub had a booth towards the back of the bar.
The roads seemed busy. Local shops had enough customers spilling in and out for it to be a risk, although everyone was only going about their business, tucked up warm against the relentless cold. The sea of hats and scarves a blessing that allowed me to sink even deeper into my many layers.
I understood the choice for a public-ish meeting place – safe transition was a Remover guarantee so women didn’t walk into a trafficking ring – but still, even a few people felt like a risk too much right now.
Apprehension began to spike as I worked my way towards the meeting point, an uneasy sweat breaking out over my body despite the chill when the pub came into view.
It was nothing less than you would expect from a traditional seaside village pub. A heavy sign swinging in the breeze, the alcove leading to a heavy wooden door. Then I was inside.
It wasn’t empty, nor was it full. Very few people looked up from their drinks, and I huffed at the assault of the warm air, a fire blazing in a hearth on the other side of the bar.
Searching keenly, I took a right, easing through the room and between the low tables, avoiding the patrons perched on stools, the thick layers, and the full duffel bag, an accident waiting to happen.
Nothing would be more inconvenient at this exact juncture than pouring someone’s drink into their lap and having to engage in an embarrassing conversation to apologise, and no doubt give someone a really good look at my face.
Finally, after what felt like an age, but was more likely less than a minute, I found a booth, tucked neatly in the furthest corner of the bar. The tables in this section were more sparsely occupied – the distance from the fire the likely cause – and I felt a brief second of relief.
Something going in my favour.
I approached the booth cautiously, anticipating it might be empty since I was fairly certain I was early. To my surprise, a large figure occupied it.
A heavy woollen coat lay beside him on the seat. His long legs almost reached out of the booth. Heavy-duty brown leather boots met jeans, and his head was bent, consuming something on a tablet. He had mousy blond hair that was neatly styled, but I couldn’t see his face.
“You’re early.” I recognised his voice from the single telephone call and his voicemail, devoid of warmth. “Sit down.”
My hesitation was momentary. I was in this now. No time for cold feet.
I slid my bag in ahead of me and took up the seat opposite him.
His attention remained focused on his device, but from here I could see his face. The sharp cut of his jaw and cheekbones, his brows scrunched. Tapping drew my focus to his fingers as they knocked a quick rhythm on the wooden surface.
I waited silently, observing the intricate tattoos that started at the ends of his fingers and worked their way up his hands and wrists along his forearms until they disappeared under the rolled-back sleeves of his knitted jumper.
His tapping ceased, and he flipped the tablet closed, his attention turning fully to me. I found myself ensnared in oil-blue eyes.
I shifted uncomfortably in place while he appraised me silently but clearly. He didn’t look impressed, and I bristled.
“You look different in person.” He broke the silence.
“People normally do,” I replied, trying and failing to sound as if I were not intimidated by him.
“I’ve asked our transport to come as soon as they can. Do you want something to drink?” he offered.
I really did. I nodded.
“Take off the coat. Everything about you screams ‘don’t look at me’, which will inevitably make everyone look.” His words sounded like a reprimand.
He stood looking down at me. “If you need to use the facilities, I suggest you do so soon. When we leave, we will not be stopping. Not for anything.”
I swallowed heavily, feeling a surge of cold dread. I didn’t know this man. I had no guarantee that I wasn’t about to disappear, properly.
A sense of resignation followed. I had little to no choice.