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The smoking stranger leans in to whisper something in my ear. “Yes?” he asks.
I can’t trust my voice, and my face has an expression of its own, as if I’m about to cry. I look into his eyes and nod. Yes.
He nods back, encouraging me to let go. Despite everything.
And despite everything, I let go. I give in. I reach the point of no return.
Oh fuuuuck! Pleasure rises inside me like a warm whirlwind. I clamp my mouth shut again as I groan.
I have never experienced a fantasy like this before. It feels so fucking real. I’m clearly high as a kite. Whatever’s in that joint is, as Dreadlocks said, some really good shit.
Chapter 3
The Blast
As I emerge from my fantasy in a stupor, there’s a blast. I feel the ground vibrate, first with the explosion, then with the fear of the crowd as people begin running and screaming. This part is certainly not a dream. Despite being slightly stoned, I can sense the panic in the air. Placards are dropped and flags trip people as they try to escape. I’m completely confused. What was that sound? Where did it come from? I shake my head to clear it.
Is there real danger?
It occurs to me that there is always real danger when crowds are involved. I look for Dreadlocks, who was by my side just a moment ago, but the panicking mob has driven us apart. I’m swallowed up by a stream of scared people. Their force is so strong, I almost lose my balance.
There are kids here, I think. Babies in prams. Toddler on shoulders. Elders. This is bad.
Another blast shakes the ground, and people scream louder than before.
What the fuck is going on? I must go along with the tide or get pulled under. Sirens wail in the distance.
Keep calm, I tell myself. Keep it together and you’ll be fine.
I force myself to breathe properly. I had been holding my breath, waiting for the next explosion. Not panicking is easier said than done—I‘m being squeezed from all sides. Suddenly I feel a body at my toes. A young boy. No!
“Hey!” I shout, reaching for the tween. “Hey, get up!”
I yell and try to pull him up, but as soon as I get a grip on his hand, the pressure all around me suddenly eases. I tip forward, falling over the boy, my face smashing right into the concrete curb.
I don’t know how long I was out cold, but when I open my eyes again the light hurts, and my head feels like it will explode, just like the blast that started this chaos. I feel for the damage on my temple, and my fingers come away bloody.
Oh. There’s a puddle of bright blood on the pavement.
Is it all mine? Surely not.
Shit. I feel dizzy and struggle to get to my feet. It’s like my legs aren’t obeying orders. My mouth is so dry I can hardly swallow. How much blood have I lost?
Someone helps me up. They move on before I can thank them. I immediately stumble and fall forward, but this time someone big and strong catches me before I faceplant again. He holds me up with his solid frame. The low sun is in my eyes. I turn to look at him with narrowed eyes, thinking it might be Dredz, but it isn’t. I’m so dizzy. This part isn’t a fantasy; the sharp pain of my injury and the sensation of his hands on me feels more real than anything else.
Time stops, and the world goes silent as I take him in.
This man hasn’t sported a dreadlock in his life. He’s clean-shaven and has what looks like an extremely expensive haircut. Some people might be fooled into thinking his clothes are ordinary—jeans and a crisp white T-shirt—but even in my fugue state I can recognize their designer labels. This man’s casual weekend look costs more than my entire wardrobe.
Most probably due to my head injury—and the way the light is slicing into my eyeballs—this man looks like a veritable superhero, all pristine clothes and huge biceps. It feels like a come-to-god moment. He is some big, beautiful archangel, which I suppose makes me the sinner who needs redemption. I wait for the choir of angels to sing.
“Easy there,” he says, as I try to balance on my own. “I’ve got you.” His voice is richer than his £500 T-shirt. Deep and luxurious, it makes me vibrate inside. I look at his face properly for the first time and I think I must be hallucinating.
I’ve got you.
Forget the angel. This man is a god.
My knees buckle, and he takes all my weight.
