Lola grumbled in a sleepy protest.
“Shh,”I soothed, stroking trembling fingers along her hip, wild eyes scanning the room. “It’s okay, love.”
It wasn’t. Not at all. I’d stayed too long. I’d never meant to fall asleep. I—
The steady, unforgiving click of a clock filled the gloom.
I screwed my eyes shut. Everytick, tick, tickwas like brittle nails hammering into a fragile skull. There were no clocks in my house. I couldn’t risk it—and I was about to make damn sure there wasn’t a clock in Lola’s cottage, either. I’d hunt that thing down and smash it into a thousand pieces.
I pushed off the bed, but a sleepy hand gripped my side.
“Where…you…?” Lola’s voice was groggy and still on the edge of dreams.
“Go back to sleep, love.” My hand shook when I smoothed back her hair. I kissed the spot on her shoulder dotted with freckles. “I’m just going to the bathroom.”
All I had to do was stick to the routine.
I’d done it a thousand times before. Find the bathroom. Splash some water on my face. Force my mind out of a tortured past back to the present. I could stop the panic before it spiralled out of control if I just followed the routine.
“Mmm ’kay… That way…” Lola’s finger pointed to the hallway before she smooshed her face back into the pillow.
I reached blindly over the side of the bed, fingers sweeping the floor for my clothes. Lola’s lacy knickers. Her pretty dress.My underwear underneath. That would do. I tugged up the black cotton as I stood.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
My body forgot how to keep me upright. I sank to the floor. The room disappeared into blackness—just like the road that night when raindrops danced in the fog of headlights swirling white, then blue, then red.
“Not real.” I screwed my eyes shut, but my heart thumped even faster.“Not real.”
Shuddering in a long, slow breath, I clenched my fist. I could stop it. Just this once. For Lola. I wouldn’t make it to the bathroom, so I needed to skip ahead and follow the rest of the steps.
What can I see?
I swivelled my head, a shaky smile on my face when I curled my finger around Lola’s pinkie dangling off the side of the bed. I could see her. My sweet girl. The pink sheet twisted around her legs to hide her bare skin, and her hair fanned over the pillow. Beautiful.
The hammering of my heart slowed.
What can I smell?
Sex. Patchouli. Before I’d made love to Lola the second time, she’d wriggled away from me to light one of her candles. She’d told me the scent was patchouli. Never heard of it. Smelled like clean laundry. Smelled like Lola.
The rasps of my breath evened out.
What can I hear?
Lola. Her quiet snuffles.
Tick.
Tick—
Unforgiving hands pressed over my ears. The clock. I couldn’t hear anything but that damn clock.
The scratchy, broken reel of images started spinning again—faster and faster—coming together in one long horror movie. The highway. The steady beat of the indicator as I cruised along the road. The blur of headlights where they shouldn’t be. The swirl of red and blue.
