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The sticky summer air hits me the second I step out of the sliding doors and into the backyard. The sun might have gone down, but it's still hot as hell, and my hair is sticking to the back of my neck long before I escape through the back gate and out onto the street.
I smile to myself, feeling like a rebel. It's nothing really, just going out for a walk, but my dad never jokes about things, especially when it comes to my safety, so I know he's serious about me staying inside. I just wish he'd tell me the reason, so at least I could understand instead of remaining hidden from some unknown threat.
I take off down the peaceful, treelined street.
I have no destination in mind. I've only ever come down here in Dad's car, seeing as mine hasn't arrived yet.
Aside from the friends I left behind in America, my car is one of the only other things I miss. My matte black Porsche 911. It was my baby, and I can't wait for my new one to be delivered. Hopefully, that will grant me a little bit of an escape. No one can get to me while I'm driving.
The honking of car horns sounds out in the distance, a reminder that the hustle and bustle of the city is only meters away. It's easy to forget while I'm hiding in the house that we're not in the middle of nowhere here.
The first week we arrived, Dad took me to see all the sights London had to offer, and he showed me some of the places he used to spend time at when he was a kid.
I'm desperate to learn more, to meet some of his old friends. I would say family, but I already know I don't have any.
I blow out a breath as I continue walking, tipping the bottle to my lips once more and allowing the slight buzz from the vodka to numb me. The sun has long set now, and the only lights guiding my way are the streetlights above my head as I turn down street after street, gazing into the windows of the houses that have their lights on and curtains open, trying to get a sense of the people inside.
I have no idea where I'm going, but for the first time since moving here, I feel free.
I should enjoy having absolutely nothing to do, being able to breathe for a few weeks before I'm thrust into the middle of yet another school to start over at yet again, but I'm not. I think I'd rather be enduring all the unknowns and stresses of a new school. I've almost lost count of the number I've attended over the years thanks to Dad moving us all over the country. He's assured me that this is it. That we're staying here and that I might actually be able to graduate. Although, moving here came at a price. I'm going back a year. If I were still in America and attending Rosewood High, I'd have already started my senior year along with my friends, but as it is, I'm about to embark on my first year in a British sixth form instead.
I don't want nor need another year before I can finally make my own decisions about life and where I might want to go to college or university, but it seems I have little choice in the matter.
Part of me wanted to stay in America and let Dad move back here alone. I'm pretty sure if I'd asked and pleaded a good enough case he'd have allowed it… I'm almost eighteen, after all, and he knows I'm sensible enough not to screw shit up, but while most of my life has been a clusterfuck of moving house, state and country, he has been my one constant. Yes, he's always worked more than he's been at home, and at times it's felt like I've been brought up by the housekeeper or our security, but he's always been there, even if it's been at the end of the phone.
It's been me and Dad against the world, and the thought of watching him get on an airplane and fly across the world without me wrecks me even now that I'm here with him.
He's the only person I have, my only family, and despite us sometimes having our differences, he's my best friend.
I continue walking as the air around me finally begins to cool and the moon rises in the sky. My cell burns in my skirt pocket, but I don't pull it out to look at the time. I don't want to know if my absence has been noticed yet, and I certainly don't want to have to deal with Dad's disappointment if he knows that I've ignored him and walked straight out the front gate alone.
My steps slowdown as a familiar pop echoes through the silence around me. Glancing to my right, I find that I'm beside a graveyard.
The sensible thing to do would be to turn around and head home in the hope that I can sneak back inside unnoticed and silently revel in the fact that I managed to escape and just breathe for a few hours, but that isn't what I do.
When I take another step, it's not toward home but into the darkness of the graveyard and toward the sound that stupidly speaks to my soul.
There are soft lights illuminating the church behind as well as lining the perimeter wall. They're enough to allow me to see the path that cuts through the grass and leads me into the darkness.
The pop sounds out again, but it's louder this time, telling me that my instincts were right.
But why would someone be firing off rounds in a graveyard in the middle of the night?
Dad has always said that my curiosity will get me killed, and it seems he might be right. But even knowing that I'm walking toward someone dangerous, my steps don't falter as my sneakers connect with the grass.
I come to a stop by an old oak tree and cast my eyes around the dark, creepy space until my eyes land on a figure sitting with his back resting against a headstone.
The moonlight casts a silvery light over his angular face. Hiding in the shadows, I take in his strong, square jaw and perfectly straight nose. He's dressed head to toe in black, his body blending into the darkness surrounding him. The only thing that really stands out is his outstretched arm and the metal in his hand glinting in the silver moonlight. My eyes focus on it, and I'm unable to look away as he fires it once more, the ting that quickly follows telling me that he hits whatever target he was aiming at.
After long seconds, I manage to rip my eyes away and focus on his face once more. I can't see much, but what I can draws me to him in a way I can't explain.
He's a stranger in a graveyard with a gun. I should be running in the opposite direction, but something forces me to do the opposite.
I step out from behind the tree and move toward him, my heart thundering in my chest when a twig snaps under my foot and both his eyes and gun turn to me.
