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The texts start.
Why am I surprised? If they can discover where I live, tracking my phone number isn’t hard. The messages match those on social media. No sympathy for me, apparently I should revel in the fact he’s prepared to takeover my life because he loves me.
I switch my phone off before anybody calls. Verbal abuse has to be next.
Banging my head against the wall behind, I inhale and hold the breath, fighting down the tears. I almost gave this guy a chance, but this is who he really is.
Someone knocks on my door and I want to crawl into a hole and hide. Will they kick the door down?
"Sky?" A man's voice.
I hold my breath again and close my eyes. Like monsters under the bed, maybe they’ll all leave if I pretend they’re not there.
"Sky. This is Steve Bennett. I’m Dylan’s manager. I’m trying to sort out the mess the fucker has landed you in." He sounds as if his weekend shares the same super-fun start as mine.
"How?" I shout back through the door. "Put me in witness protection?"
"I’ve a car. Will you come with me somewhere the public can’t find you while things cool down?"
"You’re telling me I need to hide?" I call.
"Sky, sweetheart, just open the door. Here. This is my card." A business card slips beneath the door.
I pull myself up, and then walk on shaking legs towards the card. His name and a phone number. I squint through the peephole—a middle-aged man in a business suit, shifts from foot to foot outside. Satisfied he’s alone, and who he says he is, I open the door. My eyes tear and he can’t hide his surprise as he takes in my appearance. I’m sure I look awesome in my towelling robe with my tangled hair and red-rimmed eyes.
"Take me where?" I ask.
"Somewhere that’s quieter." Steve scowls and his eyes are tired, but he also has one of those faces that have lines from scowling a lot. I wonder how much of the grey around his temples was caused by Blue Phoenix antics? I think Dylan’s actions are causing him as big a headache as me.
"Maybe get dressed? They’re going to see you when you leave." I stare unblinkingly at him, proverbial rabbit in headlights. "I have a car. They saw me come inside and they’re waiting for you to come out."
"I can’t!"
I walk back into my flat and he follows me.
"Sweetheart, these people aren’t leaving anytime soon. Believe me—I’ve done this before. Way too many times to fucking count."
I slump onto a dining chair, picking at the fast food wrapper I forgot to bin last night. "Fucking fuck."
Steve laughs. "Maybe if you’d let this thing run its course, instead of shutting him out, you could’ve avoided this."
"You mean wait until Dylan got bored of me?"
Steve’s look shifts to his shoes; I don’t think he expected me to read his mind.
Would a broken heart when Dylan used and dumped me be better than the hell outside my window? I'm gripping onto a life spiralling out of control, facing an unknown future—the exact feeling I had the day I found Grant with whoever she is. Living in Dylan’s surreal world and ending up broken-hearted would’ve been easier than being dragged into his life against my will, and dissected by everyone around.
I'm about to become public property and at this moment I’m furious. There’s no way I can have a relationship with a man who behaves like this.
* * *
The journey to "somewhere quiet"takes a couple of hours, time in which I gulp air and attempt to claw back normality. The trip from my front door to the car was bad enough. I’ve seen stars dealing with paparazzi before; I wonder if they shared the sheer terror the first time they were accosted, too. The cameras in my lowered face were bad enough, but when some of the girls shouted at me, I blocked my ears and my mind in an attempt to drown out this strange world I'm unwillingly part of.
The winding country lane passes through a small village before the driver turns sharply into a wooded area off the main roads. The willow trees form a canopy above, filtering the sun into an eerie green light as they spread together across the country lane. The green tunnel this forms feels as if I'm transported to another world, and when I see where we're going I decide I am.
From nowhere, and in direct contrast to the natural surroundings, a heavy metal security gate and fence appear. The black, wrought barrier is attached to a wire fence worthy of a high security prison. Behind the gate, a gravel driveway bordered by manicured trees stretches towards a country house. Is this a mansion or a hotel? I don’t know, but judging by the security, I’d go with mansion.
The gates swing open and the car crunches along the driveway towards the huge grey-bricked building and stops close to the entrance.
