AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Go to hell!” Her scream pierced my eardrum like a knife.
I buried my head in my hands and shook my head. All kinds of nightmarish thoughts did the rounds. Dead detective—a potential murderer who probably would have executed us.
Manon was right. I needed to let go.
I needed to let go of her.
But how? She was all over me.
My fucking heart. My dick. My head.
Chapter 29
Manon
Thewoodenfloorechoedloudly as I walked around my new Soho apartment, which was empty and in need of furniture. The thought of shopping for new things should have excited me, but all those zeros attached to a number in my account seemed meaningless given the dark cloud following me.
What had happened to my inner shopaholic?
The only activity that roused the slightest interest was shoplifting.
Along with cutting myself, stealing was my only coping mechanism. The thrill of doing something wicked. Sex used to be that, but since Drake, sex was no longer a game. My vagina was in direct dialogue with my heart. Weird to think body parts even talked. I was weird, though. Fucked up. Especially now.
How could I do life without Drake?
I’d been so absorbed in him and escaping Rey that I’d forgotten about everything else, including my English course with all those assignments sitting on the computer I’d barely switched on.
I was rich. Free to be and do as I wished.
Then why did I feel trapped?
How could Drake have put a wedge between us?
Especially after everything we’d been through.
If anything, all that death-defying shit should have brought us closer. Like in the movies. I tried scanning my thoughts for a similar movie, but all I could find were small-town romances where some tired executive chick meets a hot shirtless baker.
Nothing like us. Small-town, check. Hot, wish he was always shirtless, despite him not being a baker, check. And me? A tired exec? Hardly. Tired new adult more like it. Exhausted. Like I was about fifty years old or something.
Though I wasn’t in the mood to see her, I had to visit my mother to grab some clothes I’d left behind and other little trinkets of sentimental value, like my only photo of my dad holding me as a baby with love in his eyes. A photo I’d often stared at to remind myself that I was wanted. If only for a moment.
Yes. Feeling sorry for myself again. Been there too many times. That dark feeling where everything had gone dull and grey, like someone had turned the colour down on the television.
I drove to my mum’s, and despite owning a key, I knocked just in case she had George’s dick in her mouth. It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d barged in on a sickening scene involving my mother.
My heart felt like a heavy rock, making my chest sag. I couldn’t even move facial muscles to fake a smile when she opened the door. A waste of time anyway, given that my mother only smiled when she wanted something.
“So, no Lord Bourgeois?” I kicked off my shoes and lounged back on the leather sofa, radiating that new furniture smell.
“It’s Lord Burgoyne.” My mother didn’t realise how ugly she looked when she scowled.
Nice people with good hearts never seemed ugly, I’d noticed. Even plain people. But black-hearted people, no matter how good-looking they were, grew uglier the longer I stared. Especially the eyes. And my mother’s had a cold, hard edge to them when she wasn’t sugaring herself up to someone.
Crisp was the only other person I’d met whose smile never quite made it to his eyes.
What a shame he could only do it with teenagers. He and my mother would have made a great match.
“Why are you here? You’ve got a new apartment, haven’t you?”
