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“I don’t live in the city. I live by the sea, in Brighton.”
“I see,” he says, his voice icy. “What about your job? You’re an art teacher? Are you really here on holiday?”
I hesitate.
His eyes narrow. “Tell me thetruth, Goddamnit.”
“I am an art teacher. Or I was,” I admit. “But I’m not on holiday. I was fired.”
A muscle twitches in his jaw. He turns away, taking in a deep breath. “Jesusfucking Christ.”
I close my eyes, tears streaming down over my cheeks. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. I can’t explain what happened without telling him the whole story. And then he might see the video. I’d rather die than let him see the video.
“Stop crying,” he barks, pulling himself upright. He towers over me. It feels like he’s filling up the whole room with his cold fury. “Whoareyou? Why are you here? Why thefuckdid you fuckingcome here? Making us all care for you, when it was all just a lie?”
I reach for him. “Riven, I’m so sorry—please let me explain—”
“No.” He snatches his arm back. “I don’t want you to explain. I don’t want to hear your excuses.”
“But…”
“NO!”He roars, and I flinch back, horrified, as his voice echoes around the lounge. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time! I don’t want to listen to any more lies!”
I close my mouth. Riv’s never shouted at me before. I didn’t even think he could. But now the calm, gentle doctor has been stripped away, and I don’t recognise him anymore.
He’s silent for a moment, chest heaving. Then he turns and heads for the desk, opening up his laptop.
Fear gushes through me. “No. Please don’t look me up.”
He ignores me. I grab his arm, trying to pull him away from the laptop. “Riven, please, please,please,if you care about me at all,do not look me up. PLEASE!”
He shakes me off. “I need to know who the Hell I’ve been keeping in my house all this time. I want to know who I’ve been letting into mybed every night.What, are you some kind of criminal? Are you in trouble with the police?”
“No, I—”
“Then why do you care if I search your name?”He opens a web browser.
Fear bolts through me. I can’t stop him. He’s going to see the video.
He’s going to see the video.
I have to get out of here. I can’t be here while he watches it. I can’t.
I barely even think as I run to my room. I ignore my suitcase. I don’t care about it. I just have to get out of here. I can barely breathe. I pull on an extra sweater and a second pair of socks, then rip out a page from my sketchbook and scribble a quick note. In the hallway, Riven barks something I don’t understand. I jump, heart thudding.“Eli,” he growls. There’s a radio hiss.
Shit. He must be telling the others to come back. I skitter through the living room, grab my wallet, and pull on a pair of snowshoes, bundling into my coat. When I push open the front door, I have to lean against the wall for a few seconds. I feel weak. My chest is burning. There are tears rolling down my face.
The snow is heavier than it was this morning, but it should be fine to walk in. Riven was out here an hour ago. All I need to do is get to the village; then I can find a place to stay until the weather clears up. I can get my car, and drive away to some new town, and forget any of this ever happened.
I push myself off the wall and start trekking through the snow. I can’t be in that house with him anymore. I can’t just sit there while he watches that video of me. Even thinking about it makes my lungs squeeze and my stomach flip.
My vision starts going dark at the edges. Fat frozen flakes sting my eyes and cheeks. I swallow down a sob as I plough forward.
Oh my God. I’m all alone again.
Twenty-Five
Eli
