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For the last three weeks every time I’ve heard her voice I’ve done nothing but think of the two of them and of all the ways I still want to beat the shit out of Jack for going near her.
Right now, I want to sit on the steps behind her and bend her over my lap so I can smack some sense into her. She has no idea who she’s playing with. Jack’s a snake. His only loyalty is to himself.
Her hand reaches for me and before she touches me and obliterates the scrap that’s left of my self-control, I pull away.
I turn around and walk away as fast as I can before I lose it all together. Every step is punctuated with the need to turn back, grab her and fucking devour her. My feelings are a fucking jumbled mess. I want to fuck her, punish her for being so naïve, and protect her from all the shit she doesn’t know.
I feel her watch me walk up the side of the building, and when I get to my bike and put my helmet on, it feels like I can relax. Turns out schooling your features is like exercise, it leaves your facial muscles achy.
Getting on my Ninja, I go. I let the sound of the engine drown out my thoughts. I pretend that she really is just another girl. I pretend that she means nothing. That she is no one.
Of course, I’m lying, and as with all lies, the relief they bring is momentary. It only lasts long enough for me to get away from her. My Buttercup.
Chapter 5
Cassandra
Taking a deep breath so I don’t go off on a tangent of unladylike curses at the idiot who almost takes me out, I continue crossing the busy West London road. I’m supposed to be at a lecture, that’s where Christopher dropped me off under an hour ago. But my head is all over the place for me to be able to focus on work.
Honestly, I can’t even hear myself think, I’m struggling with it lately. All I can hear is his voice on repeat. The same words again and again because he’s barely said shit to me and I’m incapable of thinking about anything or anyone apart from him.
Never in my life have I been this stupidly absorbed outside of my love of art. I’m not even sure if he likes me, but the way he looks at me…it makes me forget myself. Like nothing exists outside of him. He looks at me like he knows me. Like he’s always seen me, and there is something about him that’s so familiar, and yet I can’t place.
It’s frustrating, that and the fact that every time our eyes meet or we’re in close proximity, he can’t seem to get away fast enough. I don’t get it. It’s like he can’t stand me.
But why?
Why does he look at me like he could eat me up, but he acts like—I don’t know—I’m nothing? Inconsequential, when he feels anything but that to me.
Trying to shake off that eerie feeling of being watched, I do a three-sixty, taking a good look around me as I reach the bottom of the church steps.
It’s a sinister feeling, and with the cold shadow of the large limestone building and the palpable presence of history and peace. It’s overwhelming.
History and peace shouldn’t be able to co-exist in one place. If there is anything that is more certain than the concrete I am standing on, it’s that history is not made of peace. No, it’s made by cruel wars and precious blood spilt.
We are all a product of bloodshed. The peacemakers, the warmongers and everyone else in between. Our future has been built on blood soaked earth.
Shaking off the goose bumps that cover my skin, I look up to find Fleur is already pacing outside the double height and width mahogany doors of the old catholic church. The architecture is typical neo-classical, Italian baroque, it is a testament to Gribble’s eye for detail.
She pauses when she realises I’m procrastinating with my steps. Putting one foot and then the other on every step before I take the next one up.
“You’re late!” she nags, scowling at me. “It’s cold and it’s going to rain. All the good light is gone!”
Of course she’s upset about not having enough light to sketch her favourite Madonna.
“I’m sorry.” I sound genuinely remorseful, more so than I feel, as I take the next step up with the same slowness as before. “Christopher insisted on dropping me off this morning, it’s six months since Grandad…” My voice dries in my throat and I wish that the holy ground we’re on was enough to soothe the pain in my chest. “Anyway, Mum took Nan to the cemetery and everyone is feeling it. You know what Christopher’s like; he works through his feelings by making sure everyone else is okay.”
“I can’t begrudge you now,” she gives me her non-resting bitch face, but then it softens like chocolate in the sun. “But seriously, are you all right and Penny…your nan?”
I take a moment to reply as we walk through the entrance to the vast building. It’s empty and silent.
“They’re holding up. These have felt like the longest months ever, and some days feel like they’re never going to end, you know?”
“Yeah, I do.” A pained grimace twists her face. “It’s been almost four years since my mum, you know, and I still miss her. It’s a good thing I have yours. Penny’s my saving grace, and I swear your dad keeps mine in line.”
Although she’s chuckling, it sounds put on. Despite all her bravado, I am fully aware of the sadness Fleur carries around with her. It feels at odds with this place.
The London Oratory is one of the most beautiful architectural masterpieces I have ever been in. As we walk down the central aisle, I have no choice but to take it all in all over again, like it’s my first time here.
