Page 9 of Escape

“Mel?”

I give him a quick peck on the lips then finish getting dressed.

“All good things must come to an end,” I say, smiling at him.

He opens his mouth to say something but then changes his mind and simply nods. He knows it was never meant to be more than one night, why pretend otherwise?

“Goodbye, Kyle,” I say while picking up my bag from by the door. “Thanks for everything.”

I pull my hood up tighter as the rain picks up, cold droplets sliding down the back of my neck. The streets are nearly empty this late... or early, I am not sure what time it is. My boots hit the pavement in a steady rhythm, but my head feels anything but steady.

This night was supposed to help. A distraction. A bit of company to fill the silence. But now, walking home in the drizzle, it all feels… hollow. Like I’ve just piled more weight onto the mess already in my chest. I shove my hands into my coat pockets, trying to keep the cold out and my thoughts in check, but it’s no use. They creep in anyway.

It starts, as it always does, with the noise. That horrible rumble of the landslide, loud enough to drown out everything else. I try to focus on the wet pavement ahead, on the tiny puddles forming in the cracks, but the memory is already there, full force. The truck spinning, the crunch of metal, the world turning upside down.

I shake my head, almost violently, and force myself to keep walking. I tell myself to think about something else, anything else, but it’s like trying to hold back the tide. Arif’s laugh cuts through my thoughts, that warm, familiar sound. It twists into something else—the stillness of him after the crash. I swallow hard, my throat tight.

I can see Jon and Will too, battered and bleeding, Jon’s hands working so desperately to save Arif.

I don’t realise I’ve stopped walking until I feel the rain hitting me harder, soaking through my coat. My hands are shaking, but I can’t seem to move. My breathing is gone all uneven, and there’s this horrible tightness in my chest, like I can’t quite get enough air.

You did your best, I tell myself, the way everyone else says.You couldn’t have done more.

But the other voice—the one that’s always there, just under the surface—it doesn’t let up.You made the call! You decided to go! Couldn’t you have done a bit more research to find out if it was safe to go?

I press my hand to my stomach, trying to calm the rising panic. Just keep walking. Just keep moving. I force my legs to work again, counting every step to drown out the noise in my head. One, two, three… just walk. Focus on the sound of your boots.

By the time I turn onto my street, the memories are tucked back in their corner. For now. They’ll come back. They always do. But I’ve managed to push them aside for a little while, and that’s going to have to be enough.

Chapter 4

Owen

The clock on themicrowave glows4:58 a.m., and I question why I am not back in bed. The low hiss of the kettle fills the flat, blending with the soft creak of the floorboards beneath my bare feet.

I rub my eyes and glance toward the front door, holding my breath at the faint hope of hearing her footsteps. She’s been doing this for weeks now—coming in at odd hours, her hairmussed, her laugh a little too forced when she catches me waiting up.

The lock clicks, and the door creaks open. My breath catches as the familiar sound of her boots hits the floor. She steps into view a moment later, her denim jacket slipping off one shoulder, her skirt short enough to make me glance away before I realise I don’t need to.

“Hey,” she says, stopping in the doorway when she spots me. Her voice is light, breezy, but there’s something in the way she shifts her weight, the way her eyes flick toward the clock, that gives her away. “You’re up early.”

“Could say the same about you,” I reply, nodding toward the clock.

She shrugs out of her jacket and tosses it over the back of a chair. “Long night.”

I force a smile, watching as she heads to the sink and grabs a glass from the cupboard.

“Where were you?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light.

She freezes for half a second, her back to me, before she fills the glass with water. “Out,” she says simply.

“Out,” I echo, leaning back against the counter. “That’s helpful.”

She turns then, her lips quirking into a faint smirk as she takes a long sip of water. “Places people go when they’re not sitting in their kitchen at five in the morning.”

Her smirk tugs at something deep in me, that same stupid, familiar pull I’ve never been able to shake. I hate the idea of her out there, with whoever she was with tonight, but I shove the thought aside before it can take hold.

“You’ve been out a lot lately,” I say, keeping my tone as casual as I can.

---