Page 39 of Chasing Storm
I scamper off down the street, head down, clutching the handle of my bag, when I hear a woman’s voice call out, “Storm?”
I stop and turn to it, not having recognised her. A pretty blonde woman saunters up to me, her blue eyes wide and innocent, a smile on her face.
“Hi, I’m Emma,” she says. “Can we talk?”
“About what, Emma?” I ask. “I’m kind of in a hurry.”
A hurry to get indoors where no one can find me.
“It’s about Thatcher Sinclair.”
I frown and start walking again.
She keeps in step with me, forcing me to ask, “What about him?”
“I heard a rumour that he was there last night when Josh broke up you and Franco. I don’t know what’s going on with you and them but know that Thatcher climbed out of my bed this morning. I don’t want you to get hurt, you know…”
I stop walking and turn to glare at her. Is she for real? “And?”
She blinks, slightly taken aback that I haven’t started wailing in disappointment at her words.
“Well, just, you know, we’re together again, and I don’t want anything fucking it up. Do what you want with Josh and JP, but Thatcher is mine, ‘kay?”
She folds her arms defensively, glaring expectantly at me.
“Fine,” I say eventually when it becomes apparent she wants me to say something. “He’s all yours. Have all three of them. My give a fuck fairy is on strike.”
Her eyeballs nearly pop out of her sockets. “Great,” she splutters as if she has no clue what else to say. “I just wanted to clear that up.”
“Good for you. See ya.” I stalk off, marching up the pavement, desperate to get away from this woman who has crushed whatever hope I might’ve had about them. They haven’t changed one single bit. Thatcher crawled out of Emma’s bed to greet me with coffee this morning. I mean, what. The. Fuck?
That’s if this girl is to be believed.
It’s just more games and I’m so over it. I want to move on from this and find a real man to settle down with and be happy.
“They can all fuck off,” I grumble as I stub my toe on a crooked paving stone, cursing loudly to the amusement of the pack of youths standing outside the newsagents.
Could this day get any worse?
Don’t answer that, Storm. You are asking for trouble.
I practically run the rest of the way home and shut myself into my flat, leaning against the door as my bag drops from my shoulder to the floor. Tears spring into my eyes, and I brush them away. Ever since they came into my life because of that fucking Cockapoo, my life has gone to shit, and revelations about myself have sprung up that I’m not ready for.
There is only one clear thing in mind that I have to do now.
Bending down to snatch my phone out of my bag, I call my mum.
“Everything okay?” she asks as usual.
“No!” I wail. “I need help.”
“What with?” She remains calm in the face of my anguish.
“I need you to help me find a man to settle down with.”
Silence.
“Mum? Are you still there?”
