Page 36 of London's Calling: Part 1
“Veronica, two more weeks.”
“For what?” I say, bending to look back in the car at him as he taps the steering wheel.
“In two weeks, you’ll be my wife and as such, I’ll fuck you if and when I choose. Enjoy the rest of your weekend, babe.” He winks, then gestures for me to close the door.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Roni
I watch as Clayton peels down my father’s drive, then I spin and march toward the front door. I want to scream—scream into the night like the sound of despair will bring the wrath of god down on Clayton. But I’m not that fucking lucky. If I was then my mother would still be here, and I would have been gifted a father who gave a shit about his daughter instead of one who just wants to sell her to the highest bidder.
I look up at the house. It’s dark, no lights, no sign of life, and the thought of being in there alone sends my mind spiralling. Carl was notably absent tonight, and I have the distinct sense that once I become Mrs Clayton Simmonds, the only time I’ll see Carl will be when—no, if I visit my father. I won’t need protection any longer. Of course not when I’m already living with the enemy.
Screw this! I open my handbag and dig around for my keys. Finding them, I pull them free and head for the parked cars, unlocking my car as I near. Five minutes later, I’m winding my way down the road toward Mayfair.
Am I making a mistake? Of course. Isn’t that what twenty-year-old girls do? Sex, drugs, alcohol and bad decisions, the staple of every young adult. But my life can’t possibly get any worse. I’m being forced to marry a man I can’t stand, trick the man I’m sleeping with, my family’s enemy, all while living with the winner of the Worst Father of the Year award.
Switching the engine off when I pull up outside my apartment, I pause, staring up at the windows of the apartment Mickey is currently living in. Like my father’s house, it’s dark and shows no sign of life. Sighing, I open the glove box and search for the little bag of charlie I know should be in here.
“Ah, there you are,” I mutter as my fingers crinkle around the plastic.
I tuck it in my pocket, then go inside. I immediately pour myself a large drink and begin cutting a line of charlie on the marble worktop using my credit card. Happy with it, I lick the edge of the card before placing it back in my purse, removing a twenty-pound note, then I swallow down the couple of fingers of whiskey I poured. Rolling the twenty, I take a breath, knowing I shouldn’t do this, but then I lower my head and snort the line, throwing my head back as the first particles seep into my blood stream.
My head flops forward as I wait for the buzz to hit. And when it does, the relief is instant. I pour another whiskey, then pick up the glass and wonder around the apartment.
I trail my fingers along the wall as I head upstairs to the bedrooms. I poke my head in each room as I go. I’m not sure what I’m checking for and find myself laughing at…nothing in particular. When I reach the spare room, which is currently filled with boxes I haven’t got around to emptying, I step inside. Bringing my glass to my mouth, I take a sip as my eyes land on an open box near the wardrobe. It’s filled with old university papers, and I turn up my nose, scoffing at the waste of the last few years and hard work. All for nothing. I down the rest of my drink and dump the glass in the box.
I open the wardrobe to find…a door. The clothes that are hanging inside have been pushed aside and at the back, now in plain sight is a fucking door.
That’s how he’s been getting in here.
I’d be impressed if I gave a damn, but I don’t tonight. I step into the wardrobe, gripping the hidden door’s handle, then I take a breath before giving it a turn. Of course it doesn’t fucking open.
Fine. I can deal with that. Retreating from the wardrobe, I close the doors, then scan the room for something I can use to block the door. After dismissing the boxes as being too light, my eyes land on the bedroom door. And there it is.
A key.
I smile as I stride toward the door and pull the key from the inside keyhole. Feeling like I’ve won, I slip it into the outside keyhole, then I step back into the hall, closing the door behind me. Spinning around, I twist the key in the lock. There’s an immense sense of satisfaction as I practically skip back downstairs to the kitchen and pour myself another whiskey, in a clean glass having left the last one in the guest room. But as I take the first mouthful while cutting a second line of charlie, it’s eclipsed by an unexplainable feeling of loss. Like I just lost something I didn’t know was mine to lose or had any right to.
I shake the feeling away, snort my line and down my whiskey. The rest of the night passes much the same, and I eventually collapse on the sofa face down.
Bang, bang, bang!
I was expecting a headache but not a full brass band thumping away in my head this morning, well, I’m guessing it’s morning. I need to work up to opening my eyes?—
Bang, bang, bang!
“Urgh…move, Roni. Get up and hydrate your poor, abused body,” I mumble and attempt to raise my head, but my head feels like a twenty-kilo weight, and my neck is nowhere near strong enough to hold it up.
Bang! Bang!
The banging inside my head just ratcheted up a couple of decibels as I push myself up from the sofa. My back and neck cry out in protest, and if I don’t have a crook neck from sleeping like that—head half on half off a cushion—then I’m bloody lucky. My uncoordinated body slides off the edge of the sofa, knees hitting the floor with a thump, echoing loudly in my head and quickly followed by another round of bangs.
I just make it to my feet when my phone rings, making me jump. I cradle my head, covering my ears, as I search for the damn thing, which unfortunately involves opening my eyes more than a crack.
By the time I find it, it’s stopped. Not recognising the number, I continue to the kitchen for that glass of water and some headache tablets. I’ve barely made it two steps when the banging starts again, only it’s not in my head but coming from…upstairs.
Ignoring the banging, I grab a glass of water and take some ibuprofen before climbing the stairs. I hear him before I even reach the top of the stairs.
