Page 2 of Euphoria

That still haunted her, even now as Mike drove them sedately along the motorway; it was always the motorway where she felt it most. A heightened sense of awareness, the speed, every bump in the road. She breathed deeply and sat back, staring out of the window as her fingers gripped the seatbelt and pulled it tighter, her heart rate already racing faster than it should.

They were almost home, she told herself. Almost home.

Breathe in, breathe out. She remembered the mantra of one of the many therapists she’d paid over the years. Mike took the left, turning at the roundabout, and she felt her heart rate slow, her breathing more stable now they were onto the smaller residential roads that would lead down to the sea, and to where her home was waiting.

Building this house had been a dream come true, even if her neighbours had been opposed at first. The village wasn’t used to new houses being built, but the space had opened up when an old building had come up for sale. It was in a sorry state and didn’t need much of an argument to take it down and rebuild. But it had still been a battle with the council and the locals: the celebrity moving in on their space and causing chaos.

A glass fortress overlooking the beach was somewhat different to all of the other houses along the way, except for one that had set the precedent that allowed Sasha the in to have what she wanted.

In the summer, it was usually wonderful to open up the huge sliding doors and step outside onto the veranda before stepping onto the hot sand and striding into the sea for a swim. In the winter, it was something very different, and she liked that, she liked it a lot. In the midst of the elements, at one with nature swirling all around her. It felt like that today. Sombre and cold, but it was the middle of May.

“Do you want me to come in?” Francine asked as Mike came to a slow halt.

“No, I’ll be fine. You get home to David. I’m just going to have a bath and relax for the rest of the evening.” The door opened and she stepped out. “Thank you, Mike. Will you make sure Francine gets home?”

“Of course.” He nodded, shifting the short blonde hair just poking out from under his hat.

She watched her driver climb back into the car and drive away, Francine already with her nose in her phone. Work never ended with that woman.

She caught her reflection in the mirror and sighed. She was starting to feel old. She mentally berated herself for how ridiculous that sounded. She was barely forty-six, in her prime according to every woman’s magazine she read, so why didn’t she feel it?

Her long dark hair had been impeccable this morning beneath the wide-brimmed hat that hid half of her face from the waiting photographers. They couldn’t just give her today, could they? Desperately flitting around like irritated moths around a lightbulb. She sighed again and turned away from the world, withdrawing inwards towards the sanctuary of her bedroom.

Undressing, she placed the black suit into the washing bin and reached for her gown. The royal blue silk slid against her skin with ease, soft and caressing, familiar. Tying the belt, she wandered into the bathroom and twisted the tap until steaming hot water flowed downwards, splashing into the bath. She added a generous amount of bubble bath, something expensive but worth every penny, as the scent of rose-infused coconut milk filled the air. She breathed it in, remembering a visit to Kuala Lumpa the previous year. She needed a holiday now, though she wouldn’t complain. She was grateful for her life; she really was. It was just…not really what she had expected all those years agowhen she’d been dreaming of success, and with every passing day it was not what she wanted anymore.

Pulling her hair up into a band, she noticed the dark rings around her eyes. The blue hue looked almost grey in this light. Make-up had covered the lids earlier, but the tears and constant dabbing with a tissue had made light work of removing it. Thank god for the sunglasses; otherwise she could just imagine the photos in the papers and magazines from now until someone else’s life became the talk of the media.

She tested the water and, deeming it a little too hot, she twisted the cold tap into the mix and watched as more bubbles erupted into life. A crash of thunder reverberated, and she counted like she did when she was child. One, two, three, four, a flash of lightning lit up the sky and then subsequently the room through the skylight above the bath.

At night, sometimes she would lie in the warm water with the lights off and just stare up at the stars as she touched herself and thought of one of the many women who had graced her bedsheets at one time or another. They never hung around for long. A few weeks, a few months, but eventually, they all left. And the worst thing was, she couldn’t blame them.

She swirled the water again, and this time it was perfect. Shutting off the taps, she slipped from her robe and climbed in, dropping under the warm liquid blanket of foam.

No, she couldn’t blame them.

It was hard to be in her life.

Chapter Two

Huge white-crested waves crashed angrily against the shore outside; she could hear them. Raindrops as big as pennies lashed the glass above with such force that she pushed back, just in case the glass shattered into a million tiny particles. Logically, she knew that couldn’t happen. Each pane was toughened, able to withstand the elements, even a bullet, but as the wind howled, a little doubt crept in.

Her phone buzzed from the other room. A text or email by the sound of it; she didn’t care. Whoever it was could wait. Nothing was more important today than her own well-being.

As her eyes closed and she sank further into the deep bath, her mind wandering back to all those years ago when life had been snatched from so many, and yet, she’d somehow walked away with barely a scratch on her. But she remembered it. Every second of it. She sat up quickly, water pouring over the side as she gasped for breath and tried to calm herself, but it was the noise in her head.

The unbearable screeching that seemed to echo on forever before the tone of it changed into screaming—then the silence. Just for a second, complete silence before the noise thrust back in again, deafening her screams. She’d been twenty-five, and now she was forty-six and feeling every year of it as she fought off yet another panic attack.

Five dead, one in a coma, two more with broken bones, and herself, Sasha Montgomery, walking away as thoughnothing had happened. Twenty plus years had passed and still it haunted her.

She was reminded more so on days like today.

Her dad dying was expected; he’d been ill for a while, but still, you’re never quite ready for death’s touch on your life, are you?

The fucking press, always trying to get a picture, and always somehow managing to find a way to print a picture of that bloody bus.

She felt her heart race just thinking about it.

But if the accident had taught her anything, it was that life was for living, and she’d done her best with that over the years. Exploring as much of the world as she could. Meeting people and exploring herself, spiritually and sexually.

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