15 | Tinder Crisis

WHEN I ARRIVED BACK AT the flat I shared with my father, it was late at night and darkness had fallen. I drove home in a daze, barely focused enough to stop at red lights or keep track of where I was going. When I got in, dad had gone to bed but Jonah was dozing on the La-Z-Boy in front of the TV. There was a box of half eaten pizza gone cold on the table beside him and an empty can of Stellar he'd dropped on the floor when he fell asleep.

Silently, I tip-toed around the chair to pick up the rubbish without waking him. It was late, but I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep after the adrenaline rush I'd just undergone. Equally, I didn't want to wake Jonah. I couldn't tell him what had happened tonight, and I was sure he'd be quick to ask questions.

The TV was still playing some late night show quietly in the background of the room, providing a welcome distraction from my thoughts. I went over to the window and pulled back the curtains. Over the distant, blurry London skyline no stars twinkled in the inky darkness; the whole world seemed to be swathed in a thick coating of black permeated only by the dim glow of streetlights. I wondered if Alex was looking up at the same sky. I wondered where he was, in the metropolis of skyscrapers and houses and millions of people. I wondered what he was doing.

I checked my watch. It was almost half eleven; to some the night was young. I had nine and a half hours to make my decision—nine and a half hours until a car would pull up on the street outside and I would either stay or go.

"Grace?" Jonah's sleep-lulled voice sounded from behind me and I startled. I turned around and he was stood by my right shoulder, staring out of the window. His eyes met mine. "Where did you go?" he asked. "It's late."

My stomach twisted with guilt sharply but I pushed it down. "Lena's," I said. "She was, um—well, she was having a crisis over this guy she met on Tinder and—"

"Lena called around here earlier, Grace," Jonah said calmly. "While you were out. She was wondering where you were."

"I—oh." I floundered for an excuse while Jonah's eyes watched me curiously. He didn't look angry or upset, yet I couldn't quite make out what he was thinking. "Um—"

He placed a hand on my shoulder and I noticed how normal that touch felt—flat and without spark. It didn't feel like that when Alexei touched me. "Where were you, Grace?" Jonah asked gently. His eyes were soft and searching. "You can tell me."

Why did he sound understanding? Why wasn't he angry with me? I stared back at him, abjection growing in my chest. He should have been furious. He should demand to know where I'd been, he should—stop. I was only feeling this way because of my own guilt. It churned inside me beneath the gentleness of Jonah's gaze.

I shook my head slightly and turned back to the window, muttering, "does it matter?"

"Of course it matters," he said.

"I don't have to inform you of every breath I take, Jonah," I retorted icily.

His hand fell off my shoulder. "That's true, you don't have to tell me anything. I just wanted to know that you were okay. Are you tired? Should we go to bed?"

"No."

"Okay," he sighed. "Do you want me to stay up with you?"

Another wave of irritation washed over me and, digging my curled fists around the edge of the radiator beneath the window, I shook my head, "no."

"Well...alright." Jonah leaned down to kiss me on my cheek. "Wait—" something in my chest froze over as he stared down at me, "—what's that on your shirt?"

"What?" I scoffed but he was turning me around, hands on my shoulders firmly. The dim light from the table lamp hit my shirt and illuminated the vibrant red patches on it. The second I saw them I felt my breath catch in my throat, and I quickly grabbed the material out of Jonah's hands, turning away again.

"Grace—" he began but I was moving away from him, desperate to hide the evidence of what I'd been involved with. I didn't want Jonah to know. Hell, I didn't want my dad to know the sort of man I'd been associating with.

"Just leave me alone, Jonah," I snapped.

"Was that blood on your shirt, Grace—?"

"I said leave me alone!" He followed me into the kitchen but I pushed past him, turning the tap on full-pelt and holding a cloth beneath the water.

Jonah stood by my side and looked down at me as I scrubbed the stains, darkening the grey material to a charcoal colour. The water ran down the drain pink. "Jesus, Grace," he breathed. "What happened?"

"It doesn't matter," I growled, struggling to get the last patch of red off. I probably looked like some crazed murderer. God only knows what Jonah thought I'd done—I didn't want to know. "I think you should go," I told him.

"Did you get called into the hospital for something?" he persisted. I pursed my lips and said nothing. "Was there—was there some sort of accident?"

"Jonah!"

"What?"

"Leave it alone." I pushed past him out of the kitchen and a strange awareness washed over me. I knew I was being ridiculous, I knew he didn't deserve to be treated like this, but I was ashamed. Admitting where I'd been—and who I'd been with—was a thought I couldn't even bare to process. His whole life my father had fought to keep people safe; he'd been an active member of Amnesty International, he donated to the British Red Cross and a hundred other charities he thought might help people. He was a good man—a man I respected.

Alexei, whoever he was, whatever he was, wasn't good. Normal people didn't wind up in hospital with gunshot wounds from a 'gas explosion'. Normal people didn't wind up getting shot again only months later. In fact, normal people didn't drive bloody Lamborghinis or have medical supplies locked away underground! The more I thought about it, the more abnormal it all seemed. And yet, it thrilled me. I was intrigued. Every time he touched me it made my skin burn; every glance was enough to push me over the edge. Most importantly, however, I wanted to know. Who was Alex, and what did he do?

I was curious to the point of obsession.

"I'm going to bed," I told Jonah, marching over to my bedroom door. He was hot on my heels.

"Grace—"

"Goodnight." I slammed the door before he had the chance to stop me and then pressed my back to it. My window had been left open and a light breeze wafted in, causing the wetness of my shirt to cool my skin. I shivered involuntarily and closed my eyes, listening for any signs that Jonah was still here. I heard him pad across he hallway again and then the front door shut. He didn't slam it. He didn't walk away cursing. He was just gone.

I let out a shaky breath and finally stepped away from the door, pulling my shirt over my head.

It was going to be a long night.

I hadn't set an alarm because I wasn't going. I'd decided, after hours of sleepless tossing and turning beneath the tangled sheets, that I was going to do the right thing.

I would do it because I owed it to my dad—the man who had raised me. The man who taught me right from wrong, who gave me the gift of knowledge and the ability to practice that knowledge in medicine. The gift was his—not mine to give away. So I wouldn't. I shut my phone off, put it in a drawer, and went to sleep.

When I woke again I was alert. It was the kind of waking where you're not sure if you'd ever been asleep at all—the abrupt kind, like someone called your name. I pulled my phone out of the draw and switched it on. Memories of last night seemed very far away in the sunlight that streamed through my window. Almost as though none of it had ever happened.

At least—until I saw the time on my phone. It was 9:02 a.m., and a sudden dread gripped my heart. Jumping out of bed, I cursed myself for being such an early riser, dashing over to the window. The curtains billowed gently in and out as I stood beside them, not quite daring to look any further.

"Don't be stupid," I hissed to myself, pulling one of the purple drapes back. Outside, on the street, a sleek black SUV was idling quietly next to my hunk-of-crap Toyota. The windows were tinted, the front one rolled down ever so slightly. I squinted and leaned closer, peering my head out of the open window. I couldn't see anybody inside the car, but every few seconds a plume of ashy grey smoke would diffuse out of the crack in the tinted glass.

Like a frightened child I pulled back from the window, heart hammering furiously. Alexei's words echoed in my head again and again, the car will wait ten minutes only. I checked my phone—it was five past nine.

I wasn't going to go. Five minutes until I never had to think about it again. Maybe it would be best to distract myself—make a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal. Go about my day as usual. I pulled on a pair of jeans and a cami top quickly, unable to explain why a thrill of nervous excitement was shuddering through me.

I wasn't getting in that car.

The living room was still cold from the chill of the night—the bright morning sunlight hadn't yet reached enough height to stream through the windows. I padded across the cold carpet barefoot, eyeing my Docs by the door. No. I wasn't going.

In the kitchen I pulled a bowl out of the cupboard and set it on the counter. Checked my phone. Four minutes to go. Poured my cereal. Checked my phone. Three minutes to go. Got the milk out of the fridge and put it in. Two minutes. Two and a half...

On the pin board above the far kitchen wall, my work rota glared at me. I was due at the hospital in three hours. I hadn't even told them I was going to quit—I couldn't just not turn up. Could I?

"No," I scorned myself, forcefully putting a spoon into my bowl. But there was only one minute to go...

"Fuck it." I grabbed my Docs from the front door and didn't even bother putting them on—I ran straight through the front door and out onto the street. The concrete was sharp and rough against my bare feet but I didn't care; I didn't have time to care.

For a moment the bright sun blinded me and I had to force my eyes to focus, desperately searching for the SUV. I found my Toyota parked just down the street but the sleek black vehicle no longer idled beside it. I was too late!

Then I saw it. Slowly moving away. I started running. I didn't care how much it hurt or how unlikely it was that I'd catch up when the car got some speed up. I just ran. And ran.

It didn't stop until I was almost running alongside it, and even before the wheels had fully ground to a halt I grabbed the passenger-side door and flung it open. "Wait!" I panted at the startled driver, who pulled the handbrake forcefully up and stared at me, bewildered.

I was surprised to find it wasn't Alex who sat behind the wheel. Instead, a man who looked to be a few years older with very dark hair cropped close to his head stared back at me. His eyes were a murky green colour, his lips a very pale, almost white shade of pink.

"Miss Perne?" he asked in an accent so thick it took me a moment to understand what he'd said. Then I nodded slowly.

"Yeah—yes, that's me."

His eyes swept over me then, quickly and in a clinical manner. They lingered on my Docs which I still clutched to my chest. "Back," he said, inclining his head towards the rear end of the SUV. "Shoes first."

"Okay," I said breathlessly, nodding along as if to convey my full compliance. I got the impression he didn't speak much English. "Thanks."

I shut the front door and stuffed my feet into my Docs, groaning at how long it took to put them on. Alexei and his people didn't seem like the type who would be particularly inclined to wait around.

Inside the SUV was sleek and new-smelling. The interior was made of soft leather, and everything—even on the dashboard up front—was black. I made sure to clip my seatbelt in and then stared out of the thick windows. I wondered if they were bulletproof, but thought it better not to ask. The driver pulled away almost as soon as I'd sat down.

Like it or not, I was going back to the Docks.

Like & Comment