My mood is foul. I’ve snapped at everyone, until in the end I left Tabitha to clean up with the group this afternoon. So, I’ve put on some leggings, a running bra, and my trainers. I may as well run around this estate while I’m here.

I run for nearly forty-five minutes. The formal gardens give way to what must be a deer park lined with a deep and tall brick wall.

I let him in.

I didn’t want to. But I did.

Stupid, weak Faith Hitchin.

This isn’t how I do things, not anymore. Relationships, physical gratification, they are on my terms—no one else’s. Yet, I was foolish enough to believe him when he said he wanted to set me free. I thought he wanted to unbind the shackles I keep myself tightly locked in.

When will I learn?

Trust costs.

When I get back, I evade the main house. I don’t want to see Tabitha, to have to explain that her brother put me in a foul mood all because he talked to me like a stranger.

I knew he was going to be like that. He told me he would in no uncertain terms.

So why does it sting?

I slide on some skinny jeans and a vest top which I place an oversized loose knitted V-neck over. It does nothing to hide my tattoos but I don’t want to hide them. I want to wear them as my armour.

Deep under the surface of my skin is the familiar need, the ache, the itch that can never be scratched, to lose myself in unfamiliar hands, attachment free: no thoughts, no feelings, no pain, just how I like it.

The village is small, only two pubs to choose from: the one I took Tabitha to, and the other that doesn’t look like the kind of place Elijah will be known by name behind the bar. I slip out of Bowsley’s gates and make my way down the leafy green, shady, and narrow lanes.

The pub is just like I want. There are no hushed gatherings of middle-aged couples sipping wine, and the jukebox is blaring loud intoxicating tunes. I ask for a double vodka on ice and then sit in a corner seat, happy to just let the world go by. Well the world that is The Angel pub.

My one double vodka turns into four and my blood starts to run warm. I’m at the bar chatting to the girl serving; she’s thinking of getting ink and wants to know what I think. After watching her for the last half an hour I’m sketching on a sheet of paper she pulled from under the bar.

There’s a guy to the right. His dark eyes are on my skin and from under them I force all thoughts of Elijah from my mind. I shouldn’t have let him in—now I’m going to force him out.

It’s just sex. Just once. Then move on.

“What about this?” I turn it to the girl with the blonde hair behind the bar. She’s delicate but with a no-shit edge. She admired my roses, so I’ve gone for a flowery theme.

She stares at my sketch. “Jesus, did you just draw that right now with a biro?” She pulls the lilies closer. I grin and nod.

“Lilies are beautiful, but they are a bitch when they stain your clothes.”

“What’s that?” She lifts the paper and peers closer.

“It’s a bee, buried deep but ready to sting if needed.”

It’s how I feel. Dangerous.

“This is amazing. Do you mind if I get it done?” She stares at it so close, her nose is almost touching the paper. “I’m Vanessa, by the way.”

“Faith.” I offer my hand. “Of course, you can. It’s yours. You’ll have to find the right person though, you need a delicate touch.”

She pours me another double—not that I need it. “Would you do it?”

I shake my head and sip my drink, sensing the weight of the guy on the next bar stool weigh down on my skin. “No, I don’t have my stuff with me.”

“Couldn’t you get it?” Vanessa laughs nervously. “Sorry, I’m being pushy, but I’m getting a good vibe from you.”

“I can’t get my kit.” I shake my head firmly. I could get my kit, but I don’t want to. Those days are long behind me.

I down my drink and slip off my stool. “I’ve got to get back. I’ve another busy day tomorrow.” All I can hope, I think to myself, is that I’m in a better mood. My eyes slide to the side and see the guy make a move to leave too. If I can just erase Elijah from my head, I know it will help. I just need to forget.

It’s late and dark outside. I don’t know how late, but the yellow street lamps are lighting the car park. “Hey, Faith” the man calls, and I whirl around.

Just close your eyes and do it, Faith, then you can get rid of him.

I’ve been telling myself this for a long time. No one can control me. I choose how and when.

What I haven’t realised until this very moment, is that over the last few days my mind has been so full of Elijah I haven’t thought of anything else. No bad memories. No cravings to help me forget.

The realisation floors me.

But he doesn’t want me…

Lost and frighteningly alone, I contemplate the man in front of me. “Sorry, I’ve got to get going.” I begin to back away.

“Come now, Faith, you’ve been making eyes at me all night, I know you’re keen.”

Am I keen? God, I’m so fucking confused, I don’t know what I’m doing.

I shake my head, but my hand reaches for the guy’s shirt. What my hand is doing, I don’t know. I’m torn. Confused.

A flicker to the right makes me turn a searching gaze.

Elijah.

Sat on the table top of one of the pub’s picnic benches, he’s watching me from under hooded lids. My legs shake a little, my knees wobbling as I lurch a step towards him. “What are you doing here?” I don’t give the random from the bar a second look and assume he walks away as my attention is pulled to the place it should be.

“I missed you.”

His words unravel every single talking to I’ve spent the day giving myself. They floor me.

“Are you busy?” There’s an element of scorn to his tone and my stomach twists. I have nothing to be guilty about, we are nothing to one another, he’s made that clear, but a nibble of unrest bites me inside.

The way he fills my head, his scent, his presence, is all encompassing.

It doesn’t erase the disappointment I’ve felt all day. I step another foot closer. And then another. My heart pounds in my chest, my tongue dry and tingling.

“I’m not busy.”

He knows, though. I can sense it. He knows what I was thinking of doing with that stranger, but he will never understand why.

It’s my sting, my burn, my protection.

He tugs me closer, his fingers weaving into the knit of my sweater. “What are you doing, Faith?” His question is a low murmur.

My insides coil and tighten, that age old need to run edging me to make a dash for it.

“Nothing,” I mumble, but a wave of emotion floods me from the inside out.

“Is this because I was busy this morning and couldn’t chat?”

“No.” I stare at my sandals.

“Faith?” He tilts my chin, so I look at him.

“No. It’s not that.”

“What then?” A hardened edge creeps into his words. “Because as far as I can tell, you stink of vodka and were leaving the local with a guy, who honestly doesn’t look like he’s washed in a couple of days.”

I scrunch my face with repulsion, anger coursing through me. My hands smack against his chest, pushing him backwards. “You don’t get to judge me, Elijah.”

“You’re kind of giving me good reasons to do just that.”

“Don’t you dare judge me, you bloody bastard. We can’t all be emotionally cut off like you.”

He laughs, and it downright infuriates me. My face floods with heat. “Emotionally cut off? Are you referring to our telephone conversation? Because I was surrounded by my partners after coming out of a crucial five-hour meeting where we bartered concessions with the opposition.”

He has me there. I didn’t think for one moment maybe he wasn’t in a position to speak. I just assumed he was giving me the brush off; that his hot and cold routine was winning out on the side of freezing cold.

“Well, what about the other night? You were all over me like a fucking rash, and then last night it was like we were fifteen and scared to go under the covers.”

He grins, and my fist tightens ready to punch his smug face. “You want me,” he taunts. One hand snakes out and grabs the waistband of my jeans, tugging me closer, hooking on the belt loop. “Sunshine, I’m just waiting for you to give me the go ahead. You know my stipulation.”

His lips skim my throat, scorching a pathway of fire as he reaches my ear and gives a gentle nip with his teeth. “Just waiting for your say.”

My skin heats and cools all at the same time. My legs tremble as I try to get a grip on the situation, try to gain some control back. I can’t, it’s all gone, lost in his touch.

This is Elijah at his most perplexing: hot, determined, and driven. It speaks to a deep, dark part of myself that I’ve never given the chance to come to light.

He pulls me closer between his legs, clamping his thighs around my hips, tugging me forward until I’m losing balance and falling into his chest and lap. Through the dark material of his jeans his erection rubs against my pelvis, and it does nothing to fight through the static buzzing in my head.

Give in, Faith.

I shake my head and he chuckles. “Do you need a conversation with yourself? Should I step away and give you some space?”

My eyes screw shut so I can’t see his smile, the dancing light in his eyes, his lips I want to kiss so badly.

“I don’t let people in.” I open my eyes and stare at him openly. My palms stretch across his T-shirt, hard and soft all at the same time.

“And I don’t get to be with anyone I want. Maybe somehow this is perfect right now, just for us.”

That’s it. It’s all he has to say. My defences crumble.

“Nothing more than what’s in the moment. You can’t fix me, Elijah.”

“And you can’t be my girlfriend.”

“I won’t want to be.” I’m convinced of this. I’ve never been anyone’s girlfriend. I’m not made of the right stuff.

His lips meet my mouth; brushing, caressing, drifting in a heavenly touch. “Tell me you’re a rule breaker,” he whispers, “please.”

I still can’t say it. Still can’t let go, even though the words are screaming inside my head. “Why are you here? You said you weren’t coming back for days.”

The blues rest on my face in the dark; reading, absorbing. I want to hide from them, but then I also want to stand proud—this is me in my most fucked-up way and he’s still not running away from me screaming.

“I wanted to say hi.”

“You drove all the way from London to say hi?”

I kiss him. Stretching onto my tiptoes, I slide my hands around his neck, fixing my mouth to his. Hot and eager, he binds me into his arms. “I’m a rule breaker,” I whisper the words into his mouth. In my stomach butterflies take to flight, and across my skin every story I’ve ever inked is slowly washed away in need and hope.