He’s gone from beside me in the blink of an eye, leaving me crumbling to the floor from my lack of support. My palms slap the hard ground, sending shock waves up my arms, and my hair tumbles around me. The sight of my golden tresses pooling in my lap makes me feel sick; it’s all I can see, so I throw my head up and choke on nothing when I face the stomach-turning sight of Miller in psychotic action. It’s all in slow motion, making every bloodcurdling collide of his fist to the guy’s face repulsively clear. He’s relentless, repeatedly striking his victim over and over, roaring his rage as he does. The music has stopped. People are screaming. But not one person steps forward to intervene.

I sob, wincing constantly as Miller continues to rain punches into the man’s face and body, spraying blood everywhere. There’s no fight in the poor guy. He isn’t being given any opportunity to fight back. He’s completely helpless.

‘Stop him!’ I scream, catching sight of Tony to the side, looking on with dread on his rough face. ‘Please, stop him.’ I drag myself from the floor with some determined effort. No one in their right mind would try to intervene. I painfully accept that, and when the focus of Miller’s rage collapses lifelessly to the floor and Miller still doesn’t relent, starting to kick him in the stomach, I succumb to my need to escape.

I can’t watch anymore.

I run away.

I’m sobbing as I fight my way through the crowds, my face stinging and swollen from my tears, not that anyone notices. Everyone’s attention is still on the mayhem behind me, the sick arseholes unable to tear their eyes away from the gruesome scene unfolding. I stagger and stumble, distraught and disorientated, to the entrance of Ice. Making it to the pavement outside, I cry gut-wrenching tears, my body shaking uncontrollably as I frantically search out a cab to take me away, but my opportunity to escape is lost when I’m grabbed from behind. It’s not Miller; I know that much. There are no fireworks or burning need rising within me.

‘Inside, Livy.’ Tony’s troubled voice sinks into my ears and I’m on the move with not a hope of fighting him off.

‘Tony, please,’ I beg. ‘Please, let me go.’

‘Not a fucking chance.’ He guides me to the stairs that lead down to the maze under Ice. I don’t understand. Tony hates me. Why would he want me to stay when Miller needs to focus on this world? A world that’s now all too clear.

‘I want to leave.’

‘You’re going nowhere, girl.’

I’m being pulled and pushed around corners, down corridors. ‘Why?’

The door to Miller’s office is opened and I’m pushed inside. I turn to face Tony, finding his stocky body heaving, his jaw tight. A finger comes up and points in my face, making me recoil slightly. ‘You’re not leaving, because when that maniac has finished beating that man to death, he’s gonna be asking for you. He’s gonna want to see you! And I’m not risking him going in for round two when he can’t find you, Livy! Stay where you fucking are!’ He walks out, slamming the door ferociously, leaving me standing in the middle of Miller’s office, eyes wide, heart thundering.

There’s still no music coming from the club above. I’m alone and useless in the bowels of Ice, with only stark silence and Miller’s stark office for company. ‘Arhhhhhhhhhhh!’ I scream in a delayed reaction to Tony’s tactic, my hands delving into my treacherous blonde and wrenching aimlessly, like I can pull the events of the past half hour from my head. ‘I hate you!’ My eyes wince shut from the physical pain I’m causing myself, the tears kicking in again. I don’t know how long I spend pointlessly wrestling with myself, it feels like eons, and it’s only physical exhaustion and a sore scalp that make me stop. I whimper as I turn in circles, my mind a riot, unwilling and unable to let any cognitive thought settle and calm me. It’s only the sight of Miller’s drinks cabinet that pulls the futile whirling of my body to a stop.

Alcohol.

I run over and clumsily pull a random bottle from the throng of others, sniffling and choking on my emotions as I unscrew the cap and tip it to my lips. The instant scald of the alcohol on my throat works wonders at burning away the focus of my thoughts, leaving me gasping and wincing at the discomfort and potent taste.

So I drink some more.

I gulp it all down until the bottle is empty and I’m hurling it across Miller’s office in a temper, annoyed and deranged. My eyes fall onto the masses of other bottles and I randomly select and swig, turning and staggering over to the bathroom. I collide with the wall, the door, the frame, until I’m propped up against the vanity unit and staring at a mess of a woman in the mirror. Tears black with mascara are streaming down my flushed cheeks, my eyes are glazed and haunted, and my heavy blonde hair is an array of tangled waves, framing my pale face.

I see my mother.

I look at my reflection with utter contempt, like it’s my archenemy, like it’s the thing I hate most in the world.

Right now . . . it is.

Lifting the bottle to my lips, I glug down more alcohol while holding my own eyes. Then I take a deep breath and stumble over to Miller’s desk. I pull drawers open, swipe my hands through the precisely placed items within, messing up his perfectly neat arrangements, until I find what I’m looking for. I gaze down at the shiny metal as I flex my hand around the handle, taking sporadic sips from the bottle while I think.

After staring blankly at my find for an eternity, I stand and wobble back to the bathroom, slamming the bottle down on the counter. I look up at myself, noting an expressionless face, and bring my hand to my head. Clenching a massive chunk of hair, I open the scissors and snap them shut around my locks, leaving me with a handful of blonde and a scraggy section of hair that’s half the length it once was. Strangely, stress seems to flow out of me. So I grab another section and hack it off, too.