me with a rusty kitchen knife and I’d just stare at him defeated. Plead with him silently to get it over with quickly. God knows I don’t know how much more I can take.
Then I consider Clooney coming across the intruder and having to fight. My stomach drops at the idea of him being injured.
Then he’s back, and relief settles over my stomach, reminding me that things could be worse.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks. His words feel like they’re distant. Like my world is closing in on itself.
Ella speaks. ‘Pheebs?’ She shakes my shoulders lightly. ‘Come on, Pheebs; I know it’s awful, but you need to pull yourself together.’
‘I think she’s in shock,’ Clooney says, his eyes narrowed on me. I stare off past him, letting my mind wander to happier times. ‘We need to get a stiff drink in her.’
I’ve a vague awareness of them both pulling me under my arms and helping me into the bar. It’s as if I’m dreaming, everything seems a bit blurred and distant. I hope I am dreaming. That this is all just a terrible nightmare and I’m really back in my flat in London.
I’m placed on a bar stool and then an amber liquid is placed in front of me.
‘Drink,’ Clooney orders.
I clasp my shaky hands around it and guide it carefully to my mouth. I barely have the strength to lift it. Shit, that burns. I cough into my hand but force myself to take another sip. That one goes down a bit smoother.
I spend the rest of the day pouring whiskey down my throat and wondering what I did in a past life to get such bad luck. Bloody Mum and her reincarnation stories have got in my head. For once I’m glad that we have a slow day with very few customers. I couldn’t cope with busy.
‘I think it’s time for bed,’ Clooney says to me around seven p.m.
I giggle girlishly. ‘You wish.’ I snort a laugh. God, I’m sexy.
He smiles, his eyes full of affection. ‘Come on.’ He gives me his hand and I clasp onto it like a lifeline. It’s all warm and strong. My hand looks so petite in his.
He helps me up the stairs, holding my hand and using his other wrapped round me to steady my waist. I’m a little wobbly on my feet, I’ll admit, but I do feel a hell of a lot better than I did earlier. Maybe it’s because he’s touching me. Damn those hands are large. I remember those fingers inside of me. That feeling of ecstasy. God I want it again.
‘Come on, drunko.’ He chuckles and guides me into my bedroom. He helps me to sit on my bed and perches his gorgeous butt on the edge of it. Suki jumps off the bed and runs downstairs, clearly sick of my shit. I kick off my converse.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks with that cute little cocksure smirk of his.
I grin. ‘I am now you’ve plied me with whiskey.’ But as I say it, I feel a tear escape from my eye and roll down my cheek. Damn, I didn’t see that coming.
He catches it with the pad of his thumb. ‘You don’t have to put on your tough girl act in front of me.’
Why is he being nice to me? Surely every guy knows the worst thing to do to a vulnerable drunk woman is show kindness. It breaks us open.
I stifle the sob resting in my chest, the tightness almost taking my breath away. The pull towards him has me inching closer.
‘Can I just…’ I edge closer to him. I need to be in his arms. I don’t care how cringy or needy I am. ‘Can I just… take some comfort from you and you not hold it against me tomorrow?’
‘Of course,’ he says without thinking. ‘What do you need me to do?’
I scoot forward and place my head into his chest so hard I’m sure, by the thud I hear, I must have hurt him. He instinctively wraps his arms around me, one hand rubbing my back in soothing circles. It reminds me of when we were naked in bed together after I jumped in the lake.
It’s here, safe in his arms, I let myself go. I cry. I cry properly for the first time since arriving here. I cry for all of the money I’ve ploughed into this place. I cry for all of the crushing responsibility I feel. I cry for my great aunt