Blazed(11)

Imagine my horror when Blaze parked the goblin car in the very heart of the city and dragged me to Oxford Street sans handbag, throwing me out into my interpretation of a nightmare with no means of calling for help. I doubted that blinking in Morse Code would be useful. And I was letting him lead me to unfamiliar places and coming out of it unscathed. Was this progression or regression?

"Okay." He pulled me into a small barely noticeable alley way and grabbed my face between his hands. My heart pounded frantically at his proximity. This was how I'd wanted him since the night we met in Esme's— somewhere secluded and up close. Public didn't bother me. He ducked down towards me and stopped an inch away from my face. "Keep dreaming, Emmeline. I'm still not done terrorising you." I caught a glimpse of the fat girl in a murky window opposite us and her sardonic expression. Ho, she mouthed at me, you'd screw him in an alley and he still doesn't want you. Why the hell would he lower his standards? She was as cruel to me as I was to her, my sister in misery.

"Of course you're not," I sighed, pulling my attention back up to Blaze, who stared down at me with a frown.

"Lost you there for a minute. You keep looking like you're having conversations with an invisible friend."

"She's not invisible," I whispered, distracted by how perceptive he was. The truth was that days like these were intermittent and yet frequent. I kept bad company, but it was company nonetheless. Like Hunter and I, we were devastatingly inseparable, and maybe more destructively. It was thanks to Hunter that we'd come together and I still didn't know if that was a good thing. She was there for me, always, but she was an honest bitch. "So why are we in an alley?"

"Preparation," Blaze replied, still frowning, "mess up your hair and rub your eyes."

"You want me to look like I've just been bent over and f*cked without the f*cking?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, I want you to look like you've been mugged."

It was my turn to frown, confused. I stood stock-still while he worked at roughing me up himself, brusquely tousling my tied back hair and smudging my sparse eye make-up with his thumbs. Totally numb and paralysed, my mind struggled to process what was going on and draw a conclusion as to where this plan was headed. Until—

"I'm not picking pockets!" Blaze blinked blankly for a moment, then shook his head and laughed. "I mean it. I don't care how much of a ruffian you make me look like, I'm not stea—"

"I've not brought you out to steal, Emmeline." I sagged back slightly with relief. "Just to tell a few fibs." Consider that relief unceremoniously ripped out of my hands and stamped on.

"Fibs? What fibs?"

"Well," he grinned and pulled the hem of my shirt askew, "you're going to run down that street like you're being chased, pick a rich type to 'unintentionally' bump into and turn on the charm for our lunch money." Was he positively insane?

"No!" I snapped resolutely. There was no way in hell I was going to try and pull a scam like that anywhere, let alone on Oxford Street, even if he was the hottest man on the planet. "Why the hell would you think I would do that?"

Blaze shrugged uncaringly and took a second go at messing up my hair. By the time he finished, it was sticking out all over the place from my hair tie and I looked like a street urchin. "You look like you need a little mischief in your life."

"Why would you think that?"

He shrugged again. "You look like your life never deviates from a work, drink, sleep routine." He was almost right. It was a work, drink, copulate, sleep routine. I think I had a right to be defensive.

"Are you done making asinine judgements about my personality? You don't know me, not even a little bit."

Smirking, Blaze pulled me by the wrist to the mouth of the alley and stood behind me with his hands on my shoulders. I could see both sides of the street from that point, crammed to bursting with native Londoners and day trip visitors craning their necks to look around in awe. All of them travelled with far more ease and fluidity than I ever could. Was I really going to make such a scene and risk the backlash of collaterally embarrassing Henry by being identified just on Blaze's say so? Did I want him that much?

"Your family is well off. They have high hopes for you but you don't want to comply. You'd prefer to spend your life drawing but now you've self-published one graphic novel and sold both copies, you feel like you've reached the conclusion of that episode in your life. School was rough, people didn't like you. You lived in your friend's shadows, though it was entirely by choice. You met a boy. You fell in love. He didn't want you. That rejection consumed your life. You left suburbia to become a self-made woman and got stuck in a depressive routine of working, drinking and rolling out of stranger's beds in a series of one night stands in a futile attempt to gain acceptance you don't really want. You don't like yourself and you want change but you don't know where to find it. When left in your hands, decisions about your life are reckless and unproductive, so you count on others, like Esme and your charming male friend in Japan to take those decisions out of your hands. Am I right?" I glared at him over my shoulder. How had he deduced so much from four short meetings with me? Was he psychic? A stalker? Had I really given so much away just by the way I looked at him?

His eyes shone sympathetically in the summer sun. "This is change. Besides, I left my wallet in the car, so if you chicken out on me, I go hungry too."

In a flash, his hand wrapped around my ponytail and yanked it. Hard. Tears sprang to my eyes. "Fuck!" I spun around and, in a knee jerk reaction, slapped him hard. Pain rang through my hand and radiated until it began to tingle. It was the most physical discomfort I'd felt in years after becoming numb to all else. "What the hell was that, your idea of foreplay?" Blaze's fingers traced his reddened cheek. He didn't look even slightly shocked by my attack. Silently, he turned me back around and shoved me out into the fray with only one word as guidance.

"Run."



AND I'd never felt so much like running in my life. Between that girl chasing me like my shadow, Blaze's uncanny ability to analyse me and the current of arrogant shoppers flooding around me, panic was the only emotion I could process. Run, yes, I could do that. I could dodge and weave through the people as though I was running from my own life, and maybe if I ran fast enough, I might actually escape.

I felt much warmer than the sun might have made me and my skin prickled uncomfortably. I was hyper aware of everything— every voice, car, cyclist, and the fact that Blaze was nowhere near me, but somehow totally unaware of my feet moving of their own accord. I'd run like this before, relentlessly and aimlessly, and the agonising cramps in my muscles were deliciously cathartic. I liked to hurt— I deserved it and it felt productive. The overwhelming need to prolong that ache drove me to keep limping forwards, gasping for breath and eyes burning.

You're doing it again. She crept up, running along side me and matching my pace. You can't run away from him. You'll always love him and you'll never be good enough. Stop running. I couldn't. I wanted to run until there was nothing of me left. I wanted to gain enough speed to burn up in the atmosphere like dust. If I couldn't be enough, I didn't want to be anything.

The next thing I knew, I was on my back on the concrete, dazed and light-headed, and only vaguely aware of a throb in my forehead. Everything was quiet and serene for a moment. Not one cell in my body cared how I'd found my way to the ground until the fog in my mind cleared and the faces overhead came into my blurred view.

"I'm so sorry, she just fell at me from nowhere."

"No, no. It's okay, I'm just glad I found her." One of the dark haired faces above me leaned closer, and I could immediately smell who it was. "I'm here. I'm sorry, I couldn't catch up with him." Blaze stroked my hair, then grabbed both of my hands to pull me to my feet. My legs promptly flagged beneath me, overused and flaccid.

"What?"

"The guy who cornered you. Why did you run off this way?"

"Sorry..." What was he talking about? My hand felt my way to my face and found the reason why my vision was so blurred. "Glasses," I mumbled, twisting out of Blaze's grip to search the floor for my absent lenses. The other dark haired face grasped my hand and wrapped my fingers around them firmly, his grip lingering around mine for just a second too long. "Tha—" Holy shit. When my glasses revealed exactly who it was I'd stumbled into, I couldn't help but simper.

Super-urbane and well-groomed, the man still holding onto my hand shot me a smouldering smile that made the corners of his ice blue eyes crinkle joyously. Dimples burrowed deep into his cheeks, adding youth to the age added by a flawless black suit embellished with a shirt that matched his eyes and a black tie.

"Are you alright?" American! My stomach back-flipped. Of all the men for me to collide with, it had to be the single-most man in London who might just be scrummier than Blaze.