I can't believe it. He left me. What the hell was he doing? I hit the invisible boundary with my fists as I watched Marcus drive away.

Why would someone I loved, who I'd spent the best part of three years with, leave me? He'd been so eager to get me away from that place, and I really appreciated that I didn't want to hang around a dead body. He abandoned me at the first opportunity. He could have at least made sure I got somewhere safe before dumping me.

I shouted out into Llyncroft bay in frustration.

Why did he leave me? Even though he had an interview tomorrow, there was still enough time for us to figure out our way back.

He made it seem like he was eager to get me away from there. Why did he then dumped me?

I was so angry. I hit the, whatever that shield was, whatever that force field was, that stopped me from leaving Llyncroft.

I hit it and hit it and hit it until I ran out of energy.

Walking back to the edge of the cliff, I and slumped onto the grass. Looking at my hands, I expected to see them bruised and bloody from bashing the shield, but they weren't. Even though it hurt every time I struck the barrier, there was no change to my skin. It wasn't even slightly pink. I screamed in frustration, throwing my hands in the air.

Usually watching the sea calmed me. The rhythmic movement, the sound of the waves over the pebbles stilling my heart beat, regulating my breathing. It always made me feel better, but today the sound irritated me. Unsure and restless, I debated between sitting, standing, or pacing.

How could he leave me? I stomped to the cliff edge, then back to the road. I knew he wouldn't come back, but there was a piece of me that hoped he'd change his mind, as I wasn't sure what I was going to do if he didn't.

I crushed a path in the grass as I repeatedly walked from the road to the cliff edge. I literally walked in circles.

I was trapped. I couldn't leave this place because there was some kind of barrier.

Not only was I alone, but some bastard had just destroyed my childhood memories by killing a man in my gran's home. No, my home.

And he left me. Why did he leave me?

I screamed out across the bay. The wind stealing my voice as it floated over the sea.

I flopped to the ground again, tired and frustrated.

I was overwhelmed by the emotions of the last few hours. The joy and excitement of having somewhere I could call my own, my home, to the shock and revulsion of finding the body and the outright fury of being left behind by somebody who claimed to love me.

I slammed my hand on the grass and it felt something sharp under my fingers. Great, I'd hurt myself again.

A small burnt patch of grass the size of my palm caught my eye. Of course. Of course, there was a small area of grass that was damaged and burnt. And guess what? I managed to find that one small spot.

That was about right, given what was happening today.

I massaged my hand and noticed a spike of burnt, dead grass lodged under my skin. I gently pulled it out, causing my palm to bleed. Seriously!

I was so furiously angry that I hit the ground again, this time with my fist. I wanted to feel the pain of something to distract me from my emotions.

Again, I felt a sharp spike in my hand. This time, I cut my hand on a rock, giving me a gash across my knuckles. "Great," I muttered, putting pressure on the wound, wondering what I could use to wrap around it to keep up the pressure.

I looked at the grass. Where there had only been one small patch of burnt grass a moment ago, there were now two. A moment ago, the bigger one was there, but now there's a smaller burnt area with a stone next in the middle of it. Was it where I hit the ground with my fist?

Whatever was going on in this place and preventing me from leaving was also causing environmental damage.

Why were there two burnt spots now? Did I do that? Or was that this place? I hit the grass next to the two burnt patches and nothing happened.

I was alone, and now I was imagining things. I couldn't believe he left me. I smashed my hand into the ground again. And again, it was sharp underneath my hand.

A third area of burnt grass was there where it hadn't been just a few minutes ago. There was a small, beautiful bluebell right by where I'd hit the ground. It looked as if whatever had burnt the ground had burnt part of the flower's roots. Although the flower wasn't damaged, it was clearly wilting quickly.

Well, that's just great, I thought, now I'm killing things. I could only imagine that hitting the barrier had somehow transferred some energy into me, which I transferred to the ground when I was angry.

"I'm sorry," I said to the bluebell, stroking its withering petals. "I'm sorry I did this to you. This is your home and I'm sorry. I don't understand what's going on, but I'm sorry you got hurt. I'm sorry that somehow my anger has hurt you."

I watched in shock as the bluebell lifted its wilted head. Leaves, which had dried and gone brown, suddenly started coming back to life. In place of the dying flower, the bloom was standing tall and proud on the cliff edge.

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