CHLOE

Something has shifted between us: the power balance, maybe? It feels more than just the atmosphere, because that is as strained and awkward as ever as we pack the tent up a couple of hours later once the worst of the rain has subsided and begin walking back along the road towards the little village of Kingsgate. The admission from Harry that we need each other is huge. I accepted a long while ago that I need him (and loathed myself for it), and I suppose I have also known that I am valuable to him in some sort of weird way. But for him to say this out loud, and appear almost comfortable with it, seems to have changed everything.

We reach a fork in the road and I look longingly to the left which I know will take me back towards St Peters where my parents are, but I force my feet to carry me to the right towards an area called Cliftonville on the outskirts of Margate, where I know we will be able to find shelter for tonight. I make a mental note of a large recreation ground called Northdown Park, which has an area of trees that would hide the tent from view should we decide to stay here a bit longer, but plough on to where I know the hotels and guest houses are in search of somewhere discreet that will keep us out of harm's way. 

It is heading towards lunchtime, and along the roadside are various cafés and eateries, with tourists (and probably locals) enjoying expensive coffee and a spot of lunch. I feel exposed walking past so many people like this, struggling under the weight of the tent and all our bags. I suppose we are lucky that it isn't as hot and sunny today, as the tables outside would be packed with holidaymakers staring at us as we passed.

I take one of the less popular roads, a little out of the centre of Margate, and scan the buildings as we pass for a 'vacancies' sign. It doesn't take long before one catches my eye and I slow down as we pass it, glancing to my left and to my right, up to the top of the building and then down the side alley to check for possible quick escape routes in case the police turn up again like they did at the little place in Frome. I cross over the road and come back along the opposite pavement, much to Harry's annoyance.

"What are you doing?" he mutters, impatience evident in his tone.

"There's a b and b over there with a vacancies sign," I mutter back. "I'm just checking out the area before we go and ask for a room. If the police track us down and come knocking, we need a fast way out of here without being seen."

He doesn't say anything, but a glance in his direction tells me he is more than a little impressed at my forward thinking. His back straightens and in the reflection of a car window I see him casually looking over at the building in question, and then glancing over his shoulder in what can only be described as covert manner. I stifle a giggle: this isn't remotely funny, but suddenly it feels as though we are villains in a cartoon, exaggeratedly tiptoeing around.

"What do you think?" I ask him once we have passed it for the second time.

"Looks fine to me," he shrugs. 

"Do you want to do the talking, or shall I?" 

He ponders this for a couple of seconds. "Should we go in together? Or would one of us alone be less suspicious?" 

It is my turn to consider the options. "Good thinking. Let me go in and book the room. Why don't you wait here and I'll come and get you when it's all sorted?" 

"You'll need cash." 

While he is rooting as inconspicuously as he can in his holdall, I take a moment to appreciate his tone has lightened and is less of his usual grunt. It is softer and friendlier that I have heard in a while. He hands me a wad of notes that I stuff into the side pocket of my backpack, refusing to allow myself to wonder where he got this money and if he will ever let me in on the secret. I leave a couple of my bags with Harry on the pavement and make my way up the path to the front door of the bed and breakfast, pushing it open and walking into a bright, airy hallway with wooden floors and a couple of green potted plants on the reception desk. The receptionist is wearing a navy suit with a bronze rectangular pin badge that says 'Laura Cummings', heavy makeup and a bored expression. She looks through me as I enquire about the room, taking the fake details I give her and barely batting an eyelid when I give her my story about a stolen wallet and needing to pay upfront in cash. She tells me the room will be available after two o'clock, so I head back to Harry and together we wander back along the street towards the cafés we passed to get some lunch. 

We take a seat at the back in a small coffee shop with black faux leather armchairs and pictures of coffee beans on the walls and wait for the waitress to bring over our order, neither of us really speaking. I am keen to avoid the discussion about where we are headed next, as I am longing to visit my parents' grave again but I also know the sensible thing to do would be to get as far away from this part of the country as possible, to evade the police. The issue is bound to come up at some point before we leave the hotel in morning, and I am trying to decide when would be the best time to discuss it: in a public setting where Harry is less likely to make a scene (for fear of drawing attention to us) or in private where it won't matter if things do get heated. 

"How much of your stuff is wet?" Harry asks, once our sandwiches have been set down between us on the table and the waitress has returned to the counter. 

"I haven't got it all out to check," I admit. "Once we're in the hotel I'll lay it all out and see. If need be, I'll have to crank the heating up in the room and rotate it all on the radiators."

He nods slowly, chewing on his Ploughman's. "Shouldn't take long I suppose. Hotel rooms are always warm." 

The coffee shop is getting busy, and I spend five minutes people-watching while I devour my prawn salad barm. 

"Is there anything you need to get while we're out?" I ask him once I have finished. "I'm kind of looking forward to just having a quiet afternoon in the hotel to be honest."

"Yeah, cos we've been so busy lately haven't we," he retorts sarcastically.

"Well - not busy exactly, but I can't deny the walking is tiring," I point out. "I'll be glad of a rest on a comfy bed instead of lugging all our stuff around for hours each day." 

"What are the sleeping arrangements?" he asks, suddenly appearing interested in the arrangement of salad and crisps on his plate. 

I feel heat rising to my face and sweat breaking out down my back. "It's a twin room - two beds," I answer as casually as I can, but I know my voice squeaks a little over the word 'beds'. This is the closest we've ever come to mentioning the two nights we've spent together. My stomach churns sickeningly and I push my own plate away, no longer hungry.

Harry says nothing, but maintains his stare at his lunch. Silence descends uncomfortably, and I pull at the neck of my tshirt, wishing we were closer to the door for a cool breeze. My mind races, desperately searching for something else to say to break the awkward atmosphere, but all I can think of is my parents' grave so I keep quiet and fix my gaze firmly on the coffee bean picture above Harry's head. 

He clears his throat. "Was that - "

"Have we all finished here?" the waitress asks, appearing at my side and making me jump. 

We murmur yeses and thank yous and she reaches between us to clear our plates and cutlery, so I lean back in my chair and finish the dregs of my latte while Harry zips up a pocket of his holdall. I wonder what he was going to ask me, but given how uncomfortable he looks I decide against pursuing that line of conversation, and instead get to my feet and haul the heaviest rucksack onto my back to head back to the hotel, stopping in a tiny corner shop to buy a couple of packet sandwiches for our tea that look like they have seen better days.

We are greeted in the lobby by the same receptionist that took my booking. She taps away on her wireless keyboard, gives us two key cards for the room and directs us to the first floor. I climb the stairs wearily, longing for the rest I know awaits me, but force myself to empty out my bags as soon as we are safely inside and spend twenty minutes draping my damp clothes over any item of furniture in the room that will take them. I open the window as much as the safety catch will allow and turn the radiator up to full blast, which only results in making my eyelids heavy and my muscles relax. 

Harry has the television on low volume and is flicking through the channels restlessly. I keep one half-open eye on the screen when the local news comes on, and I can tell by his hunched position (chewing on his thumbnail) that he is anxious and waiting to see if the police have picked up on our whereabouts. Nothing is mentioned about us to our relief, and he turns the volume down lower and lies back on his bed with his arms behind his head and his eyes closed. I am glad he has temporarily shut himself off in this way. I could feel his eyes watching me as I sorted out my clothes, and maybe I am being paranoid but I had the strangest feeling he wanted to start a conversation but couldn't quite find the words to say. This is most un-Harrylike, and I am quietly berating myself for reading too much into everything when his voice suddenly breaks the silence.

"Was it your first time?"

His position on the bed hasn't changed, and if it wasn't for the fact that I saw his lips move as he spoke, I would have wondered if I had imagined it. I'm so busy being taken aback at him asking a question out of the blue that I fail to understand him properly.

"What do you mean?" I ask. "First time for what?" 

He takes a while to answer, and while he appears to be choosing his words (yet another new skill for Harry) my mouth becomes slowly drier and drier as I begin to suspect what he might have meant. I don't want him to ask me; I don't want to have this conversation yet. Or ever. 

He clears his throat, still with his eyes closed. "The other night. In the other hotel. Was it your first time?" He opens his eyes to look at me. "When we - I mean, were you a virgin?" He looks away again, staring up at the ceiling as blood rushes to my face and my body breaks out in a sweat.

"I already told you I wasn't a virgin," I snap, wiping my palms on the duvet either side of my legs. "I don't get why you're asking me again." 

He shrugs, his gaze still fixed directly above his head. "You just seemed... I dunno. A bit nervous. Inexperienced."

A wave of horror and shame crashes over me, and the room begins to tremble before my eyes. "You're saying I was shit?" The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. I want to take them back, I don't want him to answer me.

"What? No! I didn't mean that. I wasn't trying to... That's not what I said at all."

"But I was, though?"

"No of course not! It was - it was great." 

I give a half laugh, my eyes filling with tears. I want the ground to open up and swallow me. I want to pack my stuff into my holdall, still damp, run out of this hotel room and never look at him ever again. 

"I mean it." He swings his legs over the edge of the bed so he is sitting up and leans forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped. "And I hope it didn't, like, hurt or anything..."

This is too much. I need to get away from him. "For the last time, I wasn't a virgin!" I shout at him, and I am horrified to feel hot tears spilling down my cheeks. This situation literally could not get any worse. 

"OK, OK, I'm sorry." He holds his hands up, palms facing me. "I didn't mean to touch a nerve." 

"You're not touching a nerve!" I scream, banging my fist onto the duvet cover with a pathetic wump. 

"Clearly not." He raises his eyebrows and stands up to walk around the bed. 

"I'm sorry I made you think I'd never done it before," I sob. "I'm sorry if it was a let down. I was scared, it was all really sudden and I just wasn't sure." 

He freezes, mid-stride. His whole body has stiffened, as though someone has pressed a pause button. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. 

"What did you just say?" 

His voice doesn't sound right - it sounds weird and shaky, like mine did when he asked me if it was my first time.

"I said I'm sorry," I sniff. "I wish it hadn't happened." 

He turns around slowly and my stomach jolts when I see his face. All colour has drained from his cheeks - he is literally white. "What?" he asks hoarsely.

"Well it's obvious you regret it too," I mutter. "You've barely spoken to me since. You haven't mentioned it until now. I obviously disgust you, and I'm sorry for the whole thing. Both times."

He is staring at me as though I have told him he only has weeks to live. I swallow nervously. I am completely bewildered by his reaction to this. What have I missed? Why does he look so deeply horrified?

"You were scared?" he asks, in a strange, high-pitched tone.

I don't answer. Something in me tells me he is seriously fragile, and anything I say right now could break him. I am so confused.

"Chloe," he begins, and his voice cracks. My stomach lurches and a hot flush sears through me. "Were you - did you want  to do it? Did you want to have sex with me?" 

Tears are streaming down my face. I don't know how to explain myself. I am afraid to answer him. 

"Harry -"

"You need to tell me the truth. Did you want me to touch you? Did you want to have sex?" His hands are raking through his hair, pulling at the roots. His eyes are wild, his teeth are bared. He looks like he has seen a ghost. "Chloe please, I need to know."

"I - I - Harry it's not that simple," I begin.

"It fucking is that simple!" he shouts. "Did you want it? Yes or no? Yes or no?!"

"I don't know," I choke, my own hands clawing at my cheeks. "At first, I didn't know. I was scared, it was moving so fast."

He lets out a whimper of distress, but I suddenly find myself unable to stop now I have started. 

"I wanted to tell you to stop, but I was afraid you would laugh at me - "

"Oh my God." His eyes look temporarily glazed, and I swear I see him sway on his feet before he stumbles backwards a couple of steps and leans against the wall of the bathroom.

"But it felt good," I continue, humiliation out of the window now. "I liked how it felt. And I liked how it felt when you wanted me."

He covers his face with his hands and takes a shuddering breath. "I don't believe this. I don't believe this."

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "Please don't be angry with me."

He pulls his hands away and stares at me in utter disbelief. "What?"

"I know I messed everything up," I wail. "I'm sorry." 

He shakes his head wordlessly. "This can't be happening."

I don't know what to say. He pushes away from the wall and paces up and down the few feet between the bathroom door and the bedside cabinet between the two beds. 

"This can't be happening," he repeats, and then again with unbridled fury. "This can't be happening!" He turns suddenly and kicks the bottom of the wooden bedside cabinet with a thud that echoes around the room. "I'm not him," he hisses. 

"Who?" I squeal, drawing my legs up to my chest and wrapping my arms around my knees, subconsciously making myself as small and insignificant as possible. He turns and looks around him, his eyes flicking wildly around the room, as though he is poised ready to start tipping furniture over. He takes a step towards the bathroom and before I know what I am doing I am leaping to my feet and standing in front of him, blocking his path between the two beds. He looks down at me with panic and fear in his eyes. 

"What are you doing?" he demands.

"Stopping you from hurting yourself," I answer. I can't believe how confident my voice sounds considering my heart is in my mouth.

"Get out of my way," he growls. 

"No." 

I hold his gaze, staring into his green eyes, wondering what trauma lies hidden beneath the surface that he won't share. 

"I mean it Chloe," he says dangerously. "Move."

"No," I repeat. Summoning every ounce of courage I possess I reach forward and grip his wrists in my hands. He doesn't stop me, but he doesn't relax either. He remains motionless, his eyes boring into mine, although with a little uncertainty now peeking through. "I'm not going anywhere," I tell him, calmly. "I want you to sit down, take a deep breath, and tell me what the fuck is going on in your head."

---***---

Just a quick note from me to say hi and I hope everyone is doing OK? Here in the UK it's the first day of clubs, bars and restaurants closing in the government effort to stop the spread of coronavirus and minimise risk to the elderly and vulnerable. It's a strange and worrying time for everyone, and such a massive change from normality while we adjust to a very different way of life for the foreseeable future. Stay safe everyone, and use this time to reconnect with your loved ones. I'll try to update more frequently as I might find I have a little more time on my hands!