HARRY

Shit just got seriously fucked up. Like, what the hell am I even doing? Let's just take a minute to step back and look at this whole situation from afar, shall we? 

I killed someone. 

I then fled the scene, and I took what wasn't mine. 

I somehow acquired a tagalong who has actually been of some use along the way, even if she's a fucking emotional liability. 

But then I fucked her. Twice. 

I can't undo any of it. I keep thinking maybe I'll wake up in my own bed, Sofia pecking my head about coming home late from the Flute, or screaming at me for shagging someone else behind her back. 

I miss Sofia. I never thought I would ever say that, but I do. But she wouldn't take me back if I cheated again. She said so last time, and I could tell she meant it. Which means I've well and truly fucked that up now, too. Along with everything else. 

I can't even remember how long I've been on the run. I can't remember how long it's been since I saw my family. I'm trying not to think about them because I get this horrible ache inside me that won't go away. I daren't try and contact them because if the police have put my picture on the news, they sure as hell will have Sofia's phone monitored and will have a squad car on me quicker than Sofia can say "you're dumped." And to top it all off I'm permanently hungry, permanently tired and permanently smelly. I can barely function, and if wasn't for Chloe and her fucking atlas I would have either died or been arrested by now. 

Fucking Chloe. Possibly the most irritating person on this planet. Why she's still tagging along I have no idea. If I were her, I would have fucked off a long time ago. I don't exactly encourage her, but she's like a fucking limpet. But, she's also kept us out of danger (mostly), and when she relaxes and lets her guard down she's actually alright. But it's like she's constantly seeking approval from me, and it really grates on my nerves. And I'm not good at keeping my temper under control.

I shouldn't have fucked her, though. That was a dick move, on so many levels. I can only blame my male needs, and being in a confined space with her when she's wearing clothes that show off her assets. I'm only human, aren't I?

I glance over at her as we walk along the road overlooking the beach where we spent last night. She is wearing a pair of jeans rather than shorts today, as the weather is cloudy and cooler, but her top is fitted and the breeze has made her nipples just visible through the fabric. Things like this don't help when I'm trying hard to forget what she feels like inside, and what she sounds like when she comes. I am angry with myself for not even trying to resist temptation last night, and I'm angry with her for being such a pushover. 

Her earlier questions have given me another knot of worry in my stomach that I really didn't need. I know I need to work out what I'm going to do, but it is much easier to push it to the back of my mind and let Chloe do the thinking. I may come across as hard and unfeeling, but I am absolutely terrified of going back to prison. I've done some shit in the past that I'm not proud of, and spending time inside has confirmed it is somewhere I do not want to be. The longer I run away from everything the worse it is going to be for me, but I just don't know what else to do at the moment. I keep hoping for a miracle solution, like Chris won't actually be dead or something, or I'll somehow get a message from Sofia with a plan all worked out for how to get me out of this impossible situation. 

But until either of these happen, or another solution presents itself, I will continue to trudge along from place to place, keeping my head down and relying on Chloe to keep us out of trouble. 

I haven't asked properly where we're heading next. She took the lead again this morning when we packed everything up, and apart from insisting we camp out again to keep out of sight of the police, I don't really care where we go. I think she wants to stay in this town, I guess because of her link to her parents, which I can sort of understand even if I can't relate. But I think we've stayed here long enough, and as soon as I get the opportunity to voice my concerns, I will. It's time to move on for both our sakes.

Our morning journey takes us uphill, past ancient stone walls, beautiful houses, leafy green trees and another beach - much smaller than the one we slept on last night - edged by high, white cliffs. A large pub called the Captain Digby sits overlooking the bay, and I think longingly of a pint of ice cold lager and a comfy seat as we pass on by and make our way further along the lane. A distant rumble of thunder makes me look up from the road in front of me and turn around to look back towards the coastline. The black clouds are now upon us, and before I can even think of a comment to make, I feel a spot of rain on my cheek. I glance at Chloe at the same time she glances at me. I haven't a clue where we are but it feels like we're miles from anywhere, and we're about to be caught out in the rain. 

It only takes about three seconds from the first droplet hitting my skin for the heavens to open. I barely hear myself curse over the sound of the water pounding the tarmac as we both make a run for it, although where we're going for shelter I have no idea. We run up the lane alongside a plush golf course, Chloe's head turning left, then right, then back again. I follow her blindly, trusting her to get us somewhere warm and dry, but after a minute of two her footsteps slow and she makes a moan of frustration, coming to a stop in the middle of the road. 

"Fuck!" she swears. "We're just getting soaked!"

"Where are we going?" I shout over the noise of the next thunderclap and the hiss of the rain on the ground.

"Up towards Kingsgate, but it's probably another half hour's walk from here! We're going to be drenched!"

"Going to be?" I repeat. 

She looks desperately around us, clearly searching for a solution. Ahead of us is a metal gate leading directly onto the golf course, and a little further ahead, behind a rickety old stone wall that looks like it could collapse at any moment, is a line of bushes and trees that might just provide some form of shelter.

"Can't we... like... pitch the tent in there to keep dry?" I suggest, feeling awkward and self conscious at putting an idea forward that might be no good.

"It's the best option we've got," she shrugs, and she takes off at a run, through the gate and underneath a bank of trees that hides us from the view of the road. We scramble to pull the tent out of its carrier, hurrying to slot the supporting canes into each other, and once it's up we dive inside, dragging our bags with us and breathing heavily from the exertion of the last few minutes. We sit cross legged in our confined space, dripping water onto the groundsheet, avoiding looking at each other but both listening to the rain hammering the thin cotton canvas of the tent walls. It is a drastic difference to the relentless heat we've encountered these last couple of weeks. 

"My clothes are wet," she moans a moment or so later as she opens her rucksack and pulls out the top couple of layers, flattening them out on the floor between us and rubbing them with her palms, which she then rubs together. I watch as she checks her sleeping bag which is rolled up in a separate compartment, and I can feel her dismay at discovering that it too is soaked. I open my own holdall to check my money is safe and hasn't congealed into a soggy mess. At first glance I can see the top layer is lightly damp but nothing as bad as Chloe's things. I can tell she is trying not to cry by the look on her face, and I bite my tongue to hold in my sarcastic remark. 

"What are we going to do if this rain doesn't let up?" I wonder out loud, after about ten minutes of staring at the wall of the tent. 

"We'll have to move from here," she says immediately. "We're too visible. But we'll have to find a hotel or something. My stuff's wet. I need somewhere to dry it out."

"No hotels." 

The words are out of my mouth before I can think to try and stop them. She looks directly at me, her brow creased and her mouth downturned in disappointment. "What do you mean? I'm not sleeping in a wet sleeping bag tonight! I'll freeze!"

"You'll hardly freeze. We're in the middle of a heatwave." I'm trying hard not to roll my eyes.

"Fine. You can give me your sleeping bag then, and you can have the wet one."

I open my mouth to argue, and swiftly shut it again. I can't exactly refuse to give her mine, but at the same time there is no way I'm sleeping in wet bedding. And there's also no way to admit this without looking like an arsehole.

"I can't risk another night in a hotel," I mutter eventually. "If the police know we're here they're bound to be keeping an eye on public places."

"How would the police know we're here?" she asks, looking genuinely confused. "We took the most inconspicuous route here from the other side of the country! We're practically untraceable!"

I want to laugh at her naivete, except it's too fucking annoying.

"Yeah we were," I growl, "until you led us to the place where you fucking grew up! Don't you think this will be one of the first places the police will come looking once they realise you're travelling with me? They traced us to the little B and B in Frome didn't they! It doesn't take a genius to work out we're both missing, know each other from the Flute, and two people matching both our descriptions checked into a backstreet hotel in the middle of fucking nowhere!" 

"Well why did you let us stay in the Albion the other night then?" she asks, her eyes looking dangerously watery now.

"Because I thought you needed a fucking decent night's sleep after... y'know... that shit at your parents' grave," I answer awkwardly. Why does she have to ask so many questions about every decision I make?

"That shit at my parents' grave," she echoes, her lip trembling, and I hastily backtrack, realising I am now going to be the cause of waterworks.

"No - you know what I mean," I snap. "You were upset. I get it. I just thought maybe you needed a break."

She looks away from me and wipes her eye with the back of her hand, saying nothing.

"I don't think it's a good idea to hang around in this area," I admit, finally. "The more I think about it, the riskier it seems. I know you want to be here, and I get that. But if we don't want to be caught we need to get the fuck away from here."

Her head drops into her hands and to my horror I see her shoulders heave. I never know what to do when women cry - I always say the wrong thing, and I never know what to do with my arms. Immediately I want to fold them across my chest.

"Chloe," I mutter, embarrassed without knowing why.

"I'm not ready to leave yet, Harry," she sobs through her fingers.

Fuck. I should have known this would happen. I should have seen this coming. 

"Look, maybe we can come back again later," I offer halfheartedly. "We've laid a false trail before. We can do it again."

"We're hardly criminal masterminds!" she chokes. "We were lucky with that phone on the train! That could easily have gone so wrong."

"OK, so maybe we just head in the opposite direction for a bit and then come back here once the dust settles."

"Once the dust settles?!" she echoes, lifting her head to look at me in disbelief. "Last we heard, you're the prime suspect in a murder investigation! That sort of thing isn't just going to go away after a couple of weeks! The police will consider you a danger to the public! They won't rest until you're locked up!" 

"See - there it is!" I retort. "Exactly the reason we should get as far away from here as possible." She shakes her head defiantly but I know she knows I'm right. She's been the brains behind pretty much this whole thing all the way along - she can't fail to see what's right in front of her eyes. 

"Harry," she begins, with a hint of desperation in her voice.

"No," I interrupt, firmly. "We need to leave. Today. Now." 

"It's chucking it down."

"As soon as it stops raining, then." 

"And if it doesn't stop?"

I hesitate. I hate it when she ties me up in knots.

"If it carries on like this, and our stuff is still wet through tonight?" she persists. "You're going to give me your sleeping bag are you, and you'll sleep in the wet one?" 

"I dunno. Let's just wait and see what happens."

"Well we can't stay here on the golf course indefinitely," she says, with an air of triumph. "Someone will see us and tell us to move. It's private property - we're not allowed to camp here. And that will just attract negative attention to us, which you say you don't want... What?! I'm not making it up!" she snaps defensively, when I look at her with skepticism. 

"I didn't say you were," I mutter, although that is exactly what I was thinking. I want to curse this fucking rain for complicating everything, and forcing me to take the lead and make decisions. This is Chloe's job, and I don't like doing it.

"So we either pack up and start heading somewhere warm and dry while the rain isn't quite so heavy, or we stay here and wait for someone to report us to the police for trespassing," she says bluntly. "Or option three: we carry on walking in the rain to find somewhere else to pitch the tent, by which time our things will be even wetter and heavier. You decide." 

I want to punch something in exasperation. "Isn't there anywhere nearby to camp?"

"Yes, but we already did. The beach. There aren't any camp sites near here."

"So we need to leave the area then."

"I told you, I'm not ready for that yet." 

I growl under my breath. "OK, well here are my two options. You either come with me out of the area, or you stay here in a hotel by yourself." 

"Fine. I'll stay, you go." 

There is a couple of seconds of heavy silence.

"What?" I snap.

"You heard me. I'll stay, you go. We'll finally go our separate ways, like I know you've been dying to since you first discovered me on the backseat of your car under that minging blue raggy blanket."

"Fine." I can't be arsed arguing anymore. "I'm taking the tent, though. Seeing as you'll be living it large in a hotel, with a comfy bed and a hot shower."

"Be my guest!" she shouts, gesturing around her at the walls of the tent that seem to be pressing inwards from the weight of the rain outside. 

"Fine, I will!" I shout back. "Good luck paying for a roof over your head without my fucking stash of money to fall back on!" 

"I don't need your money," she retorts, but there is a distinct wobble and lack of confidence in her voice. She's obviously realised that she does need my money, and she'll be fucking screwed without it. 

"Glad to hear it!" I snarl. "I'm sure they'll be more than happy to let you check in without cash up front, or a credit card to secure the booking. What are you waiting for? Off you go!"

She doesn't move, but sits cross-legged on the floor of the tent, staring down at her lap, in a child-like gait with her lip stuck out. I lean towards her, getting in her face so she can't ignore me no matter how hard she tries. 

"Something wrong?" I thunder. 

She says nothing; instead she cowers before me like the little mouse she once was, and just as quickly as my anger came, it recedes once more. 

"For fuck's sake, Chloe!" I sigh, running my fingers through my sopping hair - I still haven't got used to its new, shorter length. "Come on - you know that option isn't going to work. No hotel is going to let you check in without a credit card, or without paying for the room in full." 

"You're just afraid I'll go to the police the first chance I get and tell them everything," she chokes.

"No I'm not." 

"Liar." 

"It's true." 

Until she said it, the thought of her spilling her guts and dobbing me in hadn't even crossed my mind. Although now she mentions it, she wouldn't last five minutes if they took her into custody. She'd crack immediately, and let's be honest: I wouldn't last five minutes on the run without her.

"Alright, look - maybe you need me and I need you. Happy now? Now can we just fucking work out a plan to get the fuck out of here?"

She lifts her gaze to mine, and I feel a strange twinge in my stomach as our eyes meet. "Just one more night here," she whispers. "Somewhere comfortable, where I can dry my stuff out. And then I promise I'll leave without a fuss."

I close my eyes in resignation, and she gives a small cry of relief. 

I don't have a choice: I need her. But I have a horrible, sickening feeling that this decision is going to have terrible, terrible consequences.

---***---

I have been stuck on this chapter for weeks, looking for a way to get from this scene to the next part, which will be one of the key parts in the story, but after 3000 words I decided just to break it here. Thanks for bearing with me, and hopefully the next chapter won't take quite so long...