HARRY

The room is incredible. It is at the very front of the hotel overlooking the beach, with an amazing view of the harbour at one end and the cliffs at the other. The walls are soft grey with white trim, and the curtains adorning the windows are thick, heavy and luxurious. Tassles hang from the wide pelmets, and a gauzy net curtain drops between the fabric and the window pane for extra privacy. The room itself is large, light and airy, with a king size bed in the middle of one wall, dressed in the same shade of grey. Two bedside tables are each home to a vase of flowers, and there is a large wardrobe and chest of drawers on the opposite wall that look expensive and well made. A doorway between them leads through to an ensuite bathroom with a marble counter, polished chrome taps and a corner bath big enough for both of us to get in, if we wanted to. Not that we would, obviously. Fluffy white towels are piled on a shelf above the sink and a dish of complimentary toiletries sits in the corner, containing all manner of lotions and potions, most of which I have never heard of.

"You weren't kidding when you said this place was top notch," I mutter, walking back into the bedroom from the ensuite.

Chloe doesn't answer. She is sitting on the edge of the bed with what can only be described as a scowl on her face.

"What's up with you?" I ask, frowning.

"Nothing."

I stare at her for a moment, unsure how to react to her. She doesn't seem on the verge of another breakdown like earlier - this seems more like she is pissed off with me for some reason, although why I have no clue. Do I push the issue, or let her ignore me and give myself a break?

I haul my rucksack onto the bed, unzipping it and pulling out all my dirty clothes. I'm pretty confident they all stink, having baked in my bag, sizzling in sweat, for the past few days. A quick check of the basket of freebies in the bathroom tells me there is no washing powder, and I don't know whether shower gel will do the job of getting everything cleaned properly or not. I glance at Chloe, but she is facing the other way, her stance feeling deliberately prickly. 

I would guess the hotel has some sort of laundry service but it probably costs an arm and a leg, and who knows when we might need to make a run for it without warning? I would hate to have to abandon all my belongings just because they were held up in the hotel's washing room. I want to ask Chloe if there is a launderette near here, but she doesn't seem in the mood for mundane conversation. Nevertheless, I need to know, and since when have I ever been worried about pissing somebody off? Everyone else pisses me off, and doesn't give a shit about doing so.

"Is there anywhere locally that washes clothes?" I ask, loudly.  "Like a public launderette? My tshirts stink. I don't mind going and sitting in somewhere while they get cleaned. I think I'd prefer that, than asking someone from room service to come and do it."

She shrugs, without turning round. "Dunno. Probably."

I pull a face behind her back to release my irritation "Probably," I echo sarcastically. "Well, that was a great help, thanks."

"You could always go and look yourself, instead of asking me," she snipes, and I feel my eyebrows rising in surprise.

"Alright, what's the matter with you?" I huff. "You're obviously pissed off about something, but I haven't a clue what it is."

"Pfft," she huffs back, derisively. "I'm surprised you even noticed." 

I lift my arms, turning my palms skywards and staring at her back. "Wha... give me a clue, Chloe!"

Is she annoyed that I overruled her and got us a room here, when she suggested we find somewhere cheaper? Is she angry about the sleeping arrangements? Obviously we will have to share this double bed, but if it's going to be that much of a fucking hassle then we can top and tail. I'm just about to put this forward when she speaks again.

"Forget it," she snaps, getting off the bed and walking over to her own bag, avoiding my gaze.

"Alright, suit yourself," I shrug. "I'll go downstairs and ask at Reception. They're bound to have some information on the local area."

"Fine!" she explodes, turning round and walking back to me just as quickly as she walked away. "We'll go and have a nosy along these back streets!"

"No really, you stay here," I tell her. I really don't fancy putting up with her mood if I can escape it for a few minutes.

"It's fine," she growls, and before I can protest further she is tipping out the contents of her backpack onto the bed, pulling out all her dirty clothes and then bundling them up in a ball in one of the compartments of her bag. I decide it is probably a good idea for me to do the same, and once I have gathered all mine up I tip the wads of cash out of my holdall and into the tent carrier, hide this in the wardrobe, and stuff my dirty clothes back inside my holdall.

She has watched me do all this with interest, the scowl temporarily leaving her face, and I can't help wondering whether if she hadn't been in such a mood with me (for reasons best known to herself) she may have been tempted to question me about where I got the money. She has managed to refrain from asking me since she first laid eyes on it in Frome, and I have a faint suspicion it is killing her to hold her tongue. 

We make our way down the stairs to the ground floor in silence, and as soon as we step through the door into the hotel lobby Chloe takes off at speed towards the main door, without so much as a backward glance. I almost have to jog to keep up with her, yet I notice that once we are clear of the hotel entrance she slows down again to a normal walking pace.

"What's the rush?" I ask, falling into step beside her, and she hesitates before answering.

"Just don't want to hang around too long. You know, in case anyone sees one of us and recognises us."

"Do you... do you think the police have managed to trace us here?" I ask, feeling a stab of nerves in my stomach.

She shrugs. "I don't know. I don't have a crystal ball."

"Alright," I snap. "I was only asking."

"I'd be surprised if they had," she admits, in a softer tone. "I know that not every bus we travelled on over the last couple of days had CCTV. And we've camped out a lot, stayed right out of view. If they know we're here already, then they must be putting a lot of time and money into the case."

"Yeah, well, a man is dead," I point out. "They're going to want to find me sooner rather than later."

"True, but it's not like you killed an innocent woman, or battered a kid to death," she replies. "Chris was a known drug dealer, and a nasty piece of work. He had it coming to him."

I can't hide the look of shock on my face at her words. I know she was terrified of him, but for Chloe pretty much to declare that Chris deserved what he got is completely out of character, for the little I know of her.

"Wouldn't have thought you would be the type of person to judge," I remark casually, and she turns to look at me for the first time since we entered the hotel.

"Chris is in a different league," she replies. "Don't expect me to be sorry that he's dead, because I'm not. I hated him, because he bullied me and made me scared for my life. And he treated everyone around him like they were inferior to him; like they were something he had scraped off his shoe. If you hadn't attacked him that night, someone else would have before long. I'm sure of it."

In a strange way I feel a glimmer of pride for her. In the few days I have got to know her properly, she has become stronger and stronger. The Chloe I first met all those weeks ago in the Flute and Fiddle wouldn't have dared to say these things. She probably wouldn't have dared even to think them. The Chloe that Chris tormented that night on the way home from the pub was a meek, terrified little girl compared to this tough, brave young woman walking next to me. Even the way she walks has changed. She scurries less, and saunters more. Her posture has straightened, her brow is no longer furrowed. She looks at me more like an equal now, rather than someone above her that frightens her.

At least, I hope I don't frighten her anymore. I don't want to be someone she fears.

"There," she says suddenly, jolting me out of my thoughts. We are walking along a narrow street with old fashioned buildings either side that look like something out of a history book, and she is pointing further up the street at a glass-fronted building with a sign above the door that reads Launderette. 

Inside there are several huge industrial-looking washing machines and tumble dryers, and we chuck everything in together, put the money in the slot for the quickest wash and dry available, and sit down on a hard little wooden bench. There is no one else in the shop, and after a few minutes a member of staff emerges from a back room to speak to us.

"You don't have to wait, you can come back when it's done," he says.

Chloe and I glance at each other, and I shrug. "Whatever."

"Fine, let's come back," she mutters impatiently, and immediately gets to her feet and walks out of the shop, swinging her now-empty rucksack over her shoulder.

"We could - we could always go and get something to eat," I suggest as we head back towards the sea front.

"Yeah, we can grab some take away fish and chips," she says, unenthusiastically.

"No, I was meaning... we could go to a proper restaurant, if you want," I explain, feeling strangely hot and uncomfortable all over, all of a sudden. "I'm in the mood for a really decent meal, not just a sandwich or a bag of chips in the room."

She stares at me as though I have grown another head. "You want to take me to a restaurant for dinner?" she repeats, slowly.

"Not like that!" I hiss, embarrassed that she is making me feel stupid for suggesting it. "Fuck's sake, never mind. It was only an idea. Forget I said anything."

"No, it would be really nice," she says quickly. "I haven't been to a proper restaurant since... well, in a very long time."

"Alright, well pick somewhere to go then," I mutter, awkwardly.

"What, now?" 

"No, fucking next week. Of course now!"

"Harry," she says, bluntly but patiently, "I stink, and I'm filthy. If I'm going to sit somewhere surrounded by other people for more than a couple of minutes, I need a shower and a change of clothes. And now I come to think of it, all the clothes I own are currently part way through a spin cycle a hundred metres away."

I clearly hadn't thought this through properly, because now I come to think of it, I am in exactly the same situation. 

"Although..," she says softly, staring ahead up the high street at the abundance of clothes shops, "I could always buy something quickly now..."

"I'm not hanging around while you go shopping," I declare, hotly. "I know what you women are like. You'll be hours!"

"I wouldn't be," she insists, looking up at me with a pleading look. "I'd be really quick. I'll even pick up our clothes from the launderette when I'm finished and meet you back at the hotel."

"Fine," I grumble, and barely are the words out of my mouth and she is disappearing off up the street towards the nearest clothes shop. It must be nearly closing time, because it looks like the assistants are dragging in some of the displays positioned outside the door, and as I continue back towards the hotel a menswear shop catches my eye. I have been wearing the same few tshirts for god knows how long - it wouldn't hurt to get a few more, to last a bit longer between washes. Fuck knows when I'll be able to get any clean clothes again after today. 

I duck inside the door and flip quickly through a rail with a load of reduced items on. I pick up a few random tops in my size, a couple of pairs of shorts, a packet of underwear and some new socks, and dump them down on the counter. I am in and out in less than three minutes, and feel decidedly smug as I saunter back to the entrance of hotel, a slight spring in my step. I am looking forward to feeling clean again, and enjoying a decent meal.

The pretty girl on reception beams at me as I cross the lobby towards the stairs, and I give her a little wink as I disappear through the door. I chuck my purchases down on the bed when I arrive in the room and then head straight to the bathroom, locking the door behind me and stripping off my sweaty clothes. I open the window a crack, turn the water on full blast, grab the entire basket of toiletries and step into the shower. 

The hot water feels fantastic, washing away the dust, dirt, grime and sweat of the last couple of days. I cover my hair in shampoo, creating handfuls of lather and having to rinse it multiple times to get rid of it all, using some of the excess to soap the rest of my body. Running my hands over my dick feels warm and relaxing, and I feel a tingle of desire at the slipperiness of the lather against my skin. My mind wanders, to Chloe in the tight camisole she sleeps in that clings to every curve of her body, particularly her small, pert breasts. Occasionally, maybe when it is cold, her nipples stand out and are visible through the fabric of that top, and on more than one occasion I have imagined for a second what they might feel like beneath my fingertips.

My eyes are closed as my hand moves up and down my length, fully hard now and aching with desire: it has been so fucking long since I had any form of self indulgence like this. I picture Chloe, her thin little shorts resting on the smooth skin of her legs, and imagine sliding my hand up her inside thigh while her fingers reach for my erection, running gently over my tip and squeezing me while I poke the tip of my finger inside her warm, wet folds...

I am close, pumping my hand hard up and down now and leaning against the shower tiles, concentrating deeply on my visual image to help me on my way. The water cascades down over me, tickling my tip and sending shivers down my spine as I can feel myself nearing the edge, closer, closer...

"Harry?"

I gasp, pulling my hand away from my dick guiltily as I cough hard, choking on the water I have just inhaled. I whip my head around to look at the door but it remains closed - thankfully I had remembered to lock it when I came in here.

"What?" I croak, wiping my eyes, my heart pounding and the blood swiftly draining away from my nether regions.

"Just wanted to let you know I'm back with your clothes," she calls through the door, softly. "I didn't want you to walk out of there naked or anything."

My eyes widen - there's no possible way she could know what I was doing - is there?

No, I rationalise, this is my own guilt making me worry unnecessarily. If Chloe had the faintest inkling that I'd been cracking one off in here, I'm fairly confident she wouldn't have interrupted me so brazenly. She would have more likely scuttled off out of the room to leave me to it. Although if I was the other side of this door and she  was in the shower touching herself, thinking about me... 

Jesus fucking Christ, what is wrong with me?! Chloe is a fuck-up, and I'm wanted for murder. I can only conclude that I'm suffering from some weird version of Stockholm Syndrome, or cabin fever, or whatever the fuck that thing is where you start going crazy and acting out of character and being attracted to weirdos. Or worse, some sort of desperation - because it's been fucking weeks since I had any action and I'm actually imagining going at it with Chloe, of all people. I want my head examining.

I stick my head back under the shower jet and blast myself with fifteen seconds of cold water, to pull myself together. I've enough on my plate, what with a drug dealer's blood on my hands, problems at home and a mentally unstable tagalong. I definitely don't need any momentary lapse of judgement complicating things any further.