CHLOE

The room swims before my eyes. The sound of the newsreader now reporting council budget cuts is far away, muffled by the thumping of my own heart and the whoosh of blood in my ears. My knees give way and I sink down onto the bed, my legs like jelly and no longer able to support my weight. The police have traced us to Totnes, which means they must know about the false iPhone trail. We didn't see the full news report, so we don't know how much else they know, but it is enough to send us both into a panic. It surely cannot be long before they figure out Harry isn't alone. CCTV from the leisure centre in Totnes will be enough to link him to me, and if they have a clear enough picture they will know he has cut his hair, which means he is even more likely to be recognised.

I glance over at Harry who has also sat down on his bed and is now staring blankly at the television, undoubtedly not taking in a word of what is being said.

"What do you want to do?" I ask fearfully. I don't have a plan for this. I don't have any answers, so if he is going to look to me to come up with a master plan he is going to be sadly disappointed.

"I want to fucking think, in peace and quiet."

"Sorry."

The word has barely left my lips when I snap my mouth shut, and he casts me a murderous glare but thankfully says nothing. Maybe the weight of the police on his trail is enough to occupy him temporarily. Every cloud, I suppose.

I point the remote at the television and switch it off, plunging the room into silence.

"What the fuck are you doing?!"

I look up to see his teeth bared in fury, his hands balled into fists. I feel myself gulp in fear.

"You - you said you wanted peace and quiet," I answer, and it comes out barely below a wail.

"Yeah - peace and quiet from you, you stupid bitch! Not the fucking news! That's the only thing worth listening to, to give me some sort of clue about what the police know!"

"OK, I'm sorry! I'm sorry." 

A sob rising in my chest, I grab the remote again, jabbing frantically at the buttons to get the news back on, my hands shaking. By the time the picture fills the screen, the weathergirl is reporting sunshine and high temperatures for the next few days.

"I've fucking missed it now!" he thunders, standing up and kicking his bag of money across the floor in rage.

This is so unfair - the report about him had already finished and had moved on when I switched the TV off. But of course I don't argue the point, too terrified to stand up to him when he is behaving like this. I hang my head and avert my eyes, not even daring to look at him.

"You're a fucking liability!" he rages. "Sitting there acting like a fucking miserable puppy with that hangdog expression and wobbly lip. Fuck's sake!" He bangs his fist on the bed covers, and although the sound is muffled it still makes me jump and squeak in surprise, which only enrages him further. "Why are you trembling like a little coward?" he roars, getting up off his bed and walking over to me. He leans down on his hands, pushing his face into mine so his eyes are only inches from me. I can feel the heat from his skin, see the sweat gathering in his hairline, feel his breath on my cheeks. 

He is trying to intimidate me, I know, and it is working. I am absolutely terrified, not just of what he might do to hurt me, but from the rage emanating from him. I have never experienced anger like this from anyone else. I didn't know it could exist with such force and strength until I met Harry. It is times like this that I believe he could be capable of murder. 

"Well?" he bellows. He is clearly expecting some sort of answer from me.

"Because you're frightening me," I whimper, hating myself for being weak and feeble and unable to stand up to him. 

"You're pathetic," he hisses in my face. "You're so fucking scared all the time. You haven't got a fucking clue about... about life. You're just in your own little Chloe bubble, drifting around oblivious to everyone else's shit. You think this whole thing is just some fucking game, some big adventure! What does it matter to you if I get caught? Nothing will happen to you - you'll just give your statement to the police, tell them you saw me kicking the shit out of Chris, and then go back to your miserable little life. I'll be the one locked up, I'll be the one with a murder conviction!"

"I know," I choke, "I know I'm pathetic - I don't need you to tell me that."

"Then why are you like this? Why are you a nervous wreck?"

"You're shouting in my face," I sob, turning away from him in an attempt to regain some personal space.

"I don't just mean now," he breathes heavily, "I mean all the time!"

"I can't help it," I snivel. "I can't help the way I am. Just like you can't help the way you are."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing - it just means what it means. You're you and I'm me. You can't change, I can't change. You're angry and aggressive, I'm nervous and jumpy."

"Angry and aggressive?"

I turn my gaze on him, to see confusion on his face, not accompanied by his usual derision.

"Well - yes. Like you're being now."

"I'm only angry when people fucking piss me off!"

"Yes, I know," I answer wearily, wiping the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand. "Which I know I do, all the time. I don't do it on purpose. I know you can't stand me, and I'm sorry that everything I do provokes your wrath. Believe me, I wish I were different. If I could be someone else I would be. I don't like me, either. So I don't blame you for hating me."

His anger has disappeared as quickly as it came. He straightens up, putting some distance between us, and folds his arms across his chest, staring at me with an expression I can't read on his face. He looks as if he is about to say something, and then at the last second changes his mind. He turns away from me, wiping a hand hard over his face, and sits back down on the bed again, hunching himself over.

He says nothing for several minutes. I lie down on the bed, ignoring the growl of hunger from my stomach, and slowly regain control of my emotions. My breathing eventually slows as my tears cease, but my mind is racing at a hundred miles an hour. It is crowded; overwhelmed with the events of the last five minutes. I feel physically and mentally drained, and unable to think clearly.

The knowledge that the police are on our tail has thrown me. Obviously I knew they would be looking for Harry, but in a way he is right with what he said just now: I have been living in a little bubble. Although I have been doing my best to keep us untraceable, the threat of being found has begun to feel a little surreal, almost like it is happening to somebody else. Which of course it is. It is happening to Harry. It is him they are searching for, not me. It is his liberty at stake. 

"I don't know what to do."

The sound of his voice brings me out of my own thoughts with a bump. I roll over onto my side to look at him; he is still in the same hunched position and doesn't look at me even though he must be able to see that I am looking at him. I wait, unsure if he is going to offer any more insight, but after a few moments of silence I realise this is all he is going to say.

"I don't think we should do anything yet," I reply, trying to keep my voice level. "I think we should wait it out here for a bit, and look out for the next news update."

He finally turns his head towards me. "That news report - was it the local news or the national news?"

"I think local," I respond. "But I'm not sure."

He nods at this, and thinks for a moment. "Either way, I need to get out of the area. If the locals recognise me the game's up. If the national news are onto me as well... well it doesn't really matter whether I make a run for it or not - someone will recognise me eventually. It's just a matter of time." 

"Yes," I agree, nodding too. "But I think it would look suspicious if we left now after only just booking the room. It's like an admission of guilt. We don't want to do anything to draw attention to ourselves, no matter how small. We don't know if the police know I'm with you. We don't know if they have broadcast my picture. The woman who took the booking downstairs only saw me, she hasn't seen you. So even if she has seen the news, no one apart from me knows that you are here."

He nods slowly, seemingly taking all of this in.

"I think we should stay here tonight, unless we find out the police have traced us to Frome, in which case we'll make a run for it straight away," I continue. "But otherwise we'll leave first thing in the morning and head somewhere completely different."

"You just want to have your one night in a comfy bed."

I study his face, looking for signs that this is meant in anger, but the brief curl of his lips tells me he is making light of the situation, something that right now is welcome after the intensity of the last few minutes. 

"Yes," I smile wryly, "you got me. I do want my one night in a comfy bed. But I'm also trying to do everything I can to make sure you don't get caught. Believe it or not, I'm on your side."

"Why?" he asks quietly, appearing suddenly interested in the faded pink flowers on the duvet cover.

"Why what?"

"Why are you on my side?" He looks up at me again, piercing me with his stare, and the twinge I feel in my stomach this time isn't the fear I felt when he was leaning into my face, spitting hatred and venom at me, but something else I can't identify.

I mull this for a moment, wondering how best to answer. In the end I reply, "Because there isn't any other side to be on. I don't have a choice. It's your side or no side at all."

He was wrong when he said I see this as a big adventure. Nothing could be further from the truth. The stress of not knowing what we are doing or where we are going from one minute to the next is taking its toll on me. I am mentally exhausted. I am the one doing all the thinking, all the planning (as much as Harry will allow). And to hear him saying that nothing will happen me if he gets caught... 

Harry's capture is something I cannot bear to contemplate. If he is taken into custody I will be all alone. I won't have anywhere to go, and no one in the world to help me. He hasn't yet realised that when we left London I pretty much burnt all of my bridges. I quit my job, left my flat and I have less than no reason to return: I have literally nothing and nobody to go back to - everything I own is in the bag on my back. I have come to depend on him to be the only person in the world I have.

Even stranger is that he also still doesn't realise just how much he has come to depend on me these last few days. He talks to me as though I am a tagalong, an inconvenience, a burden. He seems completely unaware that I have been the one responsible for his freedom this whole time. I suspect the only reason he puts up with me is to keep me quiet and stop me blabbing to the police. He definitely doesn't see me as anyone of worth to him, which is why he treats me with aggression and disdain.

But while he may terrify me, bully me, threaten me and degrade me, I can never walk away from him because I need him. He doesn't understand this about me yet, and I'm not sure he ever will. So, what does it matter to me if he gets caught? It means the difference between life and death. Only I don't mean Chris's life, or Harry's life. I mean mine.