Huancayo, Peru.

She was such an idiot. What the hell had she been thinking?

Nadia placed her hand on the balustrade of the bizarre monument and gazed up. It resembled something between a large cubby house and a small castle. As she walked up the curved staircase, her fingers moved up and down over the oval rocks cemented into the railing.

Parque de la Identidad Huanca was a mosaic of stones, some pocked and sharp, others river-bed smooth. A fantasy land full of sculptures pulled out of an artist's dream and into the real world. Or were they?

She felt like she was in a nightmare. Ever since that afternoon, when the order of her world tilted once again, twisting like a kaleidoscope. All the fundamental elements and pieces still existed. But they had been reshuffled into an unrecognisable pattern, and she was disorientated, her emotions in shambles.

This time she wasn't blameless, and she didn't like that one bit. When times were tough, the moral high ground was a lifeline.

She emerged on the viewing platform and took in the near-empty park. Dusk approached. The blue of the sky had concentrated into a vibrant hue, and the clouds were painted in fluorescent rose. Panpipe notes wafted gently on the wind. The scent of hot sugar spun out of a fairy floss machine up into her waiting nostrils. A few couples milled about, soaking in the magic of the golden hour. One stopped before the vendor's cart to purchase a stick of the fluffy candy.

They walked on, smiling, picking wisps of pink cotton and popping it into their mouths as they talked, arms interlocked and heads close together. Oh, how she envied them.

From her vantage point, the rest of the world appeared calm and serene — the opposite of her heart.

She pulled out her phone and pointed the camera at the various pieces of art. The phone clicked as she half-heartedly took pictures. The quality of the images was telling.

Why had she done it? Why had he? What the hell was she supposed to do now?

She rested her head against an arch, closed her eyes and returned to her rumination of the day that had been.

They had arrived in Huancayo on the morning bus and settled into a twin room on the upper floor of a bed and breakfast. While Thomas had taken his time to settle in on his side of the cramped chamber, arranging his possessions in an orderly manner, she had dumped her bag and paced, waiting to get moving.

Social media became more tempting with each day. Notifications pinged on her phone, though none from Khai. Her sense of unease grew.

Luckily, Thomas was turning out to be much more fun than she expected, helping to draw her out from the fog of self-pity. Except when he acted like a fastidious old man. Like now.

She pulled out her Kindle — bugger, it was flat — plugged in the charger and leered over him, champing at the bit.

"Can we please go now?"

Thomas glanced up from tucking a pair of neatly folded pyjamas under his pillow. "If you wish."

After a cup of weak tea and fried eggs on toast at a local restaurant, she negotiated a ride with a moto taxi to the outskirts of town. She laughed as Thomas clung on for dear life, the knees of his long legs almost up to his ears, while the vehicle bumped up the rutted road, wheels kicking up a haze of dust.

Torre Torre was a series of natural towers cut from the earth by water. The pillars varied from light sand to rust and loomed against a backdrop of green grass. They walked for hours to and around their destination, sometimes talking, more often in companionable silence.

Until Thomas spoke his mind.

The sky was the same colour as his eyes, even in the shadows, and the day cold, despite the bright-white sun. From time to time, it popped between one pillar and another, blazing into her eyes, and she would raise her hand as a makeshift visor.

Thomas raked his hand through his hair, the way he did when he contemplated what to say.

A chill wind blew down the slope, and Nadia shivered, grateful when they entered the sunshine and headed up a steadily sloping hill of clay loam and long green tufts, making their way to a wall of cliffs. A small flock of sheep bleated on the horizon, and a cowbell rang, accompanied by a call in Spanish.

As she walked, the ground underfoot released an earthy scent. Idly, she kicked at a rock, and it rolled away in an uneven gait.

Lost in her thoughts, it took her a moment to register Thomas' perfectly inflected words.

"Why do you let him treat you the way he does?"

Her spine stiffened. "Like what?" Looking down, she feigned ignorance.

He huffed. "Where to start? How about letting him talk to you the way he did? Or acting overly familiar with other women? Or spending your money without reciprocating?"

She flinched, her heart squeezing. Didn't he realise that speaking aloud made it real? That if she accepted the truth, they would never have a chance to mend their relationship. It seemed he didn't. Or perhaps he did, another part of her pointed out. Regardless, the words flowed on, eroding her heart into something parched and malformed like the piles around them.

"Abandoning you to strange men. Failing to find whatever means possible to locate you and make sure you are safe!"

"Stop it, Thomas!" This was between her and Khai, no one else. She sniffed and hugged her torso.

Thomas stepped in front of her and peered down into her face, his forehead creased. "And after all this, you wait for him to contact you?"

The accusation stung. As if she had wronged him somehow. Well, she hadn't. So, what was his fucking problem?

"I am not!" The words came out in a pout, and she cringed inside.

His eyes widened. "Oh, so you are just impatient to hear news from home when you race to your phone?"

She glared back at him. "This isn't your business?"

He shook his head, turned and started walking. His hand pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one and drew, flicking away the tip of ashes as his long legs ate up the distance, leaving her waiting. Wanting. Frustrated as hell.

"Slow down!"

He didn't. In fact, she was certain he sped up.

Her body clenched. "Thomas!"

He hesitated and turned, eyes shining.

She ran, puffing to catch up. How was she supposed to explain things when her feelings and actions didn't make sense? She decided to tell the truth — or some of it.

"Have you heard of cognitive dissonance?"

He leaned back and regarded her, one hand in a pocket, the other guiding his cigarette to his mouth, then down again. A stream of smoke trickled out the corner. "No, should I have?"

She scuffed her shoes, building a small pile of soil between her feet. "Probably not, it's a psychology theory, and you studied law."

"Okay?"

She sighed. "It's basically when your thoughts and behaviours don't match, making you feel bloody crap. I didn't agree with Khai's behaviour, but I didn't want to accept the truth either, because that meant I would have to face some tough decisions, and it wasn't something I wanted to do halfway around the world. So, I tried to convince myself that everything was okay. I still am. That's why I'm so frickin' shitty all the time. I'm not usually like this.

Thomas gaged her intently, an odd expression on his face as the wind ruffled his hair.

Bloody hell, he's hot. "What?" she asked, trying not to smile.

His lip quirked, and he breathed in on his cigarette again before he spoke. "I'm not making that very easy for you, am I?"

"No, you're not." Against her will, a grin broke on her face.

He smirked and grabbed her hand, tugging on it. "Come, let's get to the top and take in the view properly."

It was an innocent gesture, but her heart skipped a beat just the same. She decided to ignore it and absorb the moment. The sun in an azure sky, the aroma of crushed lawn and damp turf, an eagle's cry, the whisper of the wind, the handsome man beside her.

They found a ledge at the peak of the rise and pulled out their lunch of crackers, apples and peanuts.

When she was finished, Nadia sprawled on her back and sensed the sun through her eyelids, listened to Thomas snapping twigs and the occasional pop as he pulled out a stalk of grass.

An ant crawled across the back of her hand, and she flicked it off. "I feel so free," she said. "I wish I could hold onto this feeling forever."

Thomas squirmed next to her, and she heard the smile in his voice. "Perhaps not forever, but for a good while longer, at least."

A cloud passed in front of the sun and the temperature plummeted with her mood. No, not much longer. Last minute flights to Australia would chew up most of her money. The only way to stay was if Khai took her back — or repaid his share of the Inca Trail passes.

She hummed noncommittally.

"How much longer will you stay here?" he asked.

She opened her eyes and squinted to the left, shrugging. "A bit — as long as my money lasts."

"I could help."

She shook her head. No way.

"Money isn't an issue for me."

"But it is for me." She cut him off before he could argue further. The subject made her uneasy.

He didn't take the hint. "Which is why you should let me help you."

"And what would you want?" She scrutinised him, daring him to look away and lie.

Thomas looked offended at the question but held her stare. "Just your company, for a while, and to see you happy."

She pushed up on the heel of her hand and narrowed her eyes. "Where I am from there is a name for women like that. I'll give you a clue. It starts with 'Es' and ends in 'court'"

Thomas recoiled. "I would never!" He shook his head, stood and started to pace, extracting a cigarette from his pocket, then threw it unused into the dust and ground it beneath his heel.

He dropped to her side. "Isn't it enough that I like you. That I want to make you happy?"

Her instincts told her to get away. Things had suddenly got intense, but she couldn't move. Didn't want to.

"Why?"

"Because of this." His hand brushed against her cheek and cupped her face, allowing her to pull away. When she didn't, he pressed a tender kiss. His lips were soft and cool. He kissed her again, a little harder, as his right hand fell to her shoulder and the left wound into her hair. His mouth moved to her ear.

"Does this make you happy?"

Butterflies flew from her core to her fingers and toes, flourishing in the sense of rightness. Powerless to speak, she nodded, inclined her face against his hand.

He worshipped and nibbled his way along the helix, down to her lobe as her body thrummed, then his mouth found the sensitive flesh over her pulse and bit. He pursued his path down until he reached the sensitised meeting place of neck and shoulder. He sucked. Her hips moved, aching to rub against something. Then he stopped. Disappointed, she opened her eyes and saw him staring at her.

"Say it."

Her mouth reached towards his. He pulled back.

"Say it," he growled.

"Yes."

He responded instantly, plundering her mouth, opening it with teeth and tongue, consuming her with rhythmic strokes. He tasted of tobacco and mint. He tasted delicious. Ravenous, she answered in kind. His body twisted, and she was pulled against him. The caress went on. A fist tightened in her hair, bringing her to the edge of pain and sharpening her exhilaration. When his hand came to her breast, she melted. The man was an artist. They were only just past first base, but Khai had never made her feel like this.

Khai. The man she was supposed to win back. The man she supposedly loved. The man she did love.

It was as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over the fire of their passion. Reluctantly, she brought her hands up to his chest — his surprisingly hard and sculpted chest.

For a moment she was distracted, hands roaming.

No! She shoved him away. "Stop!"

Thomas pulled back like he was slapped, his face etched with shame. "Nadia, I am so sorry. I overstepped the mark."

She shook her head. "No — no." And wrung her hands. She'd betrayed Khai. Used Thomas. Fuck. Led him on. "No. No, you didn't do anything I didn't want." Her eyes searched his pleadingly. "I — am just not ready. I don't know how I feel — about you or ..." A tear slipped out. She wiped it away with her sleeve.

Thomas's hand reached out and touched hers. "Nadia, please." He considered his words. "I don't know what got into me. I won't do that to you again ... not unless you −"

She nodded, unwilling to hear the rest. "I'm only ready for friendship, Thomas."

"Of course." His words were stern and painfully polite. "I think, perhaps, it's time to return to town."

She let him help her to her feet.

The walk back was the most awkward thing she had ever experienced. They both surveyed the landscape as if they might miss some crucial detail. Thomas hailed their ride when they reached the edge of Huancayo, and they sat in silence. She didn't resist when he paid, nor did she point out that the fare was exorbitant. Money meant little to him after all. He told her he needed to visit a pharmacy and left her in the room.

She had sat perched on her bed, pen poised to write in her journal when her phone buzzed: a Facebook notification about Savannah. Heart beating and feeling faint, she wondered if Savannah was still with Khai and swiped the screen. A procession of pictures appeared. Nadia inhaled sharply. They were of Khai and Savannah, smiling, laughing, arms locked around each other. The book thudded to the floor. She exhaled on a loud sob, waiting for a flood of tears, but none came.

Shock slammed into her, shoving her into a nightmare world. She had no right to weep; she was no better.

Nadia had jostled past Thomas on her way out of the building, his face a portrait of worry and concern as he stood, a white paper bag dangling from his hand.

Nadia blinked the tears from her eyes and shook her head, trying to clear away the memories. The sky had darkened to full night, and stars twinkled overhead, a tangled string of glowing pearls. The park lay empty. Unsafe for a lone gringa. Shivering, she pulled her hood over her hair and made her way down.

She walked quickly through the streets, hands in pockets, one wrapped tightly around her phone, her head down.

Her state of mind improved as she neared their room. A sense of belonging emanated from it. She took the stairs two by two, bouncing on her heels, then walked into a foyer. For a moment, she wavered at the door to their room, hand suspended over the nob. Something blossomed in her stomach, not wholly unpleasant. She reached out and grabbed the brass handle. The metal squeaked loudly as she turned.

Thomas jumped up from his bed, blonde hair dishevelled as if he had been pulling at it. Like he had been going out of his mind worrying about her. Had he?

"Nadia! Thank God! Where have you been? I've been worried sick!"

She didn't remember the last time anyone had been so concerned, not since she had been a teenager and stayed out all night. She shuffled into the room, avoiding his gaze.

"What happened?"

The second his hands clasped her shoulders, hot tears sprung. He pulled her against his chest and soothed her with gentle hands and a steady heartbeat, then directed her to sit on her bed where he stroked her hair and rubbed her back, giving her permission to cry on his shoulder as he listened to her wordless grief.

He let her rest a little while, then dragged her out to a fiesta in the town centre, feeding her cocktails and teaching her to dance. She felt lighter that night. Something had shifted. After all, pain wasn't always bad — sometimes it was healing.

Image sourced from: http://www.saulolobato.com/book-personal/carito-parque-de-la-identidad-wanka/