As I charge across my apartment to grab my car keys from the top of the kitchen counter, my skin bristles with goose bumps, and my heart drops at the weird sensation that runs through me. I can feel my blood turn cold, my skin turn to ash and my eyes want to roll into the back of my head. Everything feels off balance. I try to focus on what I have to do, but all I can see is the ghost of her face staring straight ahead. Her eyes are wide and her lips are parted as she stares back at me. She’s lost, but isn’t sure she wants finding.
It’s in that moment I know something bad is about to happen, and Paris is about to get herself into a whole lot of trouble.
I don’t know what it is I have to do; I just know I have to do something.
And I have to do it fast.
*******
Three days I’ve spent searching for her. My feet have pounded every street they know in Manchester, my hands have knocked on every door I've ever been through and my phone has not been far away from my ear for more than a minute. She isn’t anywhere to be seen, and I haven’t a single person in the world to turn to about it.
Lori has gone, too. I guess I always knew she would. University was always going to be her one and only anchor in life, but after that, she always did say she wouldn’t stick around. I miss her so much already.
I could sit and wallow in the fact that without Paris around, I have no one, but the reality is, I don’t need anyone but her. I just need to know she is alive and safe. That would be a start. I can’t do anything but worry and keep searching. The minute the sun comes up in the morning, I’m out of that door and I don’t come back home until darkness wraps itself around the world and forces me to quit for the night.
There’s no hospital I haven’t phoned, no hotel I haven’t visited. The police are my next stop, but, without her mother contacting them to show any kind of concern, I’m scared they will just laugh me out of the station.
As the sun starts to set on yet another day out on the road, I rub my eyes with urgency, desperate to stay awake for as long as I can. I've not worn make-up for days and my hair has been permanently slapped up in a bun. My clapped-out old fiesta sits at the bottom of the main strip of town. I watch it come into focus as I drag my tired feet down the road at a snail’s pace. I’m staring at it like it’s the finish line of some kind of long distance race. If I can just make it inside the car… if I can just get myself behind the wheel, I’ll be one step closer to home.
People are passing me by and shoulders are shoving me out of the way as my limp body just falls in whatever direction they force me to move. My head feels like it’s attached to my shoulders by the weakest of threads as it rolls and falls around, the powerful need for sleep trying to pull me under at the most inconvenient of times. All my limbs feel weak, but I know I need to keep moving.
The second my phone buzzes in my pocket, it’s like an adrenaline shot straight to the heart. My back stiffens in the middle of the street as I scurry into my coat and try to reach the damn thing as quickly as I can. This could be her. It has to be her. Opening up the screen with wide eyes, my mouth falls open as I see the message staring back at me. Each word I read seems to burn a hole in my chest.
Isabella, Paris has been home. While she’s perfectly safe, she has now gone again. She needs space and distance so has left for a new life. She says she can’t do this anymore. She doesn’t want me around and it seems she doesn’t want you, either. I’m sorry to be the one to break this to you, but she specifically asked me to tell you not to try and follow her. I’m letting her go in the hope she can find herself. I hope you can respect her, and me, by doing the same. Lillian.
Lifting my head to look up at the fading light in the sky, I inhale a large breath of air and try to process the words on my phone, and understand them, but every theory and thought I have just doesn’t seem to make sense.
My life hasn’t exactly been easy up until this point, but no matter how dark the hole I fell into became, I had always had someone on hand to shine a light over my shoulder and help me find my way back out. The abuse I witnessed as a child, the abuse I suffered, the loss of Dandy, the heartache, the stresses of life, all the things that have threatened to bring me falling to my knees… I couldn’t have survived any of those things without her.
And now she wants me to let her go?
It feels strange to be so cold in the middle of summer, but suddenly I am. I could be standing in the middle of the sun and I know the icy needles of disbelief would still make my blood freeze.
As I make my way back to my car and collapse into the driver’s seat, a wave of realisation washes over me. The inevitable has happened, and it’s all my doing for pushing her away in the first place.
I am finally alone in this world.
And I have no-one to blame but myself.
Fifteen
18th September 2004
I’ve been in Cyprus for two whole days and I’m already starting to feel a freedom I haven’t felt in long time. The heat that wraps itself around my body provides me with the same kind of comfort as that of an old childhood blanket. The moment I took that first step off the plane, I knew I made the right decision in coming here, despite being worried about travelling abroad on my own. I'd spent far too long looking at the same walls back at home. I needed the escape.
Paris has been gone from my life for over a year now. I’ve learnt little about where she is or what she’s doing, but people talk enough to suggest she may not be in the best of places. Gossip flies around Manchester faster than the water is capable of falling from the sky. I try not to listen to tales of her being seen with groups of men, or the stories of her looking skinnier than ever and a lot less well kept. The things I hear don’t sound anything like her to me and, while it would be so easy for me to believe every little snippet of her life that accidentally falls into my lap, I simple can’t. I know her. I love her. I believe in her. I have to trust that, whatever journey she is taking, she is looking after herself… somewhere… with someone who loves her… hopefully.
But there’s only so much burying my head in the sand that I am capable of doing, and the constant tug of unease that lives in my stomach on a daily basis is beginning to eat me alive. The bond we have always shared is still as strong today as it was when we lived together. I try so hard to ignore it, but I feel her fight on a daily basis. Deep, deep down, I know she is struggling with something. I’m just powerless to fix things for her.
She doesn’t want me to.
To stop myself from going crazy, I’ve spent the last twelve months pouring everything I have into my work. My writing is now paying for me to live in more ways than one. While I’m far from being published as a novelist, I’m creating articles for local newspapers and magazines. Short stories have become my speciality, with one national magazine publishing chapters of my work on a weekly basis. As ridiculous as it may seem, I even get the odd fan letter telling me how much they enjoy what I do. Things are slowly progressing in a way I never imagined they would. All I can do is keep moving forward and pretend that my best friend is happy and one day, she will want me in her life again.
Sitting on a stool at the hotel pool-bar, I trace my finger around the edge of my cocktail glass with my other hand propped against my cheek. The sound of Justin Timberlake serenading a senorita plays out from the speakers and I find it impossible not to sway to the slow beat. The warmth of the summer sun is comforting me into a blissful coma again, and the effects of my third Piña Colada are most definitely starting to kick in. It feels good to be this relaxed. My body has craved this moment for longer than I realised.
Letting the music run through me, my bones seem to melt from his voice alone as my head dances from side to side in subtle movements. I don’t care who is watching me or who thinks what as I lower my lips to my straw, my face still resting against my fist, and take a long, slow sip of my drink. When I eventually pull back, I can’t help but smile and sing under my breath. I'm free and it feels good. I’m actually grateful t
hat I’m here all alone. Who would ever have thought that was possible?
My smile grows wider as I carefully tuck the hair that’s fallen down my chest behind my ear before softly flicking it back over my shoulder. In this moment right here, there’s just me and the sunshine. Not another soul exists except my own. I’m in a bubble… or at least I was.
“That’s better,” says a male beside me. “I was just trying to figure out a way to do that myself without it resulting in you smacking me with your purse.”
I don’t know what it is about this voice, but before I even look up at him, the confident, smooth way he speaks makes my stomach tighten. Furrowing my brows together, I lazily tilt my head towards him and instantly try to bite back any obvious signs of attraction.
Of course he’s gorgeous - beyond gorgeous, actually. His black hair holds a gentle curl to it and his tanned, golden skin brings out the whites of his eyes and exaggerates his already perfect smile.
Damn.
“Excuse me?”
“Why, what have you done?
“I…” can’t finish my sentences, apparently. Narrowing my eyes and trying not to smile, I hold his gaze and raise an eyebrow as slowly as I can.
With a hand tucked in the pocket of his shorts, he casually points at the hair I’ve just tucked away and grins. “I just noticed that you hide behind your golden halo too much. It’s like a curtain or a shield or something. I haven’t figured out what yet. But I will.”
“Figured it out?” I ask quietly as I hold my nonchalant pose and try to control the pricking of my skin.
“Your story.”
“I don’t have a story.”
“Everyone has a story.”
“Not me,” I sigh.
“Sure you do.”
“I really don't.” I laugh entirely disingenuously.
“It's written all over your face. That lost look that you wear when you bite down on your bottom lip and stare off into nothing. I noticed it the second I sat down in my seat on the plane and saw you in the neighbouring aisle. I've been waiting to read it ever since.”
Swallowing louder than I want to, I immediately find myself straightening my shoulders and reaching for my drink with both hands, just to give myself something to do that doesn’t involve holding eye contact with Mr. Mysterious. Swirling the straw around the pale liquid, I look down and decide staying mute is probably my wisest course of action.
I see him roll his head back from the corner of my eye, right before a low, deep laugh escapes him and he rocks back on his heels.
“Shit. That sounded creepy, didn’t it?”
Twitching in my seat, I allow my eyes to flicker up and casually shrug a shoulder. “A little bit.”
“I knew it,” he chuckles, dropping his chin to his chest as he shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve been working up to talking to you for two days and that’s just gone worse than even I thought was possible.”
Gripping my straw, I peek up at him through wide eyes. He scratches his head in frustration, scrunching up one side of his face in awkward embarrassment, and all I can think about is how handsome he looks.
“Can we start over? I promise you I'm smoother than this when I'm not nervous.”
“Why would you be nervous?”
“You're quietly intimidating. And I really don't want to fuck up my second chance of saying hello.” His eyes twinkle as we stare at each other for far too long. “So, can I try again?”
Pressing my lips together in an attempt to stop myself from smiling proves pointless and before I know it, I’ve abandoned my drink on the bar and I’ve somehow strapped on my flirtatious face. Screw it. I’m on holiday after all.
“Sure.” I nod, smile and hold my hand out to his.
“Jack.”
“Umm… Moffy.”
“Moffy?” he asks, his brow rising in obvious surprise and confusion while a hint of a smirk plays on his lips.
“Yes,” I laugh. “Real name’s Izzy, but I hate it. So you can call me Moffy.”
“You prefer Moffy to Izzy?”
“You don’t?” I challenge back, copying his expression.
Jack’s gaze locks onto mine, and I swear I can feel his stare penetrate every inch of me, even though he never once breaks eye contact. Finally taking my hand in his, he shakes it once before kissing the back of it softly. The minute his warm lips meet my skin, something in my world seems to shift. Something about that simple gesture makes a thrill of excitement run through me. My breath hitches in my throat when he looks up through his dark lashes and grins at me in a way no man has ever smiled at me before. Fisting the material at the knee of my long beach dress, I discreetly try to clear my throat and find a hint of composure. But the way his cheeks raise as he looks at me tells me he’s already seen what I was just desperately trying to hide.
I'm attracted to him. And he knows it.
“I prefer Izzy,” he says in a husky breath.
Blinking rapidly, all I can do is whisper in response. “Then call me Izzy.”
*******
My days in Cyprus seem to melt away in a haze of Parker-induced fun and conversation. After our introductions at the bar and several more drinks, Jack convinced me to dance with him poolside and ignore the gazes of those around us.
I can’t be sure what makes me agree to his every suggestion, but no matter what he tells me to do, he always seems to have a way of making it sound like a good idea.
With every hour that passes with him by my side, a small weight of the worry I carry around with me seems to slip away, too. His charm is infectious and his sense for adventure addictive.
That first night in the bar is all about us flirting. We spend the whole night testing and challenging, pushing each other’s buttons and trying hard to outwit the other. Once my nerves die down and I’m able to gain some control over the butterflies in my stomach, I find myself doing anything I can to make him smile, just so I can admire the way his face lights up.
I’m higher than I’ve been for years. I don’t think about home once as he talks the night away with tales of his adventures across the world by himself. Jack is a traveller with aspirations of visiting every single part of the world before he dies. He doesn’t care how popular or how remote the place is, as long as the surroundings are unexplored by him, he’s happy.
As he speaks the days away, all I can do is watch him in complete awe and fascination. This man is like no-one I’ve ever met before. He is responsible, but care-free. He’s subtly seductive, passive but dominant, confident but goofy and shy. He’s nothing short of a walking, talking oxymoron.
And by day four of his company, I am completely and utterly hooked on him.
“We’ve been here six days,” I say as I turn to smile at him, laid on my front on the sun lounger. “Yet I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know you.”
“The mind refuses to forget what it craves.”
“Uch. You didn't just say that.”
Laid on his back, his face aimed up at the blazing sun, Jack lets his head flop to the side as he peers at me over the heavy darkness of his sunglasses. “Just admit you love me, Izzy.”
“Oh, I love you… like I love the thought of having a hole in my head.”
“Come on. Who else in the world would sit and listen to your annoying ramblings of Paris this and Paris that?” He chuckles, rubbing the beard on his chin in the most casual of ways. “I'm so close to getting you to admit you two were in a gay relationship, I can just feel it.”
“I do not ramble!”
“Would you have preferred me to refer to it as the moaning it really is?” He smirks back at me. My brows crease together as I try to decide whether or not he's joking, but he leaves me no time to linger on that fleeting negative thought before his slightly cocky laughter fills the air again, “and nice swerve on the whole lesbian thing, by the way. It so happened.”
Laughing out loud, I pick my bottle up from the floor and flick some water in his face,
unable to believe how happy he makes me just by smiling the way he does.
“You’re a jackass.”
Raising his arms above his head and stretching his body out, he groans through a strained voice. “Yeah, but I’m your Jackass for the taking. I’m just waiting for you to say the word.”
My head drops down as I try to hide the blush on my cheeks behind my curtain of long, blonde hair. The sexual tension between us has been intense from the moment his mouth touched the back of my hand, but we haven’t done anything at all. Not even kissed. I’m not sure why or even how we’ve avoided it, but somewhere along the way, I figured out that I’d only have to say the word, and Jack would take me to bed and we would lose ourselves in each other for the remainder of our two week holiday.
“Jack…”
“Don’t say it unless you mean it, Izzy.” He sighs and smirks, gripping the top edge of the sun-lounger in his hands as he relaxes his shoulders and looks back up at the sky. “My achey, breaky heart couldn’t take it.”
Rolling my eyes, I flip myself around and move to sit at the edge of the chair, dragging it as close to his as I can get before gently lifting my finger and thumb to his chin and forcing him to look at me. I can’t see him from behind his glasses, but I know for a fact he’s searching my face the same way he always does.
“Jack, you don’t even know me,” I whisper, trying to keep things light and jovial. For me to click my fingers and order him to take me to bed… well, that’s one thing, but him feeling the things I’m scared of feeling is a whole other thing entirely.
Izzy Moffit's Road to Wonderland (Road to Wonderland Series Book 1) Page 11