A little definition - greasy spoon - a small cafe that sells fried foods (usually English breakfasts)

Sixteen.

There are five boxes in the hallway that weren't there when I went to sleep. Mum's dancing around the kitchen to Rod Stewart while she makes breakfast. A cloud of salty bacon and burnt toast floats around the flat with nowhere to escape to. I don't want to turn up at school smelling like a greasy spoon, so I turn down her offer of breakfast. She looks disappointed.

"Where did the boxes come from?" I deflect, tying my hair up before it absorbs the stink.

She tries to look confused by my question, but they're sitting right there, making our already tiny home even more cramped. "Oh those …" She waves a tea towel at them and turns back to the hob. "Just some of Marcus' stuff."

"Why are they here?" I'm ready to flip the plates of congealing breakfast off the table if she says he's moving in, irritation bubbling like hot oil under my skin.

"He needed somewhere to store them. That's all," she says, before returning to her duet.

"Oh right, because we've got loads of free space here."

She spins on me, wielding the bread knife to exaggerate her point. "Don't be difficult, Bella. He needed a favour so I'm helping him out."

I consider telling her what happened last night but I won't get the comfort I need, only a lecture. So instead I ask, "Is he going to be moving in?"

She takes three seconds too long to answer.

Enough time for me to grab my bag and slam the door behind me hard enough to make the walls shake. I won't spend a second under the same roof as that man. I scream frustration into the stairwells, scattering a couple of pigeons into the blue skies as I run for the bus.

The route to Elmwood is closed, smoke billowing from whatever incident has happened behind a police cordon. I have to get off and walk miles to the next stop. By the time I get to school, I've missed half of first period. I don't bother turning up late, and head to the common room instead.

But it's empty, so I head to Cope's form room. That's empty, too. I sit in my usual spot and stick my headphones in, closing my eyes. Visions of Marcus sitting at the dinner table, sharing my Mum's bed, coming into my space, seeing, touching my things, spin my thoughts around like the waltzers. I can't let it happen. Or I can't hang around if it does. It's too much to cope with this early on top of what happened last night, so I push it out of my mind, instead wondering about Cullen while I listen to Bobbie Gillespie get loaded.

He doesn't turn up to second period or break, lunch or any lessons after that. It bothers me more than it should. Questions that need answers are buzzing like wasps, ready to sting. Cullen's absence is a kick to their nest. I can't concentrate, so when I see Ben sneaking behind the science labs for a smoke I follow him.

He freezes, cigarette balanced in his lips unlit. Eyebrows raised like I'm an irritation. I'm going to be more than that.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

He steps back at my unexpected anger. "What are you on about?"

I look over my shoulder to check I've not been followed; the faculty aren't stupid, they know we hang around out here, the butts on the floor the only evidence they'd need to suspend us. "You know what I mean. You've not said a word to me since Angie's. You're acting like some big man, ignoring me and starting on Cullen for no reason."

He laughs and messes with the zip on his jacket instead of looking at me. "Ah, your new friend? He's a dickhead."

"The only dick around here is you."

"What do you want me to say?" He shrugs like he doesn't know why I want the truth. "Why don't you stop yelling at me and go and tell your knight in shining armour that we were together and had been for months before that night."

"We weren't 'together," I air quote his exaggeration, "And why would he need to know that?"

He turns into the wall, cupping his hand while he fumbles to light his cheap L&B. Sucking on it until his teeth show through his cheeks before he speaks on the exhale. "Because he's getting involved where he's not wanted." He sighs a cloud of smoke. "He's desperate to get in your knickers. Which won't be too hard, knowing you."

I don't know why I ever thought he was nice. I laugh at him. "Go fuck yourself, Ben."

"I'd rather fuck you." He smirks, and I lash out, slapping the cigarette from his mouth. He grabs onto my wrist and twists, burning my skin with his grip before he lets go. "Calm down. Jesus. He's welcome to you."

My body is vibrating with the need to get away from him, or to punch his lights out. Instead, my feet are stuck with my indecision. He grabs his bag and pushes past me, leaving me to sag against the bricks.

I'm still simmering with unanswered questions by the time I make my way home with a plan to grab my stuff and head to Rose's for a week at least, if not forever. But that goes out of the window when I get back to the estate and find Cullen perched on the wall outside my block, grey hoodie pulled up, hands stuffed in its pockets.

His smile is out of balance when he sees my face. It falls a thousand storeys when I tell him what's happened. "I'll kill him."

I stop him with a hand to his shoulder and push him back down on the wall. "No, you'll tell me what happened that night first."

He drops his chin to his chest and sighs, scrubbing his hand across the back of his head and pulling the hood down. He runs his fingers through his flattened hair. "You won't like it."

"Try me."

I should have listened to him.

AN: Thank you for reading xx It's snowing here so I'm off to build a snowman.. (how many of you have that damn song in your head now?!) Have a fab weekend, loves. xx