Twenty Three.

I'm bleary-eyed and barefoot as I walk home to our flat. It's too early for anyone else to wake on a Sunday, but I'm desperate for my bed. My feet ache and my head bangs.

Cullen disappeared, and the night went downhill, tipped over from happy-drunk to wasted. Angie drank one too many Taboo and lemonades, puking over the dance floor. Sam knocked over a whole table of drinks. Someone started a fight for no reason. We got asked to leave soon after. A relief because Red Car had his eye on me. He didn't come over, but I saw the recognition. It sobered me enough to be the volunteer to take Ange home.

Her mum dropped me off on the way to her early shift at St Thomas'. Talking the whole way about Angie's plans to follow in the family's nursing footsteps. I didn't tell her Angie had other ideas.

A row of ten garages line the perimeter of the blocks, doors that were once bright sunshine-yellow are now grimy and moss covered. Not many house cars, most are overflows for storage, old bikes, toys and furniture piled up with endless boxes. Mum lets ours out for a bit of extra cash.

I'm dreaming about sleeping all day until I have to meet Cullen, when I hear one of the garage doors creak open alongside me. The door that belongs to us, its mouth gaping wide with a man bent over inside.

I've already made the mistake of taking a few steps towards it, two steps too far when I recognise the oily, slicked back hair and faded, blood-red leather jacket. Marcus slithers out of the darkness, pinhole eyes dragging over my bare feet, legs, face. "Hello, Bella." He grins ashtray-stained teeth. "Haven't you grown?"

I fold my arms over my suddenly too small top. "What are you doing in there?"

He pats a hand on some boxes, stroking the top of one like it's a pet. "Just helping your mum do some rearranging."

"Mum doesn't use it. It's rented to Mr. Raleigh."

"Oh, not any more. We've ended the arrangement," he says with a finality that slots an image of the previous owner, dead in a ditch, into my mind. "Your mum needed more room, so it made perfect sense."

None of this makes sense. I find myself backing away, out of reach of the snake pit. "Whatever." I spin on my heel, gravel sticking into my soles, and walk as fast as I can to the cover of the stairwells, the sensation of spiders crawling all over me as he watches my escape.

I don't try to be quiet, hammering on the front door. Mum's mascara is crumbled under her eyes, lipstick on her teeth. She still manages to glare and comment on me staying out all night. "What is Marcus doing?"

"Oh, he's helping me clear out some stuff." I see behind her, into her room where clothes are strewn everywhere, boxes open. "Anything you want to put out there? It'll be so much better when we've got more space." She lights a cigarette and rubs at her forehead with a long, purple nail, smoke curling into her hair.

"Is he moving in?"

"No, not at the moment, but he might be staying over every now and again. Is that okay?" She shakes out a short silk kimono in peacock colours. "Would you like this?" She holds it up to me and tips her head to one side. "It suits you."

I snatch it off her. "No, Mum. And no, I'm not okay with it. I don't want him here."

She sighs and reaches for my cheek with her cigarette-less hand, stroking her thumb across it. "Bella, love. don't worry. It'll be fine. You'll barely notice he's here. I promise."

"I don't want him here."

"You don't get to decide," she snaps, and ends the conversation by disappearing into her room.

I stand in the hall for a moment, an argument brewing, teeth clenched, but it deflates—I'm too tired to contemplate a screaming row. I head to my room and push my chair up against the door handle just in case.

I'm dreaming about Cullen, all his secrets unravelling like string as I hold the other end, before my bed's even warm.

AN: It would be cruel to leave it there wouldn't it? Next chapter coming up very soon...