My breath ripped out in rags, my feet pounding the pavement alternately as I ran, my ever so slightly too large hipsters jammed into place by the butt of my gun.
In my head I counted slowly from one to ten, urging myself to calm down before I did something ridiculous, but the ridiculous wasn't postponed forever. Gripping the cell Salandine had "given" me ever so generously, I snatched it out of my pocket and threw it with all the force I could muster into the middle of the rush hour traffic of downtown Washington D.C.
It was a Wednesday. I flicked my wrist, expecting to see a watch. Nothing.
By heading to Susan Boone's I realised I was putting both her and David in jeopardy. However, somehow this alternative seemed much better than facing up to my parents. They'd be grief-stricken about Lucy, I mean, I was grief-stricken about Lucy and tormenting myself each time my foot hit the pavement, faster and faster as if the simple monotony of the actions would slow my thoughts into a manageable stream, rather than this burble of thoughts flashing through my head a million frames a second.
I was sick of fast forwarding. I wanted a rewind.
As I rounded onto Pennsylvania avenue I began to feel more relaxed. My fingers stopped tensing and my shoulders flew back as I settled into a comfortable jog. Ahead of me lay Susan Boone's studio, nestled inbetween Static and Capitol Cookies.
If I was lucky, maybe I could grab a cookie before I embarked on the impossible. Then again, making Lucy wait with Salandine was already tugging on my heart strings, he could be doing anything to her, anything at all.
I stopped for a second, dry-retching. I couldn't let thoughts like that get to me, I wouldn't... it was just wrong that Salandine even possessed this power over me. Blackmail... I hated blackmail.
And yet, still, clear in my head there was absolutely no way that I was helping him. I'd promised no contact with the police or the president, but nothing had been mentioned about talking to my boyfriend, in fact I think he'd forgotten him altogether.
If David told his dad, all may be solved and I wouldn't have done one thing wrong, giving Salandine no authority to hurt even one single hair on Lucy's head and I was making sure he kept his end of the deal.
The deal? See, that was simple. No contact with any members of my family, no contact with the president, no entering the White House or any other parliamentary building without Salandine's permission. And the clincher?
I was to give a speech at a press conference. As a "Youth UN" member I was "entitled to my say" and Salandine believed I could infiltrate the mind's and hearts of those I spoke his racist crap too... all whilst a bomb was dropped elsewhere in the White House building, setting up Salandine to seize position inside the whitehouse.
But, as expected, I was having no part in it. It was bad enough that he'd preached his racist bull to me, I was not preaching it to hundreds of people whilst he and his friends rioted around like proper little terrorists.
My feet fell hard again as my anger caught up with me. For once, Susan Boone's art studio wasn't surrounded by journalists, it was entirely clear. I pulled my hooded shirt over my head, covering my face and tucked the holster of my gun further down into my jeans.
Bashing through the door I smelt the turpentine and immediately felt reassured.
And there he was, as arranged weeks in advance.
"David," I breathed, burying my head in his chest, "I've missed you so much."
David's eyes twinkled , "And they thought you had it rough... just wait until they realised we anticipated their every move."
My heart thudded to his every whisper, his lingering hands over my hair, his close embrace. I never wanted to let go, never.
"And now," David continued ,"it's time to take care of you for once."
I shivered in anticipation as David lifted me up in his arms, taking me up to the art gallery. And for once it was empty. No Joe, no bodyguards, no nothing. Just David and I in a world we could make our own.