Short one, but thanks for sticking with me. I've started a new story called Blind Spot on my profile. Give it a read if you are so inclined.

As always, let me know what you think. This story is special to me and I love to read your thoughts. xx

Eighteen.

I landed in London on a drizzly Tuesday morning.

I'd allowed myself one hour of crying, ignoring the concerned glances of the elderly couple sat beside me before I popped a valium and conked out for the rest of the flight. By the time I trudged out of Heathrow airport, my mind was groggy but my eyes were dry and I watched the city go by out of the train window.

One of the guys in the kitchen at Sal's had friends in London and hooked me up with one of his buddies who had a spare room for a couple of weeks — enough time for me to get settled and find more permanent accommodation. The apartment was in a trendy neighbourhood in East London, and even in my numbed haze I found myself appreciating the bars and cafes surrounding my new, temporary home.

I knocked on the pale pink door marked 1008 and a stringy rocker with sleeve tattoos and a mashing of crooked teeth quickly swung it open, smiling like he'd been waiting by the door all morning.

"Bella!" He yanked me into a hug, squeezing the breath out of my lungs. Garrett was a thirty-something Irish expat who apparently lived a pretty nomadic life, playing gigs at whatever pub would take him. We'd FaceTimed for all of five minutes in the lead up to my arrival, and I'd decided that he was definitely a little eccentric, but not in a way that made me feel like I'd wake up to him watching me sleep or anything.

"Hi Garrett," I squeaked.

"Let me help you with that, love." He hoisted my suitcase and duffle up the stairs with me trailing behind.

The apartment was medium-sized and cleaner than I would've expected for a nomadic guitar player. The windows looked out onto a grassy park and the scent of sage tickled my nose. There were at least half a dozen guitars perched on stands in the living room, and framed photographs leaned against random walls.

"Sheets are all washed and I made some space in the wardrobe. Just don't open that door," he pointed to the far side of the built-in robe. "I was barely able to cram all of Jesse's shite in there and I don't think I could get it all back in." He chuckled and set my bags down, smiling warmly at me.

"Thanks, you didn't need to do that. Hopefully I'll find an apartment soon and be out of your hair."

"Nonsense, love. Jesse will be gone for a while, chasing some French girl around Europe, so no need to rush."

I smiled shyly and thanked him again. He definitely wasn't what I'd expected, and I was pleasantly surprised by how at ease I felt around him. Garrett gave me a short tour around the apartment and seemed genuine when he told me to make myself at home.

"I'll leave you to get settled. Just don't fall asleep — I've done the trip to the US enough times to know how bad the jet lag can be if you give in."

"Yeah, I only just got over it when I left Portugal and now I'm back in a new timezone."

"Best way to get over it is to push through," he smiled with a glint in his eye. "Which is why I must insist you join me for a pint at the pub later on. You know, to keep you awake and all."

I laughed and nodded. "That'd be nice."

"Right-o."

And with that, Garrett slapped a hand on the doorframe before turning on his heel and trotting down the hall.

I closed the door and dropped onto the bed, stretching my travel-stiff limbs. Without a conscious thought, my mind turned to Edward. I shot back up with a start and began unpacking my suitcase, unfurling and refolding my clothes with slow precision, focusing all my attention on the movement of my hands. When the clothes were done I straightened the already made bed and stood staring out the window.

I was dangerously close to wallowing thoughts. Before they could take hold I grabbed my purse and tucked my new key into it, then walked out of the apartment with no intent of where I was going.

And so, I just walked.