Page 43 of Pride

Who else would make that symbol?

Fucking S.K.A.M.

Panic took over and I started to pant as I felt the street closing in around me.

He was here.

I wasn’t safe.

He’d found me.

Seeing that I’d started to hyperventilate right in front of him, Alex took my face in his hands, and pleaded with me to, “Calm the fuck down, Emma. Just breathe. You’re okay. I promise. I’m right here.” And he started to pant with me, to try and help.

I stared into his eyes as his breaths matched mine. Right now, he was the anchor that was preventing me from falling off the edge of the world into total and utter oblivion.

He’d appeared out of nowhere, like a saviour in a Bentley, wearing a designer suit.

And he could get me out of here.

Ineededto get out of here.

“Fine. I’ll get in the car,” I gasped, still struggling to breathe, and he pressed his forehead against mine.

“Thank fuck for that,” he said in exasperated relief.

He let his hands fall away and turned to open the passenger door. Fearfully, I glanced down the street, but S.K.A.M. wasn’t there now. My nerves were still shredded, though. My skin crawling like a million insects were trying to burrow under it as I climbed into Alex’s car. And when he closed the door, those insects fell away.

S.K.A.M. couldn’t get to me now.

Not here.

I was safe.

The warmth of Alex’s car made me realise how cold I’d actually been, and I pulled his jacket closer around me, taking a deep breath as his expensive aftershave filled the air.

He opened the driver’s door and climbed in, turning to look at me as I stared straight ahead.

“I’m sorry I’m ruining your car seat. The leather’s getting wet,” I said, still shaking, despite the heated comfort.

He didn’t reply right away, just put his seatbelt on slowly. He wasn’t rushing himself to drive off, despite the honking horns that were blaring.

Eventually, he put the car into gear and replied, “I don’t care. It’s just a car, Emma. It doesn’t matter. What’s important is getting you off the street to somewhere warm and dry so you don’t get ill.”

I nodded, wringing my hands in my lap.

“Where do you want me to take you?” he asked, and I don’t know why, but I burst into tears.

“I don’t know. I don’t have anywhere to go,” I sobbed, and he reached over to place his hand on my knee.

“Please don’t cry,” he whispered as he drove us away. “You can come back to mine for a while. We can sort something out.”

I wiped my tears with the back of my hand, hating that I’d let everything get on top of me. I didn’t want to cry. That wasn’t who I was. But I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t go to Gracie’s. I felt like such a fucking failure.

“How did you find me?” I sniffed, asking the question he’d avoided when he first arrived.

He gave a heavy sigh, put both hands back on the steering wheel, and let his head fall back onto the headrest. “I might’ve pulled in a favour with someone I know in a certain mobile phone company. I asked him to track where your phone was.” He turned then to give me a fleeting glance before focusing forward and grimacing. “In my defence, I was worried about you, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“You know that could be classed as stalking?” I replied, digging through my handbag for a tissue.