Page 52

when the mask slipped

ELLIE

I t’s only been a week since we left Rosemere, but it already feels like a lifetime ago. I should feel grateful. Safe. Like I’m home.

But sometimes I still catch myself standing in the hallway of Naomi’s flat, waiting for the sound of a car pulling into the drive, or for the weight of something I can’t quite name to press in around my chest.

If this is home, it’s not the kind I recognise yet.

A few days ago, I went back to the house. Just long enough to grab some clothes for Mia, her schoolbooks, the soft blanket she refuses to sleep without.

And thankfully, David wasn’t there. Because I’m not ready for that conversation. Not yet.

I haven’t even found the courage to text my parents. I know I should at least let them know where we are. But every time I try, the words catch. I can already hear their voices in my head. Heavy with disappointment masked as concern.

I don't have the strength for that. Not now.

And... I miss Kieran. His presence anyway.

The quiet way he listened. The way he made space for me, demanding nothing in return.

I still can’t believe he’s here. In South Havens. Just a short drive away. Part of me wants to see him. More than I want to admit. But I also don’t want to be the girl who runs from one mess straight into someone else’s arms.

He deserves more than that. I deserve more than that.

I’m happy for him. And the band. Really, I am. They’ve got this new place, new momentum, new beginnings.

But I’m still here. Trying to remember how to start over.

Somehow, Naomi’s flat already smells like home. If I let myself believe it. Vanilla candles. Leftover takeaway. Her signature expensive shampoo that makes the whole bathroom smell like an overpriced spa.

Mia’s treating it like an extended sleepover. Her stuff is scattered between the spare room and the living room floor. Her school blazer is draped over the back of Naomi’s armchair like she owns the place.

She doesn’t ask too many questions anymore. I think she knows I don’t really have the answers yet.

As for me. I’m still adjusting.

The days are falling into rhythm. Sort of. I make breakfast. Pack Mia’s lunch. Drive her to school. Come back and open my laptop like I’m about to find a new life tucked inside my inbox.

But there’s nothing.

I stare at job listings and half-formed applications. Rewrite my CV. Save files I never submit.

All the while, the clock keeps ticking. I’m getting by for now. Scraping through with the café shifts and the savings I kept tucked away in a separate account David never had access to— thank God . It’s not much, but it’s enough to buy me a few weeks. Maybe a month, if I’m careful.

If nothing comes through before then, I’ll have to suck it up and take a rotational at the hospital with Naomi. Hospital wards aren’t for me. I know where I want to be, where I belong, but I might not get the luxury of being able to make that decision.

Naomi’s been incredible, though. She just hands me a glass of wine at the end of the day and lets me talk when I need to and stay silent when I don’t.

She’s always been like that. Loud and chaotic on the surface. Soft and steady underneath. I don’t know what I’d do without her.

I wish I could say things have been quiet. That I’ve had the space to breathe. To think. But my phone tells a different story. David’s messages are still coming. Shorter now. Sharper. No more apologies. Just demands.

You can’t ignore me forever.

We need to talk.

You’re being dramatic.

Each one twists deeper under my skin, and I haven’t responded to any of them. But my fingers hover over the screen every time. Like some part of me still expects him to change.

He won’t. I know that.

But it doesn’t feel over.

Not yet.

It’s late by the time the flat finally settles into quiet. Naomi’s at work and Mia is down the corridor, humming under her breath, half-ignoring her homework.

I’d offered to help. She’d rolled her eyes and told me I’d ruin her flow. Which, to be fair, might not be entirely wrong. The last time I tried to help with Year 9 maths, we both nearly cried and one of us swore at a fraction.

(It was me. I swore at a fraction.)

So now I leave her to it and pretend I'm not mildly traumatised by simultaneous equations.

I’m curled up on Naomi’s saggy old sofa, blanket over my knees, Titanic playing in the background even though I’ve seen it a thousand times. And yes, I’m still furious they let Leo freeze when there was plenty of room on that fucking door.

It’s one of those rare moments where everything feels… still. Almost normal.

There’s a soft knock at the door. I pause the movie and sit up straighter, glancing toward the hallway.

Maybe it’s Mrs. Norris looking for her cat again. Poor thing had a habit of hiding behind the plant pot by the old lift. I'd helped her find him twice this week already.

I smile faintly, shove the blanket off my legs, and pad across the living room barefoot.

I don’t even look through the peephole. Just unhook the latch and pull the door open.

And there he is.

Standing in the hallway like he owns it.

Tailored coat. Polished arrogance. The weight of old habits settling into the air between us.

My body reacts before my mind can catch up. Cold in my stomach. A spike of nausea behind my ribs.

I move to shut the door immediately. I don’t even want to talk to him right now. He stops it with his foot. “Ellie,” he says smoothly.

And before I can think, before I can even breathe, he pushes it open and steps inside. “Don’t you think it’s about time you came home, sweetheart?”

His voice is calm. Measured. That careful tone he always uses when he wants to sound rational. Reasonable. The tone designed to make me question myself.

I step back automatically, instinct tightening every muscle in my body. “I’m not coming back, David. It’s over.”

He smiles. But it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Come on, Ellie. Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be.”

My hand curls into the hem of my jumper. I take a breath, sharp and steady. “How did you even know I was here?”

He laughs. “It wasn’t hard. I don’t know why I didn’t check here sooner. Naomi’s place was the obvious choice, wasn’t it? You two are stupidly inseparable. Didn’t you think I’d figure it out eventually?”

That chill slips lower down my spine.

I glance past him. To the door, the window, the phone, scanning without even meaning to. Calculating.

“You’ve made your point,” he says, stepping further into the flat like he owns it. “I gave you space. But dragging this out. It’s childish, Ellie.”

“I’m not dragging anything out,” I say. My voice is tight. But steady. “I’m protecting myself. And Mia.”

“She doesn’t need protecting from me!” he snaps.

And that’s when I smell it. Whiskey. Thin and sour, clinging to the edges of his breath.

My pulse kicks up hard. The wall behind me kisses my shoulder without me even realising I’ve moved.

His smile stays fixed. But it’s different now. Sharp around the edges.

“You don’t get to play the victim here,” he says, his voice lowering. “I made mistakes. I admitted that. But this?” He gestures to the room, to the space between us. “Running away. Hiding in someone else’s flat like some martyr. It’s not noble, Ellie. It’s pathetic .”

My throat tightens. But I stand my ground. “I left because you lied. You cheated, David. You gambled away everything we built. What else was I supposed to do? Stay and keep pretending it was fine?”

His jaw ticks. “I said I was going to fix it… I told you I’d sort everything out. But no, you couldn’t even give me that chance, could you?”

He steps closer. I don’t flinch. But inside, my whole body is vibrating.

High alert. Every instinct screaming.

“You had to go crying to your friends and drag Mia into it,” he says through gritted teeth. “You don’t get to paint me as the villain just because you got scared.”

“I didn’t get scared,” I force the words out. “I got tired, David. Tired of being lied to. Tired of being managed. Tired of being made to feel like it was my fault every time I asked you to be honest.”

“You’re twisting this,” he snarls.

“No.” I lift my chin. “I’m finally seeing it.”

And then the mask slips. For a breath, a heartbeat, he looks almost startled.

And then…

The rage floods in. It happens fast.

Too fast.

Before I can even react, he lunges. Fingers clamping around my wrist, yanking me off balance, and slamming me back into the wall. The impact rattles up my spine, knocking the breath from my lungs.

I gasp, sharp and instinctive, my heart spiking into my throat.

My free hand flies up, shoving hard against his chest, but it’s like trying to move a brick wall. His body cages mine against the plaster, the heat of his anger pressing down on me.

He looms over me, wild and furious, his eyes blown wide, pupils swallowing the colour.

"You do this," he spits, voice low and vicious, "you push and push until everything breaks."

"David," I rasp, struggling against his iron grip, panic clawing up my throat. "Stop."

But he doesn't stop. He leans in closer, a mockery of intimacy, squeezing harder just to show he can. Just to show I can't stop him.

"You always make things harder than they need to be," he growls, his fingers grinding into bone.

As he speaks, he shoves in closer, chest crushing against mine, forcing me back harder against the wall until it feels like the air is being squeezed from my lungs.

“You think you can do this without me?” he spits, his breath hot against my cheek. “You’d be nothing if I hadn’t stepped in. Nothing without me dragging you through.”

His words hit harder than his grip. Each one sharp. Precise. Designed to wound.

“I gave you everything,” he sneers. “And this is how you repay me? Playing the victim? Pretending you don’t need me when you never made it through a single day on your own.”

My heart slams against my ribs, but I keep my mouth shut.

Because I know how this game works. He talks, he digs, he twists.