Chapter 23

**G R A C E**

Agh.

Blood.

A lot of blood.

Hot and sharp, as if there’s powdered glass mixed with every drop that exits my feel with every step I take.

I need to stop and look at my feet, I need to tie it up and stop the bleeding. I should’ve never started running, but now I’ve left and I can’t stop. If I stop, he will catch me. And though there is no legit reason for me to think so, I still have a strong feeling that if he gets his hand on me this time, it won’t just end at a frantic heart rate and a body full of goosebumps.

The thought immediately takes me back a few minutes, and suddenly I am not running through the alien streets of Naples with a bleeding foot, I am standing in the unusually familiar lounge of the designer boutique and he is standing before me, the only audience to my display of fashion. I hate myself for actually liking the red dress, I hate myself more for wanting to know what he thinks. I hate the way I look up to him the moment I step out of the changing room waiting to catch any reaction in his eyes, I hate the way he looks down at me and makes me feel so vulnerable all of a sudden. He can never look at me and not make me feel naked, and I hate that. So I step away from his gaze and find a mirror to look into instead.

But then he moves behind me, right after me, as if he is tethered to me and now I’m not looking at myself, I’m looking at him, as he watches me. Scrutinizing me, from the fabric to the skin, from the dips of my neck to the rise of my breast, from the hollows of my collarbone to the curves of my hips, from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. I feel his gaze linger and I draw my feet back but stop when I realise it is him behind me. When Ii look back up at him, he is looking at me, and it makes me stop breathing.

I should’ve step away, run away, then before he had a chance to get closer, before he took the liberty to reach for me, before his fingers got so close to me that I could feel his heat in my bloodstream, before his skin touched my skin for the first time ever for the smallest glimmer of a second that resulted in a shattered mirror, a bleeding foot, and me on the run from the one man who I don’t want chasing me.
It hurts so damn much.

I can’t run anymore, but I don’t think I’ve come far enough. If I turn behind now, I have a feeling I might see him. I turn into a corner and step into a smaller alley that is paved with stone rather than concrete, the rise and fall and the sharp edged rocks dig into my feet and a shriek of pain escapes my mouth when I catch myself. I stop and throw myself against a fall before my knees give in, and I fall to the floor.

When I turn my foot to look at the cut, the gasp that escapes my mouth literally echoes. There’s a hollow in my leg and it is deep. And it will scar. I hate scars.

I throw my head back and let a small teardrop that has welled up at the edge of my eye fall and slide down the side. A deep breath and it is all be okay. A deep breath and I can start running again.

I open my eyes and look around to see where I am. The alley is small and lined by big stoned walls on both sides, the floor is stone too, dry and crusty with only a few patches of wet redness scattered through the pavement–wait. That’s my blood. Shit.

I’ve left a trail. I’ve left him a trail to follow me. He will be here any moment now. Fuck!

I look at my dress and reach for it’s hem, hoping to tear out a strip of fabric, but it doesn’t even suffer one tear after all my force. I give up before I end up hurting my second paid of limbs too. Apart from the dress, I only have my phone that has no network, and the bag of shoes.

I look at the shoes, that look like they would fit me like a glove, and back at my foot that cringes at the thought of getting squeezed in it, but I don’t see how else I can escape this rat trap I’ve set for myself without having him sniffing after me at my tail.

I flip the bag and the shoes fall out. Slipping on the first one is not a task at all, the second one however is impossible. I cannot even move my foot in the eight angle to put it on. I look down at the shoe, and try to reach my leg instead of trying to make it come to me but that doesn't work either and the annoyance cuts through the last of my patience making me throw the shoe across the pavement.

I stand up. Maybe I can just walk without it, maybe I can just hop on one leg, maybe I can–

“THERE!” I hear someone shout in distance and the command is followed by a bunch of footsteps moving in unison, sounding almost like an army ready to charge on an enemy empire. It makes no sense but I don’t wait for it to. I pick up the discarded shoe and thrust my bleeding foot into it, the action forces a shriek out of me that is loud enough for anyone on the other side of the alley to know I'm here.

I don’t wait to find out if my hypothesis is true. I throw my phone to the side, discarding it on the bag and for no particular reason, stab my heel in the screen once before speeding out of the alley.

I might be wrong and hope so, but just as I turn into the unfamiliar road, I hear a muffled call of my full name.

And there’s only one man in the world who calls me with such passion and hate.