She’s gone

Anna

Eddie is an idiot, but he’s fun enough and he’s paying. He brought me a couple of beers out to the back of the George and Dragon, then we dashed into the Brewers Arms for one before stumbling down the street to Drury’s Tavern. I’m already past dinner time back at Rosie and Bill’s, but who gives a shit. Not them, that’s for sure. It’s probably a relief.

Eddie swings open the big door of Drury’s and I follow him in. I’ve been drinking on an empty stomach and it’s gone to my head, but I don’t care. Why should I? Nobody else does.

I’ve barely got enough bus money to get home to Lydbrook and the timetable is pathetic here. The last bus leaves about six, and I’m sure I’ve missed it already, but that feels hazy now. Maybe I can bunk up with Eddie tonight. I don’t want him, but I’m sure he wants me, and that’s bound to be enough to get me somewhere to sleep at least.

I’ll kick him in the balls if he tries to grope me.

If he doesn’t let me stay after that, I’ll sleep outside. I’ve done it before. It wasn’t great, but I lived, and I’d better suck it up since I’ll likely be doing a lot more of it later this week.

I point to a bottle of tequila on the back shelf of the bar and Eddie raises an eyebrow.

“You sure we wanna be hitting the hard stuff? The night’s young.”

“Not being a pussy, are you?”

He gives me a smirk. “I’m no fucking pussy. You’ll find that out later.”

The barman eyes me as Eddie points to the bottle at the back, but Eddie slaps his wallet on the counter and I give my most confident expression. I’m almost old enough to drink, what’s a few days?

Then come the words I’ve been dreading. I groan as the barman clears his throat.

“Do you have ID?”

Footsteps at my back give me shivers. “No,” a voice says. “She doesn’t.”

I spin on the spot to launch abuse at the interferer, all ready to tell the nosey sonofabitch to mind his own fucking business, but as my stare crashes into Kennedy Warren’s, and those dark green eyes bore into mine, I take a breath.

My drunk tongue won’t function properly, my words feel garbled in my throat, but it turns out I don’t need them, because it’s him who does all the talking.

He pushes Eddie with a shunt that surprises me. “What do you think you’re playing at?” he asks him, before taking me by the elbow and pulling me away from the bar. I wrench away on instinct, fists ready to fly, but Kennedy doesn’t let go.

His grip is firm on my arms, his eyes serious and burning and… pissed at me.

He’s really fucking pissed at me.

“What are you doing here?” he snaps. “You should be at home, making amends with Rosie and Bill.”

“It’s not my fucking home,” I snap back. “Rosie and Bill are dead to me. I’m having fun with Eddie. Fun, Kennedy. I’m having a good fucking time.”

“And that good fucking time is over now,” he snarls, and the blood rushes to my cheeks. I’ve never heard him swear before.

I feel like the whole place is staring at me. Some posh guy in a suit shakes his head from the table in the corner and it gives me the rage, right in the pit of me. I hate people laughing at me. Judging me. Taking me for a fucking loser.

“This good fucking time is over when I say it’s over!” I hiss, but Kennedy doesn’t let me go. His grip tightens on my arm and he takes a step toward the door. I feel myself moving, even though my boots are dragging. He’s strong, much stronger than I gave him credit for under that boring suit in his office. He’s still wearing it, but he looks different with his tie hanging loose. He looks… wired.

“This is assault!” I screech, but Kennedy Warren must be as trashed as I feel, because he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even pause as he marches me out and presses me up against the brickwork outside.

“I’m trying to fucking help you,” he tells me, and his breath is in my face. There’s only a hint of ale, and he doesn’t look drunk at all, not even a little bit. Fuck.

The cold air hits me hard and my legs feel like jelly. I should have grabbed something to eat from Rosie and Bill’s before I came out here, I’ve had nothing since breakfast, and that was just a flimsy slice of toast.

I take a breath and it feels like the wind has been knocked right out of my sails. Not least since Eddie hasn’t even poked his head out to make sure I’m okay.

“You can’t help me,” I tell him but my voice sounds weak and pathetic. I hate how it sounds.

“You won’t fucking let me.”

I shrug in his grip. “So? Just let me fucking go!”

He doesn’t move. “You need to get home to Bill and Rosie.”

“And I’ve fucking told you already! That’s not my fucking home!”

“So where were you planning on staying tonight? With that loser Eddie Stevens? He’s nothing but a waster.”

I shrug again. “Eddie’s alright. I like him.”

“Eddie’s a fucking prick,” he snaps. “You think he gives a shit? You think a few drinks are worth spending the fucking night with a loser like that?”

I grit my teeth. “He’s the best fucking offer I’ve got. Nobody gives a shit. At least I can get drunk and forget about it for a few fucking hours.”

I hate how I’m doing this, acting like I’m so hard when all I want to do is ask him to take me home. To his home. Ask him to stay with me awhile, until I sober up. All I want to do is tell him I’m hungry, and I don’t know how I’m going to get back to Rosie and Bill’s, and I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do when they throw me out, and I need him. I really need him.

But I don’t.

I can’t.

“I’m taking you home,” he tells me, and my heart does a jump. I don’t know whether he sees it in my eyes because he takes a breath. “To Rosie and Bill’s,” he clarifies and my heart drops.

“They don’t want me–” I begin, but his hands squeeze my arms.

“Shut up, Anna. Just shut the fuck up.”

I’m so taken aback that I do.

Nobody’s told me to shut the fuck up for a long, long time. It’s all tight lips and careful language. All disappointment and tutting and sadness – not anger. Nobody actually pulls me up on my shitty behaviour anymore.

Because they’ve given up. Everyone’s given up on me. But not Kennedy.

Not even now I’m not his problem anymore.

“My bus left already…” I tell him.

“I wouldn’t trust you on the fucking bus anyway,” he says. “You’re coming with me. I’m driving you straight to their front door and handing you over.”

I smirk. “But you’ve been–”

“Drinking?” he interrupts. “Thanks to you my first beer is still on the table.”

I’m trying to summon up the voice to say thanks, or whatever I’m supposed to say to shit like this, but I don’t get a chance. The door opens to my right and the posh suited guy steps out.

They stare at each other, him and Kennedy, and Kennedy loosens his grip on me.

I wish he hadn’t. I liked the way he held me there.

“What the hell are you doing?” posh guy asks, and Kennedy groans.

“Taking Anna back to her parents.”

I can’t bring myself to argue. It’s a first for me.

They stare at each other a long time, and I fidget, scuffing my boot along the brickwork.

“Text me when you’re done and make it quick. This is way out of order,” the posh guy says, and I wonder for a second if they are… but they can’t be, because I’ve seen the way Kennedy looks at me, even though he tries to hide it, even though he doesn’t want to.

Posh guy leaves and I let out a sigh. “He your boyfriend? He’s a bit stiff.”

“He’s a friend,” Kennedy tells me. “We were having a beer.”

I watch the guy walk up the street. He’s hot for an old dude, looking ripped under that pompous suit he’s wearing.

I kinda wish they were into each other, maybe I could, I dunno.

It’s stupid. Dumb. I push the thought away.

“I don’t want to go back to Rosie and Bill’s,” I say, but Kennedy shakes his head.

“You’re out of fucking luck,” he tells me, and he’s not playing around. His voice is edgy outside of his office, edgy and deep and dangerous, even though I don’t feel in danger at all. “I’m taking you home right fucking now.”

I hate it when people touch me. I hate walking down the street attached to someone else, but when Kennedy takes my wrist in his hand and leads me across the street, I don’t mind it at all.

Kennedy isn’t like other people. Not like anyone I’ve ever met.

He won’t be played. He won’t be pushed away. He won’t be screamed off me.

Not yet, anyway.

And I don’t mind that at all, either.