Chapter 3
‘Two curry chip an’ a chicken box,’ an order was shouted from behind the growing queue. Glancing absently over the counter, Robbie's lips moved in mid count adding up the orders of Ned’s very hungry, and very drunk, stag party. He ignored the order, writing down the full total on the back of a brown paper bag. ‘One sec,’ he mumbled eyeing Ritchie Gallagher and Paudie Whelan on the other side.
‘Jaysus, he's run out of fingers to count on, we'll be here all night,’ Paudie sneered igniting stifled giggles from the girls wrapped around them.
‘How much do they owe us so far?’ Ned elbowed Robbie gleefully.
‘£187 so far,’ he answered.
‘Not bad eh?’ Ned’s two reddened cheeks plumped out into a large grin.
‘It’s your turn to get the money this time, Ned. I was washing chip-grease out of my hair for weeks after that crowd from Offaly.’
‘But the fish,’ Ned indicated the sizzling orange pieces in front of him.
‘Don’t mind the fish, I’ll look after them. Go on, it’s your turn,’ Robbie snapped irritably, only too aware of who was on the other side of the counter.
‘Okay, Rob, stay with the tour,’ Ned barked, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Rolling his eyes, Robbie shook the fish vigorously, baulking angrily at Ned’s stupid quip.
‘That second is up, Dalton! Two curry chip and a chicken box!’ Whelan yelled. Ignoring the request, Robbie totalled up the columns of chips, burgers, pies and batter sausages, and having reached his total he handed the oil stained chip paper to Ned. ‘There…£192.35.’
‘Better round it up to the two hundred, make it easy for them. Right, off to battle,’ Ned snatched the paper from his hand and rounded the counter, sucking in his rounded gut for the benefit of Whelan and Gallagher’s girlfriends. Just as Ned’s mid-life vanity brought a small smile to Robbie’s face a missile hit the side of his head.
‘Got him!’ A triumphant voice cried.
Robbie didn’t move, instead he let his smile spread broadly across his face.
‘What’s so funny?’ Ritchie sneered. ‘Nothing, asshole.’
‘What did you say?’ Ritchie snarled, glancing down at his date Claudia to see if he had her full attention. As her oval blue eyes flashed up at him with adoration and anticipation, it was all the audience he required. His hand reached across the counter and grabbed the thin white cotton material of Robbie’s t-shirt. ‘What did you say?’ he growled.
‘Go home, asshole,’ Robbie maintained the carved smile on his face, slapping Richie’s hand away. As Gallagher reached to grab hold again, it stopped mid thrust as another hand swamped his knuckles.
‘At it again, Gallagher? You heard the man, you’re an asshole, now piss off out of here or you'll be eating from a straw for the next few weeks,’ Doyler laughed throwing Gallagher's clenched fist away.
‘Fuck off, Doyler, this is between me and him,’ Ritchie stammered, as his face drained of blood. Robbie took pleasure watching Ritchie squirm.
‘You have one more second, you little shit,’ Doyler’s voice was low.
It took one more humiliating second for Ritchie to realise he had no choice. As much as he wanted to show Claudia what he was made of, he wasn’t stupid enough to take on Doyler.
‘Get out of here, fat-boy,’ Doyler sneered, effecting a bored expression while shoving the humiliated Gallagher toward the door.
‘C’mon, let’s get out of this shit-hole,’ Ritchie seethed, snatching Claudia’s hand and jerking her roughly out of the shop.
‘What time do you finish, Rob?’ Doyler reached over to one of the metal ovens and taking out a chip popped it into his mouth.
‘About one.’
‘I’ll be in Mulcahy’s if you want to join us after. Got to get Orla home first,’ he rolled his eyes.
‘No fun for Doyler then, eh?’
‘Nope, this one’s going to cost me.’
‘She’ll be worth it in the end,’ Robbie laughed, stirring the fish bubbling in the hot oil.
‘She’s cost me thirty quid so far,’ he complained.
Robbie shook the fish basket, watching them absently turn orange. ‘So what’ll you do if--’
‘If I don‘t get da honey?’ he laughed ‘Don’t know, mate, not worried though. Wait’ll Doyler hits UCD. It’ll cost me less than thirty quid there, mate...guaranteed,’ he grinned.
‘That’s if you get in.’
‘I will.’
‘Yeah, you probably will.’
‘Doyler!’ a high pitched voice whined from the door.
Snapping his head around, Doyler grinned at the slim brunette waiting by the entrance. ‘Just a sec, Orl’s.’
‘Let’s go.’ She pleaded.
‘One more sec, darlin,’ he placated, winking back at her and bringing a coy smile to her face. One thing Robbie always noticed about Doyler, he always treated his girlfriend’s right, regardless of what he was aiming to do. It probably explained why all of Doyler’s exes were still friends with him, Doyler never hurt nor humiliated anyone.
‘I’ll be back in a while, Rob.’
‘Sure,’ Robbie laughed.
‘No honestly, another heart’s about to crack,’ he grinned.
‘Hmm, and it sure as hell won’t be yours,’ Robbie added shaking the salt cellar over the fish as Doyler’s laugh echoed out of the door. Watching his friend through the window, putting a conciliatory arm around Orla, he wondered if he would ever be like that; arm around girl, breaking up, making up, making out, but it hadn’t happened yet and he seriously wondered if it ever would. He was honest enough to admit that it was hard watching Doyler date girl after girl, while he took his place on the side-lines.
Even though he was pragmatic about the whole thing, at times like now, he would have loved nothing more than to be meeting someone after work. Someone to walk with, someone to talk to, someone to kiss, to be with, but it just never seemed to happen for him. And it wasn’t for the lack of trying. He had, at a push, asked some of the St Bridget’s girls out. But the response was always the same. 'No.' While not brutal in their refusal, they just didn’t seem to be interested. Doyler persisted in saying he was reading the signs wrong, but Robbie knew within moments of asking, whether they were keen or not. And they never were.
Deep down he couldn't blame them. After all, what on earth did he have to offer? He was far too skinny, too quiet, too poor, too boring, what could he possibly offer them. With Doyler they never felt like that. Anyone who was with him couldn’t help but soak up the infectious lust-for-living he had. Doyler was fun, pure and simple. He was everything that Robbie wasn’t. He knew he was too serious for his own good; he saw it, his Ma saw it, Doyler saw it, even tight fisted Ned saw it.
‘That’s it! I’m telling you now, Robbie, all Galwegian’s are banned from Ned’s, from now on. That includes their children and their grand children and...’
Blinking away his thoughts, Robbie lifted his head up from behind the counter watching, the lank-haired Ned storm back into the shop, his cover-all smeared with ketchup and a tomato-slice stuck to the back of his shoulder.
‘Tough crowd, Ned?’ he laughed.
‘It's not funny, Robbie. I fecking mean it…Galway, no thank you very much! Connemara men, all Connemara men, are banned!’
‘Along with Kerry, Limerick, Mayo, Cavan, Donegal, the Dub’s…’
‘D’you hear me, Rob?’
‘Yeah, Ned, yeah,’ Robbie nodded and smiled.
‘Acting like fecking eejits. It’s a wonder any of them can get a woman, let alone marry. I tell you, Rob, a shower of dirty animals they are, that’s what!’
Well dirty animals or not, at least they have girlfriends, Robbie thought bitterly.
***
‘We’re here because?’ Mel's lips pinched together.
Mel! You’ve done nothing but bitch from the minute you got on the plane. I already told you what to do if you don’t like it…' Sod-off home. Eva snapped.
Mel’s eyes twitched anticipating the answer to the unfinished sentence. She knew if she went back home now, she’d have two glorious weeks with just Marc, herself and an empty bed. Instead she was sitting astride a grotty floral acrylic bed-cover, in a remote B&B hundreds of miles from him, a thought that disturbed her more and more since the moment she had left London.
The distance between them made her uneasy. It was if, somehow, any gap in their time together could potentially dismantle what they had. Their relationship was that fragile enough as it was, but she didn’t dare share those thoughts with Eva, or her friends at Shake’s pub.
A wave of uncertainty swept over her. Swallowing hard, she forced the images from her thoughts promising herself that no matter what, she was going back to London, and soon. Eva will be alright by herself, and besides, it's not as if I'm really needed here, is it? she thought. As she made the decision to leave, an overwhelming rush of guilt flooded her thoughts. She knew, no matter how tempting the desire was to return home was, she was stuck here for at least another few days. She'd promised her mother that much.
Eva, on the other hand, had had enough. She knew she should have listened to gut instinct, told Mel the truth, and left her behind in London. I wish Mum had listened to me. This is hard enough without Mel’s constant bitching. Sorry, Mum, but she’s going back, one way or the other. It’s been less than one day and if I hear, ‘I’m missing Marc,’ one more time, I swear I’ll throttle her.
‘So what now?’ Mel sighed. ‘Why don’t you ring Marc?’
‘Why?’ Mel eyed her suspiciously. ‘Why not?’ Eva reasoned.
‘What time is it?’ Mel asked. ‘Don’t know…about seven p.m.’
‘How far ahead are we?’ Mel frowned trying to anticipate whether or not Marc was home.
‘You’re not serious, are you?’Eva laughed. ‘Oh yeah I forgot.’
‘You really are a natural blonde.’
‘What do I dial to get out?’
‘Nine.’
‘Then what?’
‘Zero, zero, four, four, and then the code for London, then--’
‘I know, I know!’
‘Why ask then?’ Eva sighed, before returning to read the, well thumbed, tour-guide book. Finding the location of their B&B, she ran her finger along the thin red line for the hundredth time stopping at Eranmore. Using her thumb as a guide she guessed they were a couple of miles from the small seaside town and was glad she had deliberately distanced herself from Eranmore when she booked. It would serve as a sort of buffer, for the time being while she got her head together.
‘Stupid…!’ a voice hissed beside her.
Eranmore. So I’m finally here. For all I know she could be married with ten kids.
‘Heap of shit!’ Mel hissed louder.
I still can’t believe, I’m here. Wonder who knows, you? Who can I ask for help without tipping her off? Somebody who’d know her, or about her?
‘Eva, the bloody phone won’t work.’
A priest perhaps? No, sod that. Who else...?
‘Eva, the phone.’
The local copper? Might be too obvious though. I could try the shops. They always know everyone in towns like this? Yeah, could try that. But what would I say. I could say, hello d’you know where Mia O’Halloran lives…it's just that I… Shit! Supposing I look like her? Never thought of that.
‘Eva!’
‘What?’
‘The phone…?’
‘What about it?’
‘Duh...it doesn’t work!’ Mel snapped. ‘Course it does,’ Eva sighed. ‘Doesn’t,’
‘Try again.’
‘I have...you try,’ Mel held out the receiver.
Though Eva was reluctant to move she knew Mel would scale Vesuvius naked to speak to Marc. Sighing heavily she swung her legs over the side of the bed and snatched the receiver from her sister's hand. ‘You’re such an idiot at times.’
‘Why?’ Mel looked puzzled.
‘There's no tone therefore it's not working, that’s why,’ Eva rolled her eyes handed the handset back to a bewildered Mel and climbed back onto bed pulling the map back onto her lap.
‘Is that it?’ Mel spluttered.
‘What d’you want me to do about it?’
‘Listen to yourself, the phone doesn’t work and we’re in a hotel.’
‘It’s a B&B.’
‘And the bloody phone doesn’t work. And you’re okay with that? You’ll be saying we’ve no toilet paper next, that we have to use our hands,’ she shrieked.
‘Stop acting like such a muppet, Mel,’ Eva sighed, watching her sister stomp off to the en-suite. This is going to be a long trip…
‘I was right!’ Eva heard Mel's shrill voice echo from the toilet. ‘So, go downstairs and ask them for some,’ she called back.
Mel appeared in the doorway red-faced and tight-lipped. ‘And what about the phoooone?’ her fury was growing.
All this crap for…him. And he's probably out humping one of her sad friends as we speak, Eva thought. ‘Go find Mrs O’Sullivan, ask for toilet paper and ask about the phone,’ she stated logically.
‘I will,’ Mel huffed. ‘Good.’
‘I’m going.’
‘Go on then.’
‘Oh and by the way, when the phone’s working, go for a walk or something,’ Mel roared slamming the door behind her.
That's not a bad idea actually. I wonder if I can get a taxi from here? Grabbing her purse, she carefully added up the Irish Punts and decided she would in-fact venture out alone tonight.
Even though Mel would crack up being inside the room by herself, she would have to deal with it. Besides, a bit of space would do them both no harm. She hated the fact that they argued so much lately. Worse still, because of a moron who cared nothing for her love-blind sister. Maybe she should bite the bullet and let her sister take the first plane back to London.
‘Sod it, I’ll go for a walk. I’ll make my mind up when I come back.’ Grabbing a biro from her bag, she scribbled a note to Mel telling her she’d be back in an hour or two.
Lifting her bag over her shoulder she left the room and walked the length of the landing, just in time for her nose to catch the welcome aroma of home-cooked food. Until that moment, she realised she hadn’t eaten since they arrived. Descending the stairs she saw Mrs O’Sullivan approach the hall door. ‘You off out, dear?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, thought I’d go for a walk first,’ Eva smiled.
‘Sorry about the phones, dearie. We've had problems with that connection for a while...keep meaning to get it fixed. But the main line works, your sister’s on it now,’ Mrs O’Sullivan's eyes sparkled.
‘That’d be Marc,’ Eva added surprised at herself for saying so to the woman.
‘Boyfriend, eh?’ Eva nodded.
‘What about you, any young man with a broken heart back home?’
‘No,’ Eva smiled and turned toward the door.
‘Enjoy your walk. By the way, if yourself or your sister want some dinner you’re more than welcome to join us. It’s casserole and there's plenty of it?’
‘That’s kind of you Mrs O’Sullivan, but I fancy a bag of chips, must be the sea air,’ she humoured.
‘There’s no chip-shops around here, lovey. Eranmore or Bantry, would the nearest.’
‘Really,’ Eva pulled a face.
‘Tell you what, when you come back I’ll fry you up a batch, how does that sound?’
‘Er, okay. That’s very kind of you, thank you,’ Eva smiled closing the front door after her. Watching her lodger’s silhouette disappear from the frosted glass door, the landlady’s plump mouth curved up with puzzlement. ‘Don’t be thanking me, lovey, you’re the one that’ll be paying for `em.’
***
‘Go on, smoke it!’ Ritchie rolled his eyes shoving the twisted roll-up beneath her mouth.
‘I don’t want to,’ Claudia protested. ‘Chicken-shit,’ he taunted.
‘No I’m not…just don’t feel like it, that's all.’
‘Suit yourself,’ he said, snatching the crudely wrapped Joint from her and sucking on it sharply. Digging her fingers deep into the soil beneath her legs, Claudia clawed again at the damp grass trying to ignore the increasing apprehension growing within. It had nothing to do with the night being one big disappointment so far. Nor was it to do with the lack of one single romantic moment between them. The main cause of her unease was Ritchie.
He was acting really weird and although she reasoned it probably had something to do with the joint he was inhaling on, there was something else about him too that was beginning to unnerve her.
What exactly, she wasn’t quite sure yet, but he just wasn’t acting as he normally would. He was not the Ritchie she knew. To make matters worse, the night’s end was quite a bit off yet and she was bored.
Bored of sitting around waiting for something better to happen and scared in case it did. Either way, she wanted to go home, but there was no way she could admit that to him. He would dump her for the baby she was, and it would be all over school in no time. No, she decided, she would wait it out and see what happened. She wasn’t stupid though, she knew he would expect a bit of tongue, or to cop a feel, at the end of the night, but she felt he deserved none of it. Not only had she paid for them both to get into the cinema, but she also had to buy her own Crisp’s and Coke, and when he did finally offer to buy her something, Doyler had throw him out of the chipper.
They had even gone halves on the Cider they had just shared. So much for’ rich-boy’, she thought with irritation. Watching him toke on the end of his roll-up, she felt she had every right to be disappointed. After all, for the last year she had followed, near practically stalked, Ritchie Gallagher from afar. When he finally bumped into her for the umpteenth time and asked her out, she had almost screamed with happiness.
The anticipation of their first date had brought about a week of frenzied shopping, that not even her two married sisters had seen prior to their weddings. Firstly, she emptied her Credit Union account without her mother’s knowledge and used the funds to firstly buy much needed make-up. She also took a bus-trip to the city, buying everything from her new short baby-pink skirt, black tank-top and heavy black platform shoes, to her brand new pretty white underwear. It wasn’t that she planned on letting Ritchie see any under clothes, she just wanted to feel the newness, the perfection of how she would look for him, and it worked too…at first. She felt that she was just about the envy of every girl in her Year, even if they'd never admit it. But now, sitting inches away from one of the most desirable fella’s in town, and an older one at that, she couldn’t help but feel that it had been a complete waste of time.
She couldn’t think of one single thing they had done tonight that she had enjoyed. Except for being seen with him, that and the fact he had put his arm around her, had at least consoled her somewhat. It did dawn on her though that Ritchie should be the one to be grateful to be seen with her, because despite her inexperience with boys she was beginning to realise just how beautiful she was. Though only thirteen, she had developed early, a fact she fully exploited at every opportunity outside her parents mindful eyes.
A full and heavy D cup filled out the tiny black t-shirt‘s she wore, so much, that the material almost strained beneath the plumpness of her young breasts. With a diet that consisted of, nothing for breakfast, water throughout the day and a picking of vegetables for dinner, she had produced the tiny hips she strived for, all helping to make her breasts look even larger still. She was only human though and if she ever found herself unable to refuse her mother’s Sunday roast, a trip to the toilet-bowl would relieve the guilt, and stomach contents, of all she had ingested.
However, though aware that her young, quickly maturing, body had brought about superficial confidence, inside she was still unsure how to handle the sudden onset of male attention. She had thumbed her teen magazines religiously reading everything and anything on guys, make-up, hair and fashion. But her young mind wrestled uneasily with the contents of those pages, the problem pages especially.
The advice about best friends falling out over a fella or how to get a fella to notice you, were fine and helped give her an air of sophistication and maturity. It was the other problems that she read that made her feel inadequate and uneasy. The advice on how to give not just a blow-job but a good blow-job was something she couldn’t quite get her head around. The thought of putting some fella’s willy, even Ritchie Gallagher’s willy, in her gob, made her want to retch.
Besides, as far as she was concerned, only certain types of girls did all that stuff. The stuff she liked to read about were the stories about love, true love, the same tender warm feelings she wanted to have with Ritchie. Love, to her, was something far more gentle, such as flowers, chocolates, letters, handholding, all the stuff of daydreams. She wanted to taste delicate kisses, be held by strong protective arms and ultimately to be adored. However, she was fast finding out that Ritchie’s interpretation of romance meant an evening of groping her breasts, sticking his tongue down her throat and downing as much cider as fast as possible, topped off by an inordinate amount of belching to amuse himself.
But despite all of this, she had stayed. The threat of having - the piss taken out of her - if her classmates in Year Two thought she was frigid, pressed her to stay put. So she just had to just wait and see how things went, hoping they would improve. Okay, so she was bored, but at least she had gotten her leg one step up the schoolyard prestige ladder, and that in itself was enough to make her stay.
Maybe, given a bit more time he would be just like those guys she read and fantasized about. She was optimistic. He certainly was good-looking enough, she thought proudly. Tall, well taller than her. Broad, with the most perfectly even smile, and hair thick but tight, staggered in length around the front, and to top it all off, the largest blue eyes shining like beacons from his sallow countenance. Even the shadow on his jaw had the fullness of a man much older, but most importantly he had money, or rather his father did. But that meant one and the same in their town, envy.
Just as her irritation began to subside, she heard him inhale deeply on the Joint and watched with growing alarm that he was still doing his best to get high. Hearing the constant giggling behind her, she looked over her shoulder watching with slight envy as her best friend Melissa Ryan lay prostrate on the wet grass with a seemingly adoring Whelan.
Tearing her gaze from the happy couple, she lifted her head noticing with some unease that Eranmore seemed quite far off in the distance now, and that their only light was a single distant street- lamp. Shivering as the summer night breeze blew around her, she was beginning to wish the night would just come to an end. Just as she was about to tell Richie that she might need to head back to Melissa’s house, she felt something nudge the side of her leg. Seeing it was Ritchie, she smiled awkwardly at him, tugging at the grass again. Watching his unfocused eyes flitter around her face, she knew immediately that not only was he stoned now, but also what he was going to do next. As his hand reached out and around her shoulders, she swallowed hard as he leaned forward with the other and encircled her waist. Gripping her tightly and using the full bulk of his weight, he lowered her down onto the wet grass and slowly rolled on top of her.
‘R-Ritchie?’ she stammered, inhaling sharply as the air was pushed from her lungs. Wrapping his legs around hers he caged her body between his forearms.
Locked tight in his grasp, she struggled to breathe. ‘Ritchie, move off!’
‘Sssh,’ he murmured, grinning.
‘Ritchie, please,’ she implored, beginning to panic as his arousal pressing hard into her stomach.
‘Ritchie, please...stop it!’ she whimpered. ‘It’s okay,’ he said, loosening his grip.
Thinking he was going to stop, she let her body go limp, but a scream exploded from her lips as she felt his free hand rise up between her legs. As he clawed at the soft warmth of her thighs he reached her panties and slipping his fingers under the cotton material. With his other hand he thrust her t-shirt up over her bra, crushing her with his full weight.
‘Stop it!’ she cried, wriggling as hard as she could beneath him. Ignoring her protests, he dropped his mouth down onto the thin lace of her bra and pulled down the thin material exposing her full breast, biting down on her nipple and sucking it hard. He could smell the purity of her freshly soaped skin as he pulled down the second cup. Again he bit down, harder this time, completely deaf to Claudia’s screams.
Probing further with his fingers and finding the wet moistness of her crotch, he grunted with excited urgency, lifting his weight to reach down and unbutton his denims. As his hand fumbled between their bodies, he exchanged hands trying to free himself from his pants. His agility and speed brought Claudia to hysteria as tears slid down the side of her face. She could no longer breathe let alone scream, his weight exhausting her to the brink of consciousness.
Knowing what he was going to do, she had to conserve what was left of her energy and think fast. Letting her body slump lifelessly she stopped wriggling. Inhaling one last long gulp of air, she called out his name quietly. ‘Rich?’ her voice was almost tender. ‘Rich?’ she called again. This time he heard her. Looking up from beneath her breasts his eyes saw that she was smiling, and assured of her compliance he lifted his head. ‘Yeah,’ he paused irritably.
‘Wait…’
‘What...why?’ he snapped, knowing she was stalling.
‘My bag?’ she pleaded spreading out her free hand across the wet grass feeling for something, anything that could save her. Then she found it. The cold touch of a sharp but large stone fit easily into the palm of her hand.
‘What do you--’ A flash of white light exploded behind his eyes before he could finish. Instinctively he pulled away from her, crying out as he hauled himself upright onto his knees reaching for his face. He didn’t see the next blow coming either. It took another sharp thud to impact against the side of his face before he realised something had hit him hard. Staggering to his feet he squinted ahead into the darkness forcing himself to focus. Then he saw her. Through small slits, he watched as she ran and ran, through the field and onto the main road, the street lamp illuminating her panic as she ran off into the distance.
‘Bitch!’ he roared, after the fleeing figure while clasping his face. ‘What happened?’ Whelan gasped.
‘Bitch!’ he cried again, doubling over cradling the side of his face. ‘She cut me…she fucking cut me!’ he whimpered, feeling the warm liquid trickle between his fingers.
‘Show us?’ Whelan bent over him.
‘What did you do?’ Melissa hissed breathlessly. ‘Fuck off!’
‘Paudie, tell him!’ she roared.
‘Hey, keep it down,’ Whelan ordered, his girlfriend. ‘Tell her to fuck off, Wheels.’
‘Best go home, Melissa..’
‘What?’
‘Just go.’
‘What?’
‘Fuck off!’ Ritchie roared, cradling his bloodied head. ‘Pigs…both of ye!’ she fumed.
‘Just go home, Melissa,’ Whelan sighed. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’
‘Go fuck yourself, Paudie,’ she spat, turning and marching furiously toward the main road. Wavering unsteadily on her new rubber-wedged shoes, the uneven ground broke her pace, straining the tendons of her ankles, taunting her wounded pride even further, as she stumbled awkwardly off toward the town. Humiliated by Whelan’s dismissal, and how ridiculous she must have looked fumbling her way across the dark field in her way too high shoes and too short a skirt, she had to blame someone, and that someone was running like the devil for her life. ‘Claudia, come back!’ she called out viciously. ‘Jesus, Claudia, you can be such a friggin` baby!’
Claudia heard her call out, but nothing would make her stop running, if anything it drove her on. For all she knew Ritchie could have been right behind her. Ignoring the sharp pain piercing her side, and struggling to breathe as absolute terror engulfed her, she felt the hot tears flow down her face, melting the mascara from her eyes and blurring her vision.
But she didn’t care because she knew she just couldn’t stop. She didn’t dare to look behind, know