The weather is awful, still windy, pouring with rain and completely hostile. I barely get two streets, struggling to face the onslaught of lashing rain when I realise this was a dumb idea and I should never have ventured this far. It was a struggle to get here, and I am so out of breath I can barely gasp enough oxygen to fill my lungs. I am so run down and sick and I overestimated my ability to venture outside.
Alexi’s apartment is in Manhattan upper east, so I find myself surrounded by swanky bars and restaurants with how far I have come and duck into the nearest one for a little shelter, so I can catch my breath and possibly drum up enough strength to head back again.
I look drowned, my jeans clinging to me and moulding my jumper to my body. My ponytail is slick, water running down my back and my jacket is almost transparent it is so moisture filled. I never bought a jacket for extreme weather and this wind catcher is useless.
I start coughing like crazy, my throat aching with the effort and the concierge just looks at me like I am clearly in the wrong place.
‘‘Can I help you?’’ Some upper-class bitch in a taupe dress, tapping her menus on her hips asks. Ironically, she looks a lot like me on a good day and if I wasn’t dying of the lurgy I would sass her right back. Instead, I’m already trembling with a mix of exertion, sickness and cold from the rain. Pondering how to get back home without passing out on the way. I feel so much worse and I am starting to sweat, despite shivering crazily.
‘’Just need shelter for a moment before I brave the weather again.’’ I answer with haughtiness and my accent alone makes her pipe down. It’s one of the reasons I worked so hard on perfecting that well known English dialect over the more common one I was given in life. It exudes class and sexiness and now it is as natural as breathing and I don’t have to try anymore.
People here tend to immediately assume you’re royalty or upper-crust with the exact and lazy slurring of some syllables. It’s why I drop the R in ‘‘Dahling’’ in such a dramatic way … people eat it up like I’m the Princess of Wales.
She double takes my outfit in a moment of doubt and I can almost see her summarising the likelihood I am of importance. Sodden jeans, a light jumper under a soaked pale jacket with no makeup, pasty pallor and red -rimmed eyes, my hair plastered to my head and a swollen neck. Drowned rat chic. I just roll my eyes and take the hint that I am lowering the tone of her snooty establishment by being underdressed.
‘’Never mind, I’m leaving.’’ It comes out a little strained and raspy as my voice breaks, hurting my throat more, so I cringe with the sharp grating pain I get from swallowing and just exhale heavily that when life gives me lemons, it likes to throw them all at my fucking head.
I turn to walk out, moving to dodge incoming people, and walk straight into the chest of one of the incoming customers using umbrellas to shield them from the weather as he appears from behind the group. Hurting myself with a thud due to how frail my body feels and almost fall until the stranger catches hold of me and rights me on my feet, soaking his overcoat in the process.
‘’Sorry … I’m just …’’ I break into a coughing fit, scratchy throat prevailing as I chuck up a lung, trying to catch my breath and end up leaning forward in a bid not to choke. I know I must be a pitiful sight and as a familiar voice pours over me, despite my position, it makes my body recoil.
I would know that voice anywhere, and I am in no way prepared to hear it right now.
‘‘Camilla? What the hell are you doing out here?’’ I jerk back up as the umbrella recedes into the hands of the black-clothed escorts and realise I am face to face with Alexi Carrero, his shadow of entourage and his busty date in the doorway of a Five-star restaurant.
FUUUUUUUUCKKKK!
I straighten up, regain a tiny ounce of composure and try to act like being caught half drowned while sheltering unwantedly in a plush pad is completely normal for me. Not out of place or sick at all. Despite how our last encounter played out, and how much of my heart and soul he has destroyed with his toxic self in the last few months, my heart still somersaults at the sight of him and my eyes hone in on the woman in searing jealousy that bites harder than my cough.
She doesn’t look street whore, she looks like a blue blood, in the money, mafia boss’s daughter in a way, and she’s linked to his arm like a dog in heat scanning me with very suspicious eyes.
I really do not need this at all and as I sniff and cough my way into the gap to get past them I just try to avoid him completely. I am no match and therefore I am doing the first sensible thing I have done when it comes to him and one action I shall adopt from now on, getting the hell away from him; my eyes down to the ground and blanking him out.
‘’Looking for a chemist, see you around.’’ I toss back at him without following with my eyes and make a break for it.