Page 136 of Take Me Away

I sink down onto the edge of the bed, phone heavy in my hand, staring at the white walls I was going to paint green.

For her.

Because she was staying.

Because she promised.

The room smells like her still. Vanilla and salt. Like she was just here. Like she might come back any second and laugh at me for panicking, for thinking the worst, for not trusting that she meant it when she said⁠—

My phone buzzes again.

A text from Jude: Brother, have you seen this? Is Isla okay?

Followed by a link.

My thumb hovers over it.

I don’t want to open it.

I know – I fucking know – that whatever’s on the other side of that link is why she’s gone.

I open it anyway.

Chapter Thirty-One

ISLA

This is rock bottom.

I’ve finally found my way there.

To hell. To the end of everything I knew, thought I knew. Thought I wanted.

Chapter Thirty-Two

KIT

Ican’t stop looking, even though it’s making me want to hurl.

That’s Isla there. In garish pixelated colours.

Not the Isla who stood in my kitchen making jam with Maisie. Not the Isla who sang ‘The Parting Glass’ with tears streaming down her face. Not the Isla who told me she loved me twelve hours ago under the harbour lights.

This is someone else. Someone broken. Someone⁠—

Christ.

She’s not looking at the camera in most of them. Her eyes are unfocused, glassy. That’s not a smile on her face – it’s something else. Something that makes my stomach turn.

She’s drugged. Has to be. I’ve seen enough drunk fishermen to know what that looks like, and this – this is worse. This is someone who can barely hold themselves upright.

And he took photos of her anyway.

Marcus fucking Vale.

My hands are shaking. The phone screen blurs.

There are dozens of them. Topless. In a shower. In a bed I hope to God she doesn’t remember. One where she’s leaning against a wall like her legs won’t hold her, and he’s⁠—