Page 67 of These Tears

‘Where are we going?’

Silence.

We near the lavatory sign hanging between a kiosk selling overpriced chocolates and a row of chairs crowded with weary parents and children.

My heart pounds in warning as I take in the details around me. No side exits. No bloody service doors, not even a single window. But there’s a crowd. If I can get into a stall and change fast enough, maybe I can squeeze out beneath the partition, vanish into the mass of people before he notices?

‘I need to pee,’ I reiterate, pushing just enough urgency into the words to make them more believable.

He angles me sideways, but says nothing.

A dozen bodies huddle by the entrance to the men’s room. A group from our flight merges into the mass, adding density, anonymity, hope.

And then—

He walks past the threshold of the women’s area.

‘What are you doing?’ I hiss.

An older lady near the basin turns fully towards us, mouth dropping open as her gaze climbs up the mountain of a man herding me inside. Another stops drying her hands. I catch the exchange of looks between them before Elias plants a hand low on my back to urge me onwards.

My steps falter. Panic snaps me upright, but the voice in my head reasons that someone might report this transgression and it would all be over.

When the women scurry out, he whispers into my ear, ‘You didn’t really think I was going to let you out of my sight, did you?’ His voice is smooth, pitched low enough not to carry.

The door of a stall swings open. We’re inside. The lock clicks.

Too fast.

Air drains out of my lungs.

‘Someone will tell security there’s a man here,’ I say breathily, trying to delay the horror.

He bends closer. ‘Then you’d better be quick, Leah.’

My back flattens against the side partition. Cold spiderwebs up my back.

He looms, the warmth of him bleeding into the narrow strip of air between us. Metal behind my back, Elias everywhere else.

I clutch my coat tighter around myself, as if fabric might ward off the heat and the chill warring inside me.

The movement only traps more of his scent between us – pine and spicier notes that belong entirely to his skin.

‘You’d better have something to do in here, Leah,’ he growls. ‘Or I’ll find a reason myself.’

He leans over me, dips his head close to my mouth.

My lips part, but the words fall apart before they reach the surface. All that escapes is a fractured exhale that tangles with his.

His hand reaches up as his gaze moves across my face. I recoil, but then my backpack slides off my shoulder before I can react.

My arms go stiff. Instinct surges: run, scream, fight.

But I can’t bloody move.

He carefully hangs the small pack on the hook against the door.

The lack of hurry makes my panic climb faster.