Free Wild by Naomi Clark Page A

between them again, pushing her away. She stumbled, banging into the coffee table. “That’s enough!” he bellowed. “Fucking hell, Lizzie, you’re a proper headcase.”
    “I should have dumped you months ago,” Harris snarled, rubbing his face where she’d scratched him.
    Lizzie fell onto the settee, the rage driven from her in a rush. That wild strength that coursed through her when she hit Harris lingered, turned to dizzy fright now, but still there. It had felt good to hit him. The smell of his blood had whetted a wicked appetite in her, something she couldn’t name and could barely suppress. She stared at the gleaming red droplets on his cheek. His blood. Her blood. Hot desire spurted through her. She wet her lips.
    She had to get out of here. Both of them were staring daggers at her, and she suddenly felt incredibly exposed, open to harm. You heard about this kind of thing, didn’t you? Drugged up twats killing each other by accident – it happened all the time. No, no, she had to get out of here before that dark other being inside her snapped again and something bad happened.
    “I’m…I’m going out…” Trembling with spent adrenaline, she slunk from the room, listening to the two men mumble at each other. She scooped up her car keys, pausing at the front door to hear Vic raise his voice.
    “You wanna dump her, mate, seriously. She’s insane.”
    “Fuck you, Vic,” she shouted, slamming the door behind her.
    She ran down to the Mazda, fingers shaking as she fumbled with the keys. She wasn’t a violent person. She wasn’t . Sure, she’d hit Harris before, but only in self-defence. She’d never attacked him like that. She couldn’t have. She wasn’t that strong. She wasn’t violent.
    She got in the car, started driving, didn’t care where she was going. She needed drugs. She clung to that thought as tightly as she clung to her steering wheel. No uppers, she needed to go down, into oblivion. Ketamine. Even heroin, if she could find it. That was what she needed. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and tasted blood again, and suddenly realised that drugs wouldn’t be enough. She needed something else. Something more potent. More visceral.
    Maybe I’m turning into a vampire. The thought was grimly amusing and she bared her teeth at her reflection in the rear view mirror, choking down a hysterical laugh as she did so.
    Jesus, what was happening to her? A throbbing headache bloomed behind her eyes and the road blurred in front of her. Someone honked their horn and she honked back instinctively as she swerved the Mazda back into the right lane, just avoiding clipping the other car. “Arsehole,” she muttered, not really sure if she meant them or herself.
    Without thinking about it, she headed for Hope Street and the bombed-out church. The car tyres crunched on broken glass as she pulled into a space at the roadside and she was transported back to the night Harris had driven off, leaving her in the rain to be attacked. “Christ.” She slumped forwards until her head rested on the steering wheel.
    She sat up again, staring at the sun as it slowly began its descent into the west, painting the sky azure and orange. She thought about going home. Home to Harris shouting and raging at her. Home to more drugs, more nightmares, more of this … mess. Home to Harris reminding her she was helpless without him. Everyone thought she was helpless, incapable of standing up for herself. They must do, or they wouldn’t push her around like this.
    And they must be right, or she wouldn’t let them do it.
    She rubbed her arms, feeling hot and itchy. She opened the window to let cool air rush into the car, soothing her a little. She stared at her reflection in the rear view mirror. It was like staring at a stranger.
    In her head, she pictured herself as a slim woman with long dark curls and smoky eyes. Young and smooth-skinned. Not as physically fit as she’d been as a young teenager, but not a total