Incite (Sphere of Irony 1)

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I’m not supposed to check it while on shift, but I can’t resist. The thought that Adam might be texting me is too great a temptation. I duck into the break room and pull it out. Disappointment floods me when I see that it’s from James. Again.

I turn it off and tuck it into the pocket of my scrubs without responding. The James situation is just too overwhelming and too distracting for me to think about while I’m at work. Adam’s gone for another month, so that gives me some time to figure everything out with James. If I don’t do it soon though, I fear that the lack of sleep and the massive amounts of stress might break me before then.

“Ellie, your patient in room 504 needs you!”

The sound of my irritated coworker’s voice snaps me out of my selfish musing and I hurry down the hall to do my job.

By six o’clock, I’m exhausted. We had too many patients and not enough nurses. Nothing new for us, but with almost no sleep last night, I could probably fall asleep standing on the platform while I wait for the tube.

Luckily, I snag a seat on the train and immediately begin to check my phone, convincing myself that it’s just a distraction technique to keep me awake, not because I want to see if Adam has sent anything. When it powers up I notice that I’ve got missed four calls from James and he’s sent several texts, each one more agitated than the previous.

He knows it’s over. That it was over the second I left the car after the concert.

Crap. I can’t deal with this right now. I slump down in the seat and my phone vibrates again. Weary from my day and so irritated at James, I almost don’t look at it. Curiosity gets the best of me, however, and I open the text.

I bolt upright in my seat. It’s from Adam.

I open the attachment he’s sent and it’s a picture of him with the empty stage behind him, several crewmembers putting the set together for his show tonight.

My heart racing in my chest and butterflies attacking my belly, I quickly send a reply.

He replies immediately.

I smile wide and giggle idiotically at the phone, causing some of the passengers nearest to me to give me funny looks. I type out another text, hoping he gets the deeper meaning.

My phone buzzes again.

I relax and pull up the photo again, running my thumb over Adam’s handsome face. He looks as tired as I feel. I wonder if he stayed up all night thinking about us like I did. My stomach sinks as I realize that Adam probably stayed up worrying about whether or not I’ll choose him or James, since I never gave him a real answer.

I vow to resolve that when he calls tonight. I’ll tell him what he needs to hear. I can’t live without him, I know that. He inspires feelings in me that James never has and never will. I’ll have to make it clear to James that we’re over, and the thought makes me ill, almost enough to retch up my lunch. I literally owe him my life, but that doesn’t mean I have to give it to him as payment, right?

The Underground announces my stop and I shuffle out with the rest of the weary crowd. This time of year is always so depressing, it’s dark when I head to work, and it’s dark when I head home. It’s not as if we get a lot of sunny days in London, so autumn and winter are extra dreary because I’m hardly ever outside while the sun is up.

Groggy from lack of sleep followed by a twelve-hour shift, I practically sleepwalk to my flat. I twist the key in the lock and hear it disengage. A strong arm grips my waist but before I can struggle, an awful smelling rag comes down over my face and it’s the last thing I remember as everything fades away.

“Ow.” A sharp pain lances across my scalp. I attempt to reach up to feel for a lump or a cut and find that my hands are bound behind me.

Terror like nothing I’ve ever felt before races through my body, sending adrenaline flowing to every over stimulated nerve ending. I’m petrified to open my tightly shut eyelids, but even more afraid of the unknown, so I suck in a breath and slowly open my eyes.

When the legs of my sofa and the second-hand end table next to it come into focus, I relax a little. I’m on the floor of my own flat, that’s good. I had half expected to wake up in some dark, abandoned warehouse or something equally sinister.

The panic comes back full force when I spot a large set of boots crossing my tiny kitchen, hear the fridge open and click shut, and the sharp pop of a beer opening.

My entire body starts shaking, that familiar fight or flight sensation flooding my brain. “Get out! Get out!” it screams at me. I a

ttempt to get to my feet thinking I can maybe run to the door and open it with my hands behind me, but find my legs are bound together at the knees. I let my head slump to the ground, defeated. Just like that horrible day in a deserted yard after school, I’m thoroughly and properly fucked.

Watching through the seven-centimeter gap under my sofa, the giant booted feet shuffle over to my two-person kitchen table and the wearer sits on one of my small wooden chairs. It creaks under the weight of him. Jesus, he must be enormous. The man starts speaking and it takes me a moment to realize that he’s on the phone and not talking to me.

“Course I got her… Nah, she’s sleeping it off. I’ll have my fun when she wakes,” he says, chugging my beer in between sentences.

The hair on my scalp prickles at the sound of his voice. I know that voice. It belongs to Callum Murray, a man who I’ve finally accepted, will never, ever, leave me alone.

“Danny, I said I’ll take care of it. You can just tell your fucking wanker of a brother to fuck off!”

Danny? Adam’s brother is named Danny. No, that can’t be who he’s talking about. Adam doesn’t associate with his brother, he’s a drug dealer. But how do I know that they don’t speak? I haven’t actually known Adam, or any of his associates for the past six years.

“Fine, I’ll snap a picture and text it to you so you can torture the poor rock star with it.” Callum laughs, he actually fucking laughs as he describes photographing a crime. “I’ll fuck her up right good before taking it so it’ll really tear the bastard up. Then I get the rest of my money… I’m glad you saw the benefit of working with me.”