Alicia froze.

She had pictured this moment a thousand times before. Greg, finding her at a bus stop. Greg, appearing in an aisle at the grocery store. In her most vivid nightmares, Greg broke into her family's house at night while Alicia was forced to watch from hundreds of miles away, powerless to stop him.

She'd always imagined bravely standing up to Greg. Telling him firmly that he needed to leave, that she didn't want him in her life anymore.

But when it came down to it, Alicia couldn't move at all.

"What the hell?" Antony squinted at the approaching figure. "What does that dude think he's doing?"

She shook her head.

The commentator's microphone crackled. "Sir, please remove yourself from the course at once. Play is still ongoing."

Greg ignored him.

He looked almost exactly the same as she remembered. Reddish-blond hair. Dark blue eyes. An upright walk, as if a golf club was glued to his back. She used to love that walk; she thought it made him look confident. Now, it made her skin crawl.

"Alicia," Antony murmured. "He's coming this way."

"I know."

"Don't worry." Antony swung the iron. "Fans get crazy sometimes. I'm sure security will deal with him."

"You don't understand." Her lips felt numb. "Greg's not a fan."

"Wait. You know him?"

"Yes." She licked her lips. "Or at least, I thought I did, once."

Antony's eyes darkened. He shifted slightly, moving subtly in front of her. Security was already swarming the course, like black ants crawling over a rotting kiwi, but they weren't fast enough; Greg was running towards them, now.

And then another figure joined the fray.

"Oh, no," Alicia whispered. "No, no."

Antony's club hovered in the air. "Holy shit. Is that Ollie?"

It was.

He was sprinting across the golf course, his blue eyes narrowed in determination. Further back, she could see Brooks shoving people aside, desperately trying to get over the fence. He shouted something at Oliver, who ignored him.

"Gentlemen." The microphone crackled again. "I must now ask both of you to remove yourself from the course immediately."

Oliver launched himself at Greg.

They collapsed in a tangle of limbs. Oliver kneed him in the stomach, and Greg made an oof noise, sprawling backward. Fury was painted into every line of his face.

The microphone whined. "Gentlemen, I really must insist—" The commentator paused. "Good lord. Is that Oliver Hogarth? The bassist in The Patriots?"

Whispers rippled through the crowd. Alicia had the terrifying sensation that the whole thing was spreading faster than they could control it, like wildfire tearing through a forest, and she wasn't sure how to stop it. Greg gave an almighty roar. He wrestled Oliver on to his back, punching him squarely in the face.

And somehow, that broke the spell.

Before Alicia was fully aware of what she was doing, she began to run. And for the first time in her life, it was towards something — not away from it.

Oliver kicked Greg in the stomach. Greg collapsed backwards, wheezing, and Oliver sprung to his feet. He yanked the flag out of the eighteenth hole, wielding it like a sword. Then he smashed it into Greg's face.

"Right," the commentator said. "Er, it appears that Mr. Hogarth is now bludgeoning the man to death with a flagpole."

Oliver did it again.

There was a sharp clap of feedback, as if the commentator had slapped a hand over the microphone. "Seriously," he hissed. "Is someone getting this on camera?"

Greg's face twisted with rage. He grabbed the flag, and Oliver stumbled forward, thrown off balance. Greg seized his ankle. Oliver tried to shake him off, but Greg clung on, a barnacle suctioned to a rock. He staggered to his feet. Cameras clicked, a cacophony of mechanical teeth chattering.

"Stop!" Alicia threw herself forward. "Stop it, both of you!"

Greg's fist flew back just as she darted between them. Pain exploded through her skull. Something wet oozed down her face. Rain? But, no; she could taste metal in her mouth. She touched her nose and her fingers came away red.

"Alicia." Greg's face was white. "I didn't mean to—"

Oliver surged forward.

Alicia gave a hoarse shout as he seized a fistful of Greg's shirt. Oliver's eyes were wild, but his whole body was very still. When he spoke, his voice was low and deliberate.

"Touch her again, and I'll kill you. Is that understood?"

Greg nodded.

Oliver dropped him, spinning around to face Alicia. "Are you alright?" He cupped her face, his fingers impossibly gentle as he rotated it. "No, that's a stupid question; I think your nose is broken. Does it hurt?"

She nodded, and Oliver's fingers tightened. He glanced back at Greg. She could tell that he was battling for self-control, and she placed a hand on his chest.

"Look at me, Ollie," she murmured. "Not at him. At me."

He met her gaze. There was fear in his blue eyes, but something else, too. A tenderness that cut her up more than any physical blow ever could. "Alicia, I—"

"Oliver!"

Brooks yanked him backwards, his face dark as a thunderclap. Security guards were storming the course now, and two of them grabbed Greg's arms, forcing him on to his knees. But there were other people running on to the green, too, Alicia realized with mounting trepidation. People wielding cameras.

"We need to go," Brooks told him. "Right now."

Oliver set his jaw. "Not without Alicia."

"You'll only make things worse for her by staying."

"Look at her nose, Brooks!" Oliver's voice was borderline hysterical. "If you think that I'm leaving her like that, then you're mad."

Brooks sighed. He strode forward, gently turning Alicia's face in his hands. His dark brows furrowed. "Yeah, it's definitely broken. Minor fracture, though." He dropped his hand. "She won't need to go to hospital; she just needs to ice it."

Oliver scowled. "I'm still not leaving her."

"Go," Alicia told him, taking a step back. "Brooks is right; it's you that they want." Her nose gave a painful throb, but she resisted the urge to touch it; it would only make Oliver want to stay. "I'll be fine on my own."

For a split-second, Oliver hesitated. It was the only opening that Brooks needed; he twisted Oliver's arm, eliciting a yelp, and then began to drag him off the course and toward a black Sedan. A throng of paparazzi dogged their every step.

"Alicia!" Oliver called.

She could just make out the top of Oliver's head through the frenzy. His face was screwed up in a snarl, and he twisted in Brooks' grip.

"Alicia!"

She could hear her pulse pounding in her ears. Overhead, the sky collapsed under the weight of the rain, spilling fat droplets to the earth. Dark waves crashed in the distance. She could feel thousands of people staring, whispering about the girl standing alone on the golf course in a soaking white boiler suit. Camera flashes exploded.

And Alicia began to run.

They chased her through town.

Alicia sprinted up the cobbled street, dodging alarmed students and tour guides holding umbrellas. She passed the castle ruins, following the winding path along the sea almost blindly. It was only when she reached the pier that she realized her mistake.

Salty wind tore at her face, hissing in her ears. Her heartbeat slapped in time with the rain. Behind her, a cacophony of voices shouted her name. Alicia, darling, turn around. Alicia, are you dating Oliver?

She ran harder.

Cameras exploded behind her in brilliant popcorn flashes. She came to a stop at the edge of the crumbling stone pier, staring at the black, frothy water below.

She was trapped.

Alicia doubled over, half-wheezing and half-laughing at the madness of it all. Sometimes, she felt like she had been running for her whole life; not because there was anywhere that she needed to get to, but because she couldn't remember how to stop. But this was it, wasn't it? This pier was her final destination.

She closed her eyes, tipping her face up to the storm. She remembered her mother reading her a book once about a little girl that went into the woods to find a magical yellow slipper. Don't be afraid, my dear, her mother had murmured. At the end of the marked path is where adventure begins.

She jumped into the sea.

A/N: Only five chapters to go!

Now that we're this far in, I have to ask: which character do you like best? Is there one that stands out to you?

I personally love writing Tess — she has such a strong personality!

Affectionately,

J.K.