Losing Celine. ✔

Savage Regret.

Regret runs like acid through my veins, burning flesh, eating away at any traces left of happiness, destroying what's left of my heart, like a savage monster, ravenous with hunger.

I've made a mistake. I've made a mistake, and I can't go back. It's too late.

I close my eyes, tears sliding down my cheeks quietly. Raising a shaking hand, I dab at my cheeks with a tissue. Celine for once doesn't seem to notice. Her eyes study the doll I've given her, her hands patting the doll's hair lovingly.

I sniff disapprovingly at the rude wallpaper on the walls. The carpet is stiff and old, the chairs coated with dust and there is even a spider web glistering on the lamp that I haven't touched since I rented this room at a small cottage by the sea.

It had looked romantic from the outside, small, delicate, with small wooden doors and windows, each painted a lovely shade of blue, it's walls decorated with broken glass and sea-shells. The air had smelt crisp and the sand had felt soft and hot beneath my feet, which was really what I felt I need to divert my mind. It hasn't helped.

I was stupid enough to rent a room without checking it first and had no choice later but to accept the keys and lock myself and Celine inside. The tiny windows don't allow much sunlight to pour inside, and the air doesn't feel crisp anymore. It feels damp and smells salty and sour, or maybe it's the walls that are blocking the real smell of the sea. Nevertheless, I'm stuck here, and I'm running out of money.

I shut my eyes tight before taking a deep breath.

Okay. Focus.

The credit card I took is running very low. I was careful enough to open a new account, with a different name and add what seemed like enough money into the account, which, it seems now, weren't really enough.

I look sigh and look around, I've been renting different cabins since a weak, exploring beaches and never staying at one place long enough to be tracked down. It's been a month, and three days in total, and I never thought that the money would be gone this fast.

I feel like crying and shouting, but there isn't anyone here to shout at. A thought at the back of my head pleads with me to call him, that's all it would take, and then I wouldn't have to worry about money or food, or being tracked down and made to go back with force. But I can't. I can't phone my husband whom I left with his four years old daughter and simply ask him to fix up a flight back to New York.

I groan loudly, pulling at my hair, and Celine looks up, her eyes wide.

'Mommy?'.

I stop tugging at my hair and give her a wobbly smile, which she fails to return. Her bottom lips tremble as she turns back, picking up her lanky doll, and hugging her tight. My heart clenches inside, I reach for her, shaking a little, but she flinches as I touch her plum shoulders, and I draw back violently, feeling as if my hands are burned.