Elena
Sicilia was an excuse. It was the perfect excuse to escape work and the ever nagging feeling at the back of my mind that I was being followed.
However, going there would also mean that I was facing another problem, which was Pablo. Just basically from the pan into the fire in my case.
And so once my paycheck came in I all but ran back home and hurried to pack a few clothes and also quickly made my way to the train station. I was so absorbed in my thoughts when I didn't notice I had bumped into someone.
“I'm sorry,” I apologized as I picked up my bag.
“No problem,” the man muttered with a strong Italian accent. The accent itself wasn't a problem, it was the twist. It was strong with some of the raises of the Avalian drawl.
I looked up at him. He didn't seem to be someone I knew,
