Jilted by Rachael Johns Page A

speaking. To her. She tried to reply but something obstructed her words. Like one of those awful dreams where there’s a serial killer chasing you and your legs won’t function. She had so much she wanted – needed – to say to Flynn, and yet her mouth refused to cooperate.
    ‘Ah, never mind,’ Flynn said bitterly. His eyes narrowed and he shook his head as he walked past, clutching his paper and drink hard against his chest while stepping as near to the doorframe as possible. She could only guess he wanted to avoid the possibility of brushing against her. Her heart crumbled at this thought, but still she couldn’t find the wherewithal to speak. If only she could turn back time and at least find out what he’d said. But then, if she had such powers, she’d turn back time a lot further and erase a lot of other stupid mistakes.
    Almost in slow motion, she turned around, but Flynn was already pounding the pavement away from her. He didn’t look back. Shivers scuttled down her spine like a thousand nasty, eight-legged beasts. And she started to shake. Uncontrollably. The room spun.
    She took hold of herself and tried to moderate her breathing. She was no doctor, but even she knew breathing at such a rate was dangerous. Was this what a panic attack felt like? One of the actresses on Lake Street suffered from them, apparently, but Ellie had never bought into the hype.
    ‘Excuse me, miss? Are you okay?’
    She registered that someone somewhere was speaking to her, but a sudden, stabbing pain in her chest throttled any reply. She pressed her hand against her breast hoping the pressure would somehow ease the pain, that if the discomfort eased then so would the dizziness, the shakes and the feeling the room was closing in around her. But it was no good. No longer able to keep a firm grip on the door, her knees gave way and she tumbled onto the hard concrete.
    ‘That’s it, I’m calling an ambulance,’ said the voice.
    ‘Damn straight, looks like she’s having a heart attack,’ came another voice. ‘Don’t want no celebrities dying in my shop. Maybe we should get her a blanket or something?’
    No! She didn’t want a blanket. She brought her knees up to her chest and rocked back and forth against the door. I just want to go , she would have yelled, but her tongue had grown thick and immobile. I just want to go back to Sydney, where I’m not some kind of freak show, and live my life the best I can .
    Her legs had lost all their strength. She tried to move so she wasn’t hunched like a sobbing cripple in the doorway, but the gods were laughing at her. Somewhere a flash went off, but before she had time to comprehend what that meant, sirens pierced the air, egging on her horrendous headache.
    ‘In here,’ she heard someone say. Then two women in green uniforms were looking over her. One of them crouched down and lifted Ellie’s hand, rubbing her wrist, presumably to take her pulse. The other ambulance officer began firing questions at the owner and his employee. Still stunned that this was actually happening, Ellie took a moment to react, but when she heard the word hospital, something inside her snapped back into place.
    She pasted what was no doubt a less than believable smile on her face and looked apologetically into the face of the woman checking her over. ‘I’m really sorry,’ she said, extracting her hand andstraightening her ponytail. ‘I’m fine. I don’t know what happened, but I’m really fine now. I don’t need to go to hospital.’
    The other, more butch-looking ambulance officer leaned down and butted in. ‘It’s policy. We have to take you in and have a doctor check you over.’
    ‘No.’ No way in hell was she going back to that pokey small-town hospital and risking another run-in with Lauren. She could only imagine what would happen if she were admitted into that woman’s care. ‘I said I’m fine and I am. You can’t force me to go.’
    ‘She does seem fine,’ stated the first