‘Do you want to come back to my place, Adam Wilson?’ Mir purrs seductively into my ear, her arms wrapped around my waist under my shirt, her skin on my skin causing fire under my skin. It makes me dizzy in the best sort of way.

I grin at her, and, as words don’t seem to be working for me, kiss her deliberately and hard. She takes it as a yes, and we’re heading out the door. I’m in a sort of daze and I don’t quite know why, but I'm not able to say anything or do anything but follow her to a car parked outside. It’s painted red, but the paint is peeling on the hood and the roof of the car, so I can see that it used to be green. Mir gets into the car, and I try the door, but it’s locked, and I realise that this car is so old that it doesn’t have central locking.

While she is in the car and I’m outside, I suddenly feel like I can breathe again. I feel uneasy. Something’s not right here, something’s weird, something’s… Mir unlocks my door and pops it open. I’m almost about to shake my head and walk home, but she looks at me with those big golden eyes… (Something’s strange about them, her pupils are…. something...) and I’m getting in the car before I realise what I’m doing.

As soon as I’m in the car with her, my skittishness dissipates. I was just being stupid, obviously; she’s gorgeous and she’s taking me home – what could be wrong with this situation?

‘So, Adam, how come you were out so late? You don’t look like the average clubber, no offence.’ She keeps glancing at me, hardly keeping her eyes on the road at all. Jane was a good driver – she never drove when she’d been drinking, even if she was under the limit. ‘…she always acted as my dessie driver.’ I finally notice that I’m talking. God, I feel like an idiot. I’ve been rambling drunkenly about my ex wife to the girl who’s taking me home.

‘’Rough break up, huh?’ She sounds sympathetic, and I look at her, embarrassed. She’s looking at me earnestly. ‘I want to take all your pain away, Adam. I can do it.’ Her eyes narrow. Why isn’t she looking at the road? ‘Do you want me to?’

‘I… yes.’ I was going to say something else, but I can’t. I can only agree. ‘Help me, please. I want to forget her. I just want to forget her…’

‘’Of course you do.’ She says, and then continues, in a murmur which sounds like she’s not talking to me anymore. Like I’m not even meant to hear it. ‘They all do.’

‘Yeah…’ I feel cold all of a sudden, and I stare out of the car window at the dark shapes of houses and trees rushing past. They’re blurred and swish past at high speed. I know that it wouldn’t be particularly nice to be out there now, not in the cold in the small hours of the morning. Before the sun rises again, when the air is cold and clammy, that’s when you want to be inside. This city is menacing at night. I guess I’ve already covered that, but you know. It’s freaking spooky.

I can feel Mir looking at me, you know, the creepy prickle in the back of the neck feeling, the “someone’s staring at me” feeling. Some part of me doesn’t want to turn around and look at her, doesn’t want to be pushed back out of the way. But I look at her anyway. Compulsions that aren’t my own are forcing my movements, I know. But why? What the hell is doing this to –

I lose these thoughts as I look at her, her golden eyes boring into me like pins and needles. Her hair is multi coloured, which is something that I didn’t notice in the club, probably something to do with the smoke machines and the strobe lights. I’m not sure what it means, but the hair is partly the colour of her skin and partly the colour of the stripes on her arms and it’s got streaks of red and orange. I feel at ease again. It’s okay. She’s just a pretty girl who wants to help me forget Janie. Why am I stressing out about that? It’s not exactly a bad situation on my part.

We pull into a driveway and I’m looking at Miranda’s house. It’s nice, but small; its peeling white paint matching the peeling paint of her car. It’s weatherboard and looks cosy. Strange, this isn’t the kind of house I’d expect a pretty young girl to be living in, I mean, it’s old and more like a house for a grandmother than a house for Miranda.

I glance at her, and she’s staring at me, the car’s still running. That strikes me as odd for some reason and I don’t know what to do all of a sudden. Am I supposed to get out of the car? Should I wait for her to do it instead? Should I act like a “gentleman” and run around to her side of the car and open her door for her?

I don’t understand what she wants me to do, so I don’t do anything and she keeps staring at me.

We sit in silence for a few minutes. They drag on and I can’t make myself look at her, but I can feel her staring again. I find her incredibly attractive, but something’s odd about the way this is playing out.

I look back at her, and get caught in her eyes. They’re golden and huge and I’m stuck in place. Something’s going on, something’s going on, and something’s going on. She’s doing something and I’m suddenly sick inside. I shouldn’t be here.

She leans over to me – it’s the first time she’s moved since she stopped the car in front of her house – and breathes into my ear.

I forget everything.