IT HAS BEEN BUILDING up for weeks. The signs were there, but Lizzie had ignored them. The ache in her jaw from grinding her teeth at night. The pale white lines on her nails. The twist in her gut, and the lump in her throat that always preceded tears or violence. Lizzie’s nervous system is flooded with cortisol, adrenalin, testosterone. She can feel it, burning like acid through her system.

She worries about Lenny. She used to be his only influence. Now friends at school dictate how his life is supposed to be. Now Lenny wears expensive football boots and wants to grow his hair into a quiff, like Luke’s. He’s been in a couple of fights in the playground. He’s finding his edges and pushes away from Lizzie at night. Doesn’t want to sleep in her arms. He wants to do his own thing, to stay after school and play football. Once, he told her to piss off. He meant it, too. She worries he won’t understand, doesn’t love her enough for what is coming.

There is no line between love and hate, not for Lizzie. It’s the same thing. A loss of control, the same rush of blood to the head. When she first met Greg, she couldn’t stop smiling. She’d scrub at her mouth with a flannel, but the grin would remain. Something happened to her that she couldn’t prevent. Then other things happened to her too. She could have prevented them, but she didn’t. And now here she is, breaking into small pieces. And she’s so tired. All she wants to do is sleep. She has been purified, like rock salt. Heated and stirred and reduced to small crystals. Tiny, bitter diamonds. She is exposed in a Petri dish. Soon everyone will see what remains of her.

The evening had started well. Lizzie had made chicken Caesar salad and garlic bread for Luke. He had eaten it all and asked for seconds. She’d washed up while he dried. Afterwards, she wanted them to go to bed, needed to be swept up in the white heat of oblivion. It was better than cutting or burning herself. No marks to hide.

But she didn’t want to be out late. She’d promised Lenny she’d be home to tuck him in. She needed her sleepy boy, the one who didn’t ask questions.

‘What’s the rush?’ Luke had asked, with a smile, when she tugged him towards the stairs.

‘No rush, just … come on.’

‘Let’s sit and watch a film for a bit?’

‘I don’t have time. I need to get back.’ She’d tugged on his sleeve again, and Luke had pulled back.

‘I can’t believe I’m actually about to say this, but I kind of feel a bit used …’ He sounded as if he was joking, but his face didn’t match.