the surface of my skin, but
even still I restrain myself from doing anything. I take the car keys out of my
pocket and throw them at the feet of the one with the knife. In a swift
movement he bends down and scoops them up, his glaring eyes trained on me the
entire time.
He steps forward and slashes the knife out towards me. I jump back, the
blade catching me on the wrist. It glides through my skin like butter, opening
the skin and coaxing a river of red to flow out. I yell out in pain,
reflexively clamping down on the wound with my other hand and then shouting at
the pain that causes. The gun clatters to the ground at his feet.
He laughs loudly as he steps around me, wiping his blade on the tail of his
shirt and picking up the gun. "Looks like we got some wheels fellas,"
he chuckles, glancing mischievously at the other two men. They take off at a
run, already knowing which car is mine. They must have been watching us for
longer than I thought. I watch them go, gritting my teeth as they slam the
doors shut. The jeep coughs sleepily as they struggle to start her properly. It
takes a few moments before she roars to life, fully awake. They pull her out of
the gas station and take off speeding down the road, shouting out the windows
as they go.
I stand still, staring in the direction they’ve gone, listening as their
shouts slowly fade to nothing and their shape disappears over a hill. I'm
surprised they didn't bother killing us when they so easily could have. The
thought is taken from me by my aching wrist, as my fingers, wet and glistening
a dark red, tightly clench around the wound. With a calm resolve that is difficult
to hold, my nostrils flare as I exhale a low and steady breath.
I lost my car.
I lost my goddamn car, because of her.
She steps up beside me, staring off after them, her finger gently tracing
the curve of her neck.
"Well," Stella sighs, "that could've gone better."
I shift my glare towards her, my jaw beginning to ache from the constant
tension of gritting my teeth. She furrows her brow before dropping her gaze to
my wrist.
"You're hurt," she frowns, looking back up, "let me
see."
I step away from her, my features creasing into a deeper glare. "No,"
I spit.
She straightens up, her face pinching in confusion. "What? I'm just
trying to help!"
"I don't need your help!" I shout, not caring how loud I am.
"Goddammit this is exactly why I don't help people!"
She coils back, surprise exploding on her face before settling in anger. "What?
You blame me for this?" she asks incredulously. "How is this my
fault?"
"I stopped at the gas station to let you out! If you weren't with me I
would still have my car!" And everything I had in it , I think
bitterly. All the photos and drawings. All the memories I had with that car.
All gone.
"You needed to get gas!" she retorts.
"I had a full tank!" I yell back. "Only reason I stopped was
to get rid of you!"
She steps away, her anger simmering down as though she begrudgingly accepts
what I've said. Lips pressing together tightly, she stares off to the side and
expels a low sigh, her brow settling slightly.
"I'm sorry," she breathes softly, "I'm sorry you feel that
way, but there's nothing we can do about it now." She returns her gaze to
mine, her eyes staring into the dark recesses of my soul. "Our best chance
of survival lies in sticking together." Her gaze doesn't deviate from mine
as she holds me still with her eyes.
The same eyes that haunt me in my dreams.
That beg me for help every night.
Those same fucking eyes.
For a fraction of a second I see past the eyes. Hatred overwhelms me as I
see them for what they really are. A distant memory, a bad dream. A green haze
that has tormented me for so long. And I see the manipulation in them. The
lies.
"What is it that you really want?" I sneer.
She looks at me confused. "What?"
"Oh don't insult me! Do you think I'm an idiot!" I yell.
She stares at me, her eyes hard.
"I know all about the damsel in distress act
even still I restrain myself from doing anything. I take the car keys out of my
pocket and throw them at the feet of the one with the knife. In a swift
movement he bends down and scoops them up, his glaring eyes trained on me the
entire time.
He steps forward and slashes the knife out towards me. I jump back, the
blade catching me on the wrist. It glides through my skin like butter, opening
the skin and coaxing a river of red to flow out. I yell out in pain,
reflexively clamping down on the wound with my other hand and then shouting at
the pain that causes. The gun clatters to the ground at his feet.
He laughs loudly as he steps around me, wiping his blade on the tail of his
shirt and picking up the gun. "Looks like we got some wheels fellas,"
he chuckles, glancing mischievously at the other two men. They take off at a
run, already knowing which car is mine. They must have been watching us for
longer than I thought. I watch them go, gritting my teeth as they slam the
doors shut. The jeep coughs sleepily as they struggle to start her properly. It
takes a few moments before she roars to life, fully awake. They pull her out of
the gas station and take off speeding down the road, shouting out the windows
as they go.
I stand still, staring in the direction they’ve gone, listening as their
shouts slowly fade to nothing and their shape disappears over a hill. I'm
surprised they didn't bother killing us when they so easily could have. The
thought is taken from me by my aching wrist, as my fingers, wet and glistening
a dark red, tightly clench around the wound. With a calm resolve that is difficult
to hold, my nostrils flare as I exhale a low and steady breath.
I lost my car.
I lost my goddamn car, because of her.
She steps up beside me, staring off after them, her finger gently tracing
the curve of her neck.
"Well," Stella sighs, "that could've gone better."
I shift my glare towards her, my jaw beginning to ache from the constant
tension of gritting my teeth. She furrows her brow before dropping her gaze to
my wrist.
"You're hurt," she frowns, looking back up, "let me
see."
I step away from her, my features creasing into a deeper glare. "No,"
I spit.
She straightens up, her face pinching in confusion. "What? I'm just
trying to help!"
"I don't need your help!" I shout, not caring how loud I am.
"Goddammit this is exactly why I don't help people!"
She coils back, surprise exploding on her face before settling in anger. "What?
You blame me for this?" she asks incredulously. "How is this my
fault?"
"I stopped at the gas station to let you out! If you weren't with me I
would still have my car!" And everything I had in it , I think
bitterly. All the photos and drawings. All the memories I had with that car.
All gone.
"You needed to get gas!" she retorts.
"I had a full tank!" I yell back. "Only reason I stopped was
to get rid of you!"
She steps away, her anger simmering down as though she begrudgingly accepts
what I've said. Lips pressing together tightly, she stares off to the side and
expels a low sigh, her brow settling slightly.
"I'm sorry," she breathes softly, "I'm sorry you feel that
way, but there's nothing we can do about it now." She returns her gaze to
mine, her eyes staring into the dark recesses of my soul. "Our best chance
of survival lies in sticking together." Her gaze doesn't deviate from mine
as she holds me still with her eyes.
The same eyes that haunt me in my dreams.
That beg me for help every night.
Those same fucking eyes.
For a fraction of a second I see past the eyes. Hatred overwhelms me as I
see them for what they really are. A distant memory, a bad dream. A green haze
that has tormented me for so long. And I see the manipulation in them. The
lies.
"What is it that you really want?" I sneer.
She looks at me confused. "What?"
"Oh don't insult me! Do you think I'm an idiot!" I yell.
She stares at me, her eyes hard.
"I know all about the damsel in distress act
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