“I can’t help?—”
The car screeches to a halt outside of our apartment. He turns off the engine. A street light illuminates our parking spot in the twilight. Our breathing is erratic, both of us filled with emotions so strong, they’re threatening to boil over.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make sense of it.
But I know I have to go back.
“While you were fucking the doctor, I was out searching for answers,” Benji barks, his voice stern and cold, a side to Benji I haven’t seen before. I rock in place. He snarls. “Dr. Ambrose told me you might have dug up your mother to fuck her. I didn’t believe him, but her grave was empty, Violet, like you actually dug her up to take her with you!”
Dig up her grave? Why was it empty? Does Dr. Ambrose have something to do with that?
Will Benji leave me because of this?
“I didn’t do that,” I pant. “I swear, Benji. I?—”
“I know.” He rubs a hand over his face. “Dr. Ambrose did it to mess with our heads, and that should show you how dangerous he is. You’re strong, Violet, and you can kill him if you really want to. But you’re having second thoughts, and that’s not good. I can see it in your eyes.”
He grabs my hands, squeezing them. A lock of curly hair falls over his forehead. This is the man I should want.
But I don’t want him.
“You can’t let this obsession control you,” he warns. “You just want a real family. All of us do. No one can blame you for that. But your mother is dead, and you’re still here.” My insides are crushed to a pulp, my mouth open. His features stiffen. “Don’t throw your life away for some vague chance at a family that was never meant to exist in the first place.”
Never meant to exist?
Is he saying I wasn’t meant to exist?
My heart breaks.
Benji thrusts the gear and reverses out of the parking spot. “Fuck this,” he mutters. “We’re leaving.”
“Wait. Why?” I ask. “Where are you taking me?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care,” he grunts. “Not fucking here.”
The car speeds down the street. A gas station. A general store. An empty field. The main road. The highway is close now.
We’re close. We’re way too close.
I can’t leave.
“Stop it!” I shout. “I need to go back!”
“No, you don’t.”
He keeps driving. I grab the pocketknife from the cupholder and flick it open. “Go back now, Benji, or I swear to the blood in my veins, I will hurt you.”
“You won’t.” He steps on the gas. “You’re not that kind of person. You’re not like him, Violet. You’re good.”
“Go back!”
“No!”
I lurch forward. The knife slices Benji’s arm; the car swerves. Oncoming headlights sear across our vision. A car honks. We veer into an empty field.
Benji slams on the brakes.
I wheeze; my knife is dotted with blood. Benji gawks at his wound. It’s not deep, but I did hurt him. Why did I do that? He’s my boyfriend. I’m supposed to take care of him.
