“I won’t.”
“I said, right now. Out!” She lunges across the center console and shoves hard on my upper arm.
I don’t budge. I work out every day. Outweigh her by over 150 pounds. There is no universe in which she wins this physically—and that’s when the thought hits me, sharp and destabilizing.
She’stouchingme.
Hannah Johnson has her hands on me.
They’re warm. Furious. Grabby. When her fingers make contact with my skin, something lights up along my nervous system like I’ve been exposed to radiation. A full-body awareness I wasn’t prepared for.
Jesus Christ.
I go perfectly still, not because she could hurt me, but because every instinct in me wants to grab her. Pull her closer, into my arms, and keep her here, contained, safe,mine.
I force my hands to stay folded across my chest.
If she drives off alone, I might actually kill someone tonight.
“I’m not leaving,” I say quietly.
Her eyes flash, incandescent with fury, and for a split second I see it, how easy it would be for her to misunderstand this moment. To think I’m trying to control her.
I’m not.
I’m trying to stop what comes next. Toprotecther.
There’s a long pause. I can practically see her mind scramble for solutions, but there are none. I’m not going anywhere.
“Fine,” she spits out at last, the word sharp and acidic. “Stay if you want. I’m going, no matter what.”
She puts her phone in the cupholder, but not before I see a blinking green dot on a map. That must be where Marco is. She twists the key. The engine coughs, then sputters to life. I watch in the side mirror as a puff of gray smoke belches from the exhaust. She throws the car into reverse, tires squealing against concrete, as she backs out at a reckless speed, then guns it up the ramp toward the street.
Too fast.
With a jolt and a hard swerve, we burst onto the main road. The dashboard clock says it’s just past seven p.m. as the traffic swallows us whole.
Cars press in on every side, metal and glass and headlights everywhere, horns blaring like alarms I can’t shut off. Neon signs flash by too bright, too fast, red, blue, white, all stacked on top of one another until my vision starts to blur at the edges.
My chest tightens.
No.
No, no, no.
I tug at the collar of my jacket. It’s suddenly strangling me.
The fabric feels wrong. Too heavy. Too close.
Sweat breaks out along my spine, cold and slick.
Why does everything feel so…loud?
It’s sofuckingloud out here.
My breathing goes shallow. Sharp. Like my lungs have forgotten how to expand.
“Why is it so bright?” I hold my hand up to shield my eyes from the glare of the streetlights, of the passing cars.
