Then, it hit me.
Did she just call me “JoJo?”
* * *
Rebecca
The second I got into my car, I watched as JoJo closed my door for me. His eyes ran along my car, probably judging the rust along the edges and the dents and scratches it had obtained over years of wear and tear. I’d had this car since my beginning years at college. It had been a gift from my parents, and I had worn the hell out of it ever since. I struggled to catch my breath as my trembling hands gripped my steering wheel.
And as JoJo stood off to the side, he looked around before motioning me to back out.
“What the hell is he doing?” I whispered softly.
Still, I cranked up my car and eased out of the parking space. I looked around for any sign of a car pulling out with me in case Tommy the Maniac got any ideas. But, after pulling out of the parking space and throwing my car into drive, I putzed down the ramp and out onto the road.
Before turning left to head home.
“Holy fucking shit!” I exclaimed.
I slammed my hands against the steering wheel. I let out shriek after shriek to try and get my heart rate to climb out of the clouds. My eyes watered with tears of fear and shock and anger, and as my breathing grew more labored I pulled over onto the side of the road.
Before my hands clutched my heart.
“Dear God, I’m dying,” I choked out.
I unbuckled my seatbelt and got out of my car. As traffic whizzed by, kicking up stale air that smelled like old diesel fuel and burnt rubber, I leaned against the hood of my car. I tried to catch my breath as my entire body shivered uncontrollably, and tears dripped onto the metal of my car like raindrops from the sky.
I’m going to owe him a favor after what he did for me.
And I dreaded the thought of how JoJo might cash that favor in.
As I leaned against my car, trying my best to slow down my breathing, I racked my brain for any and all ways JoJo could cash in on what had just happened. I knew he’d use it against me. I knew he’d find a way to make my life a living nightmare in the process. But there wasn’t anything I could do about it any longer.
And for some reason, that settled me down a bit.
“I can’t fix what I can’t control,” I whispered to myself.
I felt my heart rate slowly climbing out of the heavens as the shaking in my hands stopped.
“I can’t fix what I can’t control,” I said out loud.
I kept repeating the phrase over and over that my father taught me to understand from a very young age. He had always been a panicky person, so I utilized the techniques he taught me as I curled my fingertips into the top of the car.
“Five things I can see,” I said breathlessly. “My car. My fingers. My nail polish. The hair on my knuckles. My bracelet.”
I cleared my throat and tried to make my voice stronger. “Four things I can smell. Uh, burnt rubber. Car exhaust. Rain clouds. My lingering perfume.”
My vision started to clear as I stood up straight. “Three things I can touch. My blouse. My skin. My hair.”
I raked my hands through my hair before I quickly dried my tears. “Two things I can… I can…”
Suddenly, it lifted. Just as quickly as it had come on, the tension in my chest left and I drew in a lung full of stale city air. I giggled with delight before I rushed to get back into my car and I kept my eyes on my rearview mirrors as I took the long way home. The last thing I needed was that pig-headed asshole to follow me home.
And yes, I mean both Tommy and JoJo.
In the midst of all the chaos I didn’t even hear my phone going off, and it wasn’t until I was inside the safety of my apartment that I checked my phone. I had seven missed messages from a blocked number, and the second I opened them that panicked feeling gripped my heart again.
Unknown: I’ve got your number, too.
