“Tryin' to move on, talking to my old friends. See me, say what's up and I'm acting like I don't know them causing so much trouble, why are you doing that?" Mac Miller
Peter didn’t answer. I called him ten times, each unanswered ring fueling a cold, steady fire in my chest. I drove straight to the hotel chain he favored, predictable as ever. I parked out front and leaned on the line until he finally picked up. When he agreed to meet, he named the very hotel I was idling in front of.
While I waited, I ignored the onslaught of notifications. Thirty messages. Missed calls from Sarki, Elisa, Vanessa, and Kelsey. I tuned them all out.
When he finally emerged, he looked nauseatingly serene, casually smoking a cigarette as he sauntered toward the car. He slid into the passenger seat with a smirk that made my skin crawl.
"Did you finally give up on Donald and come back to the man who actually knows how to fuck you?" he asked, his voice dripping with unearned confidence.
I rolled my eyes so hard it was a wonder I didn’t lose my vision.
"We’re going to talk," I said, my voice a flat, dangerous monotone. I threw the car into gear and sped away, hitting the highway as the snow began to blind the windshield.
"Hey, Megan..." he murmured, reaching out to rest a hand on my thigh. I caught his wrist mid-air and shoved it back toward his own side with a force that made him blink.
"Are you actually insane enough to steal the phone of the country's top campaign manager?" I hissed.
I caught him moving to touch me again out of the corner of my eye. The road was a slick, black ribbon, and the car skidded as I accelerated, the tires fighting for grip against the slush.
"How do you even know about that?" His calm tone was a direct insult. I watched the highway markers blur past as we crossed a series of bridges, the white-out conditions making the world outside feel like a void. "I do what I want, Megan. By the time I’m done, Kelsey will be wrapped around my little finger."
"No fucking way."
"You’re sleeping with her, aren’t you? Is that it?" He laughed, a dry, hollow sound. "Why are you defending someone who could buy three Eastern European countries without even batting an eye?"
My pulse spiked. I didn't answer. Instead, I pressed my foot harder against the gas, the engine roaring as we hurtled deeper into the storm.
"I don't understand you," I spat, the words jagged and sharp. "You have enough money to disappear to that godforsaken place with your wife, to raise your son, to actually work... but instead, you want to fuck with my mind."
I felt the car fishtail on the icy curves, the tires losing their grip for a terrifying second, but the rage in my veins made me feel untouchable.
My hands were tingling, vibrating with the urge to strike. He didn't look bothered; instead, he held up the phone, waving it like a trophy.
"I just want what I’m owed," he scoffed, gesturing dismissively. "I spent years suffocating at those parties, trapped in tight suits, listening to people praise you. I deserve a little reward for my service."
"You don't deserve a damn thing. You’re a fucking worm." I shot a glance between his smug face and the white-out road. "Give me that fucking phone back."
I lunged for it, my hand reaching across the console, but he yanked it toward the window, out of my reach.
"Maybe I should just start sending these nudes out now," he threatened, his thumb hovering over the screen. "A few choice contacts. Some newspapers. Let’s see how 'Jackie Kennedy' handles a scandal like this."
The thought of that exposure of our private sanctuary being torn apart for public consumption, made my head throb with a blinding pain.
Without a second thought, I lunged at Peter, and the world dissolved into a blur of violent motion. He threw a desperate punch that caught me square in the face, and a split second later, the car slammed into a concrete barrier with a bone-jarring thud.
I saw his head whip forward, cracking against the dashboard just as the airbags exploded in a cloud of white dust. Then came the terrifying sensation of weightlessness. The car wasn't just spinning; it was falling.
We hit the water with a deafening roar.
I must have blacked out, because when I opened my eyes, the world was dark and freezing. I was suspended, hanging from my seatbelt, while the icy water surged through the shattered windshield, already reaching my chin.
Panic, sharp and suffocating, clawed at my chest. I fumbled for the release on the seatbelt, but the mechanism was jammed, locked tight by the force of the crash.
My body shook uncontrollably, a mixture of shock and the biting cold. Through the rising tide, I saw Peter slumped over, unconscious, his blood dark against the grey interior.
"PETER! WAKE UP!" I screamed, the sound echoing hollowly in the sinking metal tomb.
I thrashed against the constraints, striking Peter’s arm and shaking him in a desperate bid for help, but he remained a deadweight. The water surged, forcing me to crane my neck just to catch a sliver of air.
