I was still a violent asshole. One that felt guilty about so many things I did. One that always felt that way. But no one in the fucking world knew because those secrets never made it to my diary.
I blinked away my thoughts, my bloodshot eyes shifting to the sun that was burning down on me. Redness coated my cheeks, looking something like sunburn. No one would ever know it was something much more sinister if I could stop being fucking sick.
I let my fingers drop from my stomach, and I adjusted my jeans; they were desperately trying to escape down my skinny hips.
I walked back to the car—whatever the fuck it was. Makes and models weren’t my forte—and I fell into the seat, my eyes and hands scanning the vehicle for water.
Jolie handed me a bottle, and I took it. We hadn't talked about this morning, or anything else. I couldn’t fucking talk now, but even if I could, I didn't want to.
I was trying hard to hold myself together, and painful conversations could rip me apart. I wasn’t sure I should trust her. I was still surprised she wasn't running with the traffic, trying to flag down cars and hitchhike to anywhere far away from me. My father’s voice played in my head, and every time her smile convinced me she was here to stay, his words did the opposite.
Night came and went. We'd slept in the car, tucked at the edge of a dirt road, under a crescent moon that stood out in the starless sky. The uncomfortable front seats acted as beds and we had thin blankets over us for warmth. I was shuffling beneath mine, unable to get comfortable, while Jolie rested peacefully.
A tiny voice called to me through the car window, and somehow, Woodrow heard it, too. I felt myself get heavy, the world around me blacking out. I prayed this body would shut down and drop into a slumber, because, fuck, it needed to rest. But I knew that wasn’t what was happening.
I blinked, once, twice, three times, and then I was gone.
Woodrow
I woke up in the rental, confused by where I was. Terrified of the road ahead. I didn't like driving. . . and legally, I wasn't allowed to do it. I didn't want to do anything that could put me back inside. Hell didn’t have those fears, and I thought for sure, he’d have stayed at the front until we arrived at our destination.
I looked over to Jolie, sleeping peacefully and looking so pretty as her eyelashes fluttered, indicating a dream. At least Hell had granted my other request. She was safe. He’d done nothing to send her running.
“All for you, Moonlight.” My words were a silent whisper, lost to the sound of passing vehicles.
I pulled the blankets higher, covering the throat that had caused me so much pain.
Yesterday morning was horrific. I felt unwell for the first time in weeks, and that resulted in numerous rounds of vomit ejecting from my mouth beforethe moon welcomed the sun to the sky. The continuous retching had the pain in my throat heightening to an unbearable level.
That was why I need Hell. He handled pain so much better than I did.
I’d started drifting to and from the front. I could feel stress wrapping its strong arms around my body as Hell tried to gain control. I feared he was still angry with Jolie. That was why I defaced the hotel room with messages for him, unsure where I’d left my phone to write a note, as I usually would.
I rolled my eyes, thinking over the fine that would be charged to my credit card.
I took a deep breath, wheezing, and I blinked again, taking in my surroundings; Jolie at my side, cars zooming past, not affected by the morning glare. I rubbed at my chest, shifting the indigestion I felt.
I felt full, but looking into the takeout bag at Jolie’s feet, there was no reason for that. The rice dish Hell would have ordered last night was hardly touched, surrounded by a mass of empty containers—all stuff Jolie had enjoyed. I should have been concerned for my welfare, but a smile landed on my lips, knowing hunger was a trigger for Jolie, and she’d never have to face it again.
A small voice called me through the open window. The same little sound that enticed me to the surface, bringing the memory of it back.
I opened the door and pulled myself to my feet, my legs wobbling beneath my weight.
The morning air hit me like a brick to the face as I searched around for the noisemaker.
I dropped to my haunches, making a low-calling noise that sounded nothing like I meant it to. My voice was hoarse, and it was hard to swallow, but I continued making the sound until I saw a fluffy tail weaving through the long strands of grass lining the road.
His ginger fur blew in the light breeze, the little squeak continuing as he charged toward me on the cutest little feet.
He lifted his butt as he head-bumped my shin. I smoothed over his fur and his responsive meow pierced the morning air. I scooped him into my arms and ferreted the area for any furry siblings or a mother cat. There was nothing. . . nothing alive anyway. There was a mess ofbones and fur up ahead, and what the cars hadn't destroyed, the hungry birds had.
This kitten was alone.
He needed someone.
The little guy nestled in my arms and found comfort, his fur molting and clinging to the logo of a band that I knew nothing about.
“Hell. . .?” Jolie's melodic voice, laced with sleep, called from the car.
