Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 63608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Tonight, though, nothing slows it down.
My pulse is a wild, uneven drum against my ribs as I pull onto the main road heading toward the rental house I’m considering moving to.
I need a new space. One without memories of him in every corner.
The night’s taunt me. The feelings overwhelm me. My space is no longer safe because it’s filled with memories of him.
Unable to rest, I decide to go out and drive by the possible new home. A chance to be embraced by the night air to breathe. To untangle the knot in my chest.
Riot’s voice echoes in my head, gravelly and low. We shouldn’t be doin’ this anymore.
It wasn’t a surprise, not really. But surprises aren’t the only things that break you.
Sometimes it’s the stuff you’ve been bracing for. The stuff you know is coming. The stuff you still hoped might not even if you asked for it yourself.
The headlights behind me flare too bright, snapping me out of the thought spiral. I glance in the mirror. A truck. Close. Too close.
I shift lanes, expecting him to pass.
He doesn’t. He shifts with me.
A chill crawls its way up my spine.
Maybe it’s nothing. Just someone heading home from a late shift. Maybe they’re on their phone. Maybe they’re oblivious.
Maybe I’m anxious because today has been an emotional dumpster fire.
“Relax,” I whisper, tightening my grip on the steering wheel. “It’s fine.”
But my stomach disagrees. It twists sharply, the way it does when something is off.
I turn onto the county road that cuts through the wooded stretch leading away from my place. Streetlights get sparser until it’s just my headlights carving a narrow path through the dark.
The truck follows. Still too close.
I try to rationalize. This road leads everywhere — toward the cabins, the lake, the back roads the Kings use for rides.
Just because a vehicle is behind me doesn’t mean anything. Except the headlights flash once, briefly, like someone tapping their brakes?
Or signaling? Or—My lungs seize when the truck suddenly speeds up, surging closer until its grill looms in my mirror like a monster’s mouth.
“What the hell—?”
I press the gas, heart pounding.
The truck accelerates too.
Okay. Okay. Panic hits me like cold water.
I’m not imagining this. This is real. Something is wrong.
I reach for my phone blindly with one hand, never taking my eyes off the mirror. My fingers swipe across the screen, but the phone slips from my grip, bouncing off the center console and hitting the floor with a dull thud.
“Shit.”
I can’t reach it. Not without taking my eyes off the road. Not without slowing down.
The truck edges closer, the engine growling like something angry.
Then it hits me. Not hard. Not yet. Just a tap.
A warning.
A cold spike of fear slices through me.
“Stop,” I whisper, voice shaking. “Please stop.”
Another tap. Harder.
My car swerves slightly, tires gripping for stability. He’s playing with me. Or her. Or whoever is behind that glass.
This isn’t accidental. This isn’t random.
The realization floods me with a dizzy wave of horror.
I flick on my hazards, slam my hand onto the horn, hoping — praying — that someone, anyone, hears me. But there are no houses here. No cars. Just trees and darkness and the awful taste of fear on my tongue.
My throat tightens. My breaths turn shallow. A panic attack slams into me like a freight train — sudden, overwhelming, choking. My vision tunnels, the edges blurring. “No — no, not now.”
I force myself to inhale, counting like I’ve done a thousand times:
One. Two. Three. Four.
But the breaths won’t even out. My mind won’t slow. The terror is too sharp, too immediate, too real.
Then the truck pulls into the other lane beside me. It coasts there, matching my speed. I turn my head for a split second.
Dark truck. Dark tint. Shadow behind the glass.
My heart stops.
A hand reaches out the open driver’s window — gloved — gripping the door frame like he’s positioning himself.
“What do you want?” I shout, though I know he can’t hear me.
Or maybe he can. Maybe the fear is the point.
He swerves toward me.
I scream and yank the wheel right. My car jerks violently, tires spitting gravel as I fight to keep it on the road.
Then—The world erupts.
He slams into me full-force.
Metal crunches. Glass explodes. My head whips sideways, vision blurring white.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
The car careens off the road, fishtailing wildly before the tires lose their grip completely. Everything slows. Time fractures into pieces — sound splintering, light bending, my body weightless for one impossible second.
A thought flickers through the chaos:
I don’t want to die.
Then impact. A sickening crunch. Pain blasts through my skull. The world spins. Upside-down, right-side-up — I can’t tell.
My seatbelt strains, digging into my shoulder and chest.
My vision dances with black dots.
I think… I think I hear something. A voice? Or is that just my brain misfiring?