“I’m glad you killed him,” he says, and my relief fills me like an inhale.
“I’m not,” I say. “I can never go home. Any friends I had suddenly didn’t know me. It wasn’t long before I’d run out of places to hide and had started to sleep in my car. Sometimes, at night, I think it would’ve been better… to, you know, just let him…”
“Stop,” he cuts me off. There’s an intensity in him that I don’t normally see. “Never. Never, ever be ashamed of protecting yourself. Some people just deserve to die, and he was one of them.” He goes back to staring at the ceiling. “But that’s the problem with running. You can never stop. I ran from my problems before. I won’t again.”
“With Amy?” There I go again with that name, but I want to know. Need to know about this other woman in his life.
“Don’t worry abo
