My heart hammers in my chest the entire time, wondering when he’ll let go and watch me tumble down the stairs. Wondering when this seemingly sweet moment will sour. But it doesn’t. Luka helps me down the stairs, through the front door, and out to his car—a low black sports car with deeply tinted windows. He grips my hand, his fingers warm and secure around mine, as I get into the passenger seat. Then, he closes my door and hustles around the car to the driver’s side.
This isn’t a real date. This isn’t a real date.
I’m terrified of Luka. He murdered people. Two people that I know of. Definitely more. I can’t let him woo me. I can’t forget what he has done because he decided to be nice for the first time in his life.
I’m stiff and awkward for most of the drive, trying to understand what i
