“It's me,” Nick announces quietly before letting go of me. Facing him, I'm about to snap at him when he puts a finger on his lips, telling me to stay quiet before peeking from the wall. Confused, I step toward him and look in the direction he's looking. There's a person standing at my car, and my eyes widen when I realize what he's doing: he's shooting at the tires with a gun. He looks around his surroundings before he quickly rides on his motorbike and leaves.
“I'm sorry, Val,” Nick says, holding my hand, rubbing it. I look up and stifle the tears from coming out. I don't know what I did to deserve this.
“It's not your fault,” I respond before I emerge from the wall and head to my car. Nick follows suit. The tires are depleted. I bite the bottom of my lip as I think of what I should do
