52
When they let us go, we make it back to the car and climb inside, but both of us are such a mess it takes a minute to find our keys. Adam’s driving this time, but he can’t seem to turn on the car. He just sits there, staring ahead at nothing. I place my hand over his. “Let’s go.” He snaps out of it and glances at me, then inhales sharply. “Where?” Good question. Our apartment isn’t safe. Not if the attacker is willing to shoot us out in public. But we can’t go to any of our friends’ places either. I won’t risk any of their lives. “Just drive.” We stop at an ATM and get as much money as we can. Then we drive across town, to some area I’ve never been to before, and get a cheap motel for the night. It faintly reeks of mold and has sheets with yellowing edges, but neither one of us cares.
- Writer
