After he stopped and killed the engine, I crawled up into the seat and glanced around for Grandpa.
“Are you gonna be okay?” Cameron asked.
I looked at him, surprised. “Oh, sure,” I said lightly. “Who doesn’t enjoy a good violent brawl while drenched in the warmth of her own blood?”
He bowed his head in what appeared to be genuine regret. “I’m sorry about everything, Lorelei. I wish none of this had happened to you.”
I didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t his fault. At least, I didn’t think it was his fault.
He reached through the sliding glass window and grabbed my backpack for me.
“Thanks. What are you going to do now?” I asked, changing the subject.
He shrugged. “Take a shower.”
“Me too,” I said, crinkling my nose at my appearance. “And brush my teeth.” Even though I had a million questions, the two of us were making a shaky truce. It was enough for now. “You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?” I asked.
“I’m pretty much the poster boy for stupidity, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I haven’t.”
My statement caught him off guard. I could see it in his expression. That and appreciation.
I pursed my lips at him. “You know what this is called, don’t you?”
His expression turned wary. “No, what?”
“It’s called the Stockholm syndrome. You know, where the captive identifies with the captor?”
He shifted uncomfortably and glanced out his window. “I’m not your captor, Lorelei.”
“Then what are you?” I knew he wouldn’t give me a straight answer, but I had to try.
He continued to stare out his window. “I’m the same guy you’ve known since kindergarten.”
“Dude, you may be many things, but one thing you are not is the same guy I’ve known since kindergarten.”
He lowered his head. “I know. I just wish I were.”
I needed to lighten the situation again. I liked it better light. And I needed a shower. Bad.
“Well,” I said as I opened the door, “at least you don’t have vomit aftertaste in your mouth.”
He chuckled. “And at least I’m not covered in blood.”
I gaped back at him. “Have you even looked at your face?”
He frowned and glanced in the mirror.
I couldn’t help but laugh as I jumped out of the pickup and ran into the apartment.
Grandpa must have been out running errands or at the church. I sighed in relief, quietly so Grandma wouldn’t hear me. With that miraculous stroke of luck, I managed to make it to my room unnoticed.
After sliding past the full-length mirror by my bed, I paused and stepped back for a better look. The shock that jolted through me caused a sharp intake of breath. Dried blood caked my hair and stained my skin and clothes. The back of my shirt hung in tattered strips, probably shredded when I landed on the street and slid into that lamppost. I lifted one ragged strip. The skin underneath remained unmarred.
And it hadn’t hurt.
Jared had promised it wouldn’t hurt, and it hadn’t.
With a start that caused a wave of nausea to wash over me again, I realized I had been hit by a truck. A huge green delivery truck. I didn’t actually remember being hit by a huge green delivery truck, but the knowledge was there nonetheless. I had been hit, no doubt about it. One minute I was at the light, the next I was lying under a lamppost a block away. An entire block away.
The realization set my world spinning again. Drained both physically and mentally, I suddenly felt exhausted to the point of delirium. The world darkened as it had when the eighteen-wheeler missed hitting Jared by a heartbeat. Only this time I couldn’t stop it. The bones in my legs dissolved, and the floor tilted beneath my feet, rising to meet me as I lost all track of consciousness.
* * *
In what seemed like moments later, I found myself struggling to wake up, fighting my way out of the dark. My senses reemerged—thick and fuzzy around the edges—and I tried to open my eyes.
My lids, however, were not cooperating. Clearly they’d learned nothing from all those years in the Girl Scouts. I sucked air into my lungs and tried again, harder this time. Conjuring every ounce of strength I had, I managed to pry open one eye but only for a split second before it slammed shut again.
The room had darkened. In that instant, I did get a glimpse of my surroundings, and the room had definitely darkened. I must have been out longer than I thought.
“She’s waking up.”
Brooklyn?
“We need to call an ambulance.”
Glitch? No, Glitch, don’t call an ambulance.
“I don’t think any of this blood is hers. I can’t find a scratch on her.”
“But her ribs are really bruised. They could be broken.”
“Lor, honey?” Brooklyn smoothed a warm damp cloth along my brow. It felt wonderful. “Can you hear me?”
I tried to speak, but words just wouldn’t budge. A dry, scratchy sound erupted from my throat instead.
“Oh, my god,” Glitch said, “they’ve turned her into a frog!”
Despite my predicament, I laughed. Leave it to Glitch to lighten even the darkest situation. I finally managed to pry open my eye again.
“A one-eyed frog! What kind of monsters—”
“Glitch!” Brooklyn said impatiently.
“All right,” he acquiesced.