Step-Lover

“And?” I snap. “Couples fight, Yates. Get over it.”

He starts the car and pulls out. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but it’s pissing me off.”

“Ohhh, big word,” I mutter.

He speeds up, his hands tight around the wheel.

“What the hell is your problem?” he yells, shocking me.

“You’re my problem,” I snarl. “You refuse to acknowledge me as your girlfriend in public and I have had enough. Is it so fucking bad to kiss me?”

“I have a reputation to uphold; I like to keep our personal life personal. There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to strip you down and screw you on the dance floor.”

“Plenty of other people would be happy to.”

He plants his foot, yelling, “I’ve had enough. I can’t stand the way you’re behaving right now.”

He’s going fast. Really fast.

My heart leaps up into my throat and I try to stammer at him to stop, but no words form. Flashes of my sister’s lifeless eyes flicker through my memory and vomit rises in my throat. Fear courses through my veins and I can do nothing to stop it. I can do nothing to stop him. Everything inside me is frozen.

“I’m so tired of fighting with you,” he bellows, going faster. “So tired of listening to you complain.”

Oh God. I can’t breathe. I’m hyperventilating. My skin is clammy and it feels as though a thousand tiny beetles are crawling over it.

“S-s-s-s-s . . .” I try but nothing comes out.

“I thought you were different to the rest,” Yates yells. “But you’re not. I mean, look at your dress. It’s no wonder those men couldn’t keep their eyes off you.”

Help.

I clutch the door handle. Why can’t I speak? Flash after flash of memory torments my mind.

He turns to me. “I deserve better!”

Suddenly, we’re swerving. I scream, finally, and my hands flatten out against the window as Yates corrects us. He’s panting now, and cursing under his breath. He took us onto the other side of the road in his rant, and we nearly hit another car. The blaring sound of its horn is still ringing in my ear.

“Stop,” I screech suddenly.

He turns to me. “It’s fine, we’re safe.”

“Stop, god dammit!”

“I’m on the highway,” he yells. “I can’t stop.”

“Stop!”

I scream this so loudly he slams his foot on the brake. The moment the car stops, I scramble out. My legs are like jelly as I find the nearest tree and lean over, throwing up into the dirt. I feel as if I’m dying. So much panic is constricting my chest I can hardly breathe. I can’t control my breathing or get myself together. Tears are soaking my cheeks and I’m shaking.

I drop my purse to the ground and it takes me three attempts to pull out my phone and dial.

“You home safe?” Brody says after a few rings.

“I . . . I . . .”

“Aria?”

“Brody,” I gasp. “Please come get me.”

“I’ll take you home, Aria,” Yates yells, striding over. “Stop this nonsense.”

“Where are you?” Brody demands.

“H-h-h-h-highway. Brody.” I sob hysterically. “He nearly drove into another car.”

“Fuck. Hang on, honey.”

Brody hangs up and I lean against the tree for support. I can’t control myself, can’t pick myself up and pull myself together. I’m terrified. I feel sick. I can’t stop my hands shaking. I can’t force the image of my sister’s face from my mind. I start crying harder and Yates finally stops yelling at me.

“It was a split second,” he says, softer now. “I wouldn’t have crashed. Jesus, Aria.”

He doesn’t know.

I’ve never told him.

“Aria,” he says again, trying to touch me.

“Don’t,” I scream and he jerks his hand back.

“What’s wrong with you? It was a small mistake. There’s no need for this kind of tantrum.”

Tantrum?

He’s kidding, right?

If I wasn’t hyperventilating on the side of a highway, I’d slap him.

He doesn’t touch me again, but he does continually tell me to get up. Then he grumbles under his breath when I don’t. About ten minutes later, the sounds of a car skidding to a stop makes me lift my head. Before I can even push to my feet, Blade swings out of the car, and I mean literally swings. He charges towards Yates at full throttle and hits him so hard Yates’ feet actually lift off the ground as he falls backwards.

“You piece of shit!” Blade roars, skidding to a stop over him and leaning down, lifting him by the shirt and forcing him to his feet.

“I didn’t,” Yates splutters, “I didn’t do anything.”

“Driving recklessly with her in the car? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He hits him again. This time Yates’ nose splits, and blood comes spurting out. Peyton launches from the car, and so does Brody and Ripley. They all charge towards Blade. Melanie climbs out after them and rushes towards me. She wraps her arms around my body, pulling me close. Brody pulls Blade off Yates and Ripley shoves Yates back.

“Her fuckin’ family were killed in a car accident, you dickhead,” Ripley snaps.

Yates’ face pales. “I didn’t . . . know.”