The Girl in 6E

He clears the hurdle that is my resistance with the first touch of his lips. My body melts, forgetting everything but the feel of his hand on my neck, gripping my hair and pulling my mouth tight on his—his mouth taking everything in smooth, perfect movements of his mouth. He disorients my world, captures my spirit, and heals a little of my soul, all in the course of seconds—my mouth responding to his, hands releasing my bag and traveling into his hair, greedily pulling and grasping, unable to get enough.

GO. I push him away, my hands lingering on his strong shoulders as we separate, his cloudy blue eyes concerned. I breathe hard, my eyes fighting to not look at his mouth. “Please,” I whisper. “I have to go.”

He nods, stretching out his legs, pulling out a key ring and holding it out to me.

“My truck is the grey Ford, in the back of this building.”

A wave of relief floods me, and I smile, reaching out and grabbing his keys. “Thanks. I owe you one.” I grab my bag and turn, my escape stopped by his firm hand on my knee. I turn questioningly.

He holds out a business card. “The date. Think about it. My cell is on the card.”

I hesitate, and then nod, grabbing the card and hopping out. I round the bumper of the truck, flash a quick smile to Jeremy, then take off at a run toward the back of the building.

Jeremy watched her go, her stumbling steps of before gone—urgency now making them strong. His earlier diagnosis echoed in his head. She’s hiding from something. It didn’t look like she was hiding. It looked like she was running full force to tackle confrontation and eat it for dinner.

He shouldn’t have given in, shouldn’t have handed over his vehicle in exchange for, of all things, a kiss. But she had needed it, the urgency spilling out of her, panic interlaced with determination in her eyes. Wherever she was headed, if it was from someone, or to something, it was important. It was certainly more important than the inconvenience of him finding a ride home. He heard his truck start up, heard the rip of tread against asphalt as she left the parking lot and turned north, headed to parts unknown.

CHAPTER 41

His truck is an F150 single-cab, which is meticulously clean and smells faintly of air freshener. It has GPS, and I pull over at the first gas station I find and plug in the address for Ralph’s rented trailer. It calculates that I am twelve hours and twenty-four minutes from my destination.

I fill up the gas tank while I am there, the feel of the gas pump strange in my hands. My hands sweat on the metal pump, the flow of liquid causing a vibrating sensation against my palms. I glance at my watch. 5:47 p.m. More than a half hour spent outside of my apartment, and no one was dead, and no uncontrollable urges had wracked my body. I think briefly of the cam appointments I am missing, the men who are constantly refreshing their screens, waiting for sexy Jessica who would not appear. The order came again. Go.

I steel myself for disaster, and head for the convenience store—rough, gritty pavement underfoot, I breathe deeply, focusing. I need food for the road, and to use the restroom. There is one car parked in front of the store, and one in a gas bay next to me. Two cars. One or two employees. Blood spray hitting the glass cooler doors. Bodies thudding against tile floors. I leave my bag in the car and head for the store unarmed. Trying to block out other thoughts, I center my mind on Annie. Save Annie. Save Annie. Ignore everything else.

The door to the store swings open easily, exposing me to bright fluorescent lights, the smell of hot dogs and other food. My eyes meet rows and rows of food I have been deprived of for three long years. Soda. I think my body has forgotten the power of carbonation. Chocolate. Real, non-diet chocolate in the form of fifty-plus options. Chips, Nuts, Twinkies. Alcohol. My lust for death disappears in the presence of such abundant decadence. I grab items from the shelves like a woman possessed, filling my arms with anything and everything I can hold. I dump an armful of sugary perfection on the counter, the dark-skinned man behind it shooting me an odd look. I move to the coolers, grabbing Fanta, Cherry Coke, a Monster energy drink, and a Dr. Pepper. This is easily one of the greatest moments I have had in recent memory. I set the drinks on the floor, snagging a white styrofoam cooler from a shelf before moving the drinks into that, adding a few more from the refrigerated shelves. With a huge smile on my face, I move to the register. “I’ll need a bag of ice, also. Please.”

He glares at me, strangely irritated by the swell of business I bring to his store. There is a flurry of fingers, clicking and register sounds. “$32.86,” he announces. I pull out two twenties and hand them to him, waiting while he counts out the change and slides it across the counter, before bagging my loot and shoving the items toward me.

“Thanks.” I beam at him. The gun would be the best route to taking his life. My knife wouldn’t reach across the wide counter. “Have a nice day.”

GO. Annie.

I call Mike from the road, cradling the phone in the crook of my neck as I drive, hands at ten and two. I’m nervous at being on the open road and in this strange vehicle. I have only ever driven my high school car—a ten-year old Honda Accord, which had belonged to my mother. This truck feels huge in comparison, taking up more than its fair share of the road.

Mike answered on the third ring. “Yo.”

“It’s Jessica.”

“What up chica?”

“I need to employ you for the next day. How much will it cost me?”

“Damn girl. Lately you’ve been like the f**king lottery. What do you need done? It won’t take me all day, I’m sure.”