Page 8 of Runaway Hearts: Seduced by Danger

I tried to mutter an apology, but Eric only squeezed harder, cutting off my air supply.

Hush, crazy lady, don’t let them see. The fractures within, the agony.

“What was that?” he demanded, his voice like poison pouring into my ears.

“I... I’m sorry,” I managed.

“Pathetic,” he sneered, finally releasing me and watching with satisfaction as I collapsed to the floor, gasping. “Don’t forget your fucking pills!”

Wrapped in shadows, where nightmares breed. Reality’s a lie, too cruel to heed.

Breathless and heartbroken, I gathered my things and got out of the apartment we’d been sharing for two and a half years. He locked the door behind me and said, “Let’s see how long you last on your own.”

That day, a piece of my humanity broke. I let the darkness lurking within him consume me. And I attempted suicide. After a month in Winnipeg’s central hospital, filled with nothing but shame, I listed only one contact on my form: Arietta Chrenowskovic. I let Eric and my demons win, and it was unacceptable.

Only Ari knew what had happened, but she never judged me. She was also the most attentive ear I had ever come across, and for that, I was grateful.

But even though she was physically with me in my hospital room, I felt empty and left out. This was one of the few moments I envied my best friend, and still, today, when I think about it... I want to be happy for her. But she seems to have everything she wishes for. She’s beautiful, smart, and has a guy who would do anything to please her.

In comparison, no one really understood me or what I was going through.

Most of the time, I don’t even understand myself.

I call my family every month, but until now, I didn’t have the strength to see them in person. After three months of attempted healing, I ache for the love and acceptance of Corey and Nina. But I’m unsure if I’m worth it. When I think about opening up to them, excitement and nervousness compete for the podium, but shame wins the game. If they knew what I did, they would be ashamed.

Guilt still hides in the darkest corners of my mind and pops up out of the blue in a sick game of peek-a-boo with my sanity.

As I drive through the winding, empty roads, I blast cello covers of my favorite pop songs to drown out memories of Eric. The powerful melodies fill my car, and I forget about him for a moment.

But then, something catches my eye. A lone figure standing on the side of the desolate road, his thumb outstretched. He wears a tattered backpack on one shoulder and faded jeans hugging his legs. A well-worn leather jacket hangs over his arm, giving off an air of ruggedness. Despite his unkempt appearance, he looks normal enough.

My curiosity gets the best of me, and I slow down.

In my chest, a sense of purpose and adventure blooms. I want to take him with me. I can’t just leave him there on the side of the road. His tired form calls out, and compassion pulls at my heartstrings.

He needs help, and I need a karma change. If I help him, maybe it can fill a bit of the hole in my soul.

Despite the risks, I can’t resist the urge to connect meaningfully with another human being. In a world that is so fast-paced and disconnected, the idea of a simple conversation with a stranger is a welcome respite.

The mirage of an unforeseen event calls to me, and my heart holds no anxiety. I’m just a human being helping another, and it makes a warmth coat the inner side of my abdomen.

I stop.

The hitchhiker approaches my blue Civic with a straight face, but his purposeful stride catches my attention.

That’s confidence in motion.

The short sleeves of his gray T-shirt hug his muscular arms, and his eyes bore into my soul. I unlock the door and roll down the window. He leans in, and an intimidating buzz radiates from him, causing an unfamiliar but pleasant fizzle in my stomach.

A discolored patch surrounds his right eye—purple, blue, and yellow—like a violent piece of abstract art. The real-life picture of Seito.

“Where are you heading?” he asks.

“Nay’s seaside,” I reply.

He lets out a complex, rasping laugh, sending warm electric shivers through my heart.Crap.

“Then, you’re my ride,” he says, his words already sitting in the passenger seat like there’s no way I’ll refuse him.

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