Page 12 of The Wrong Drive

Making my way to the fridge, I continue to take in my surroundings. Paranoia and fear hang heavy over me, still unable to let go of the image of him coming after me with that rifle tucked in the crook of his shoulder—like he was going to use it. I shudder as I open the door.

It’s stocked to the brim with nonperishables.

But as much as I want to take something out to eat, I know I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t touch anything. He might kill me. With that thought, I close the fridge and catch sight of a butcher block. Would it be stupid to take a knife and hide? Or would it make him more distrusting of me? I swallow hard as I contemplate the situation. Nothing could prepare me for this, and I know if thisisa dangerous situation, my survival will require reading him correctly.

So, I leave the knives alone.

I retreat to the couch, my stomach sick and my heart aching. My mind replays the tense conversation I had with Adam before the call dropped. I hurt him. He hurt me. Again. He said whathe said to his brother, but he’d been right about how rocky we’ve been. We can’t get along for whatever reason, and maybe it’s because I feel so fuckingstuckin life right now—like I’m getting nowhere at all at thirty-one.

And I hate it.

My job as a content writer is fine. It pays the bills, but just because the bills are paid, doesn’t mean that I’m happy with it. I’ve been in the same place since I was twenty-seven, and the last four years just blew by. I thought Adam was the next step…

But he was just as stagnant, and when we started bickering, respect for each other flew out the window.

Or maybe he’s always been that way? Am I just now seeing it?

I sigh, raking my fingers through my hair. I pull my knees into my chest, eying the pitch-black hallway that swallowed my host. I let myself stare at it for a few moments, and then allow myself the freedom to let the tears loose. I don’t think he’s coming back anytime soon, and that’s about the only comfort I have for now.

So, here's to being trapped with a horrifying asshole, and praying my freshly ex-boyfriend will figure out how to rescue me before I die in this cabin.

Chapter 5

Turner

So much fucking crying.

She thinks she’s being quiet, muffling it with her head pressed against her knees, but it sounds like nails on a chalkboard to me. I hate it.

I hate her.

Well, I hate the way her cries tug on what little shred of humanity I have left, torturing me with the reminders that before I becamethis,I was human. Twenty years ago, I would’ve sat beside her and at least offered some semblance of comfort—maybe a hand on her shoulder? A hug? I don’t know.

Regardless, back then, I sure as hell wouldn’t be standing in the shadows of the hallway watching her like the freak I am now. I don’t know how talk to her in a civilian way. I can’t remember the last time I had an interaction that wasn’t a ‘thank you,’ at the fucking store. I grind my teeth as I clench and unclench my fists.

Maybe I should’ve let her use my old, dead phone.

But honestly, I don’t know if it even works anymore, and Idon’tneed visitors of any capacity. I sigh quietly, and my gaze darts back to her on the couch.

The things I could do to silence her flick through my head, and none of them involve getting within a few feet of her. Iclamp my lids together, drawing myself into the darkness, as the banging and screaming begin in my head again. A nudge from Gunner causes my eyes to flutter open, and I glance down to him sitting beside me. He’s supposed to know when my demons come for me, and he does…

But he can’t stop the worst of them anymore.

No one can.

She’s not safe here with me.

When the urge to kill comes, Ikill.There’s no stopping me. Her sobbing for whatever reason is already pushing me toward losing it, too, and there’s nowhere for her to go if I do. She’ll never survive a blackout. My eyes flicker to the walls of the hallway, where pictures of my good memories once hung—before I ripped the mangled frames down. A sob tears through my psyche again.

FUCK. I have to stop her crying before these walls are smattered with her damn brains.

I crack my knuckles and slip out of the shadows. It’s mid-afternoon of Saturday, December 14th, and it might as well be the middle of the night with the blizzard hanging out overhead.

Her cries instantly cease as the floor creaks. Her head jerks up at the sight of me, and the way her green eyes widen with fear only serves to remind me of who I am. I’m a nightmare. My home is the last place you want to end up stranded.

And I sometimes abhor myself for it.Sometimes.

“Are you hungry?” I grunt out, trying and failing to sound pleasant. Though, maybe if I feed her, she’ll shut the fuck up.

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