Page 71 of Hollyhocks

I can do it.

“Wake up. Fitz.” I scrub my eyes, yawning as the energy continues to be drained from me. “What the fuck is going on?” I’ve never experienced this kind of lethargy.

Putting the truck in drive, I sit up close to the steering wheel to look out the windshield. I need to be able to see where I’m going. My vision blurs. My eyes droop. The truck swerves off the road.

I yank the steering wheel the other way. The tires burn against the pavement, skidding across the black road as I try to get control. Not even the adrenaline is enough to awaken me.

I miss a tree by an inch, the branches and leaves scrape against the passenger side of the truck. Intense scratching, like nails on a chalkboard, has my ears ringing. The road, the trees, the sky, everything begins to swirl together as the need to sleep inches closer to being victor.

“Stay the fuck awake.” I slap myself in the face, the fresh sting on my cheek gives me a bolt of energy. Tingles spread down my neck, jumpstarting my body enough to get a clear head.

I can see the road.

And I am not fucking on it. I’m driving on the side of the road, kicking up grass and mud as my tires spin to gain traction.

I slap myself again. “Son of a bitch,” I yell, hitting the same cheek I did before. The fatigue is a villain trying to drag me down, but the pain is what is keeping me awake.

Getting enough clarity, I jerk the wheel to the left, the large truck bouncing from the uneven ground to get onto the road.

“Stay awake. Stay awake,” I chant, pinching the underskin of my arm. “Fuck, that hurt. I swear, if I see my mate, I’m going to spank her for doing this to me.”

The real question is, do I have a mate? Wouldn’t she be watching me right now? Following me? Looking in the rearview mirror, there isn’t another car behind me or in front of me.

I’m alone.

Where is she?

I’m worried that I’ve made all this up. What if I was the one who did this to my body? I need to set up a camera in my bedroom, then I’ll have all the proof I need for my theory.

Turning right onto the road that leads to my house, I stare at the sign that wasn’t there before.

Hollyhocks Rd.

Only one person could have done that.

Holly.

“Holy shit, you fucking idiot,” I whisper in realization.

It’s Holly. The monster I’ve been seeing when she is around is her. It has to be.

“This is fucking wild.” I practically bounce in my seat to get home while still fighting how tired I am.

It’s as if gravity is pushing me down to the ground and I’m fighting every fucking second of this force.

My house and Holly’s come to view. Her old yellow Volkswagen van sits in her driveway, proving she is home.Maybe she isn’t if she has wings… I still have a feather on my nightstand.

It isn’t from my pillow. It’s from her.

I’ve never been more sure about anything.

Pulling into my driveway, I’m not sure if I turn off the truck or not when I open the door. I don’t know if I shut the door either. I’m too tired. I’m swaying back and forth, stumbling towards my front door.

Losing my footing, I trip over myself, slamming my back against the faded red brick wall next to the door.

Deep breaths in and out.

I’m so tired. I scramble for my house key. The metal clinks together, the loud clinking has me covering my ears and the keys fall to the ground. Even the scratch against the concrete walkway against my keychain has me wanting to faint.

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