Page 30 of The Truths We Burn

“You don’t care, do you?” I cough out, stumbling back farther away from him and closer to my car.

“I do care, Sage. I want a good life for you, and Easton can provide that, but—”

The waves surge higher, the creatures from the deep gnawing at my legs starting to work their way up. When you drown, your instincts tell you to kick, jump, anything because you’re so desperate to reach that surface.

I stood still, letting it happen.

“If you say no, then I’ll make Rose do it. And you know she will. Rosie is softhearted—she isn’t calculated like you are. She’ll do it because she loves you and doesn’t want to see you unhappy. Just like I know if you love your sister, you won’t do the same to her. Rose will not survive in a lifestyle like this, but you, Sage, you can thrive in it.” The way he says it is so calm, like he practiced this speech in the mirror. As if this was the whole plan the entire time.

Everything is burning.

My ears, my lungs, my skin.

I’m standing outside, but I craved oxygen.

I grab the door handle to my car. I have no idea where I’d go, but I know I need out of here.

Pulling the door open to my car, I shove the keys inside the ignition. Just before shutting the door I look at my father.

“I hate you,” I cry. “I hate you for using the only thing I care about in this godforsaken town against me. I fucking hate you.” I seethe.

I slam my foot into the gas pedal, my speedometer climbing as I eat up the gravel beneath my car, uncaring if I reach an insane speed and flip this thing or wrap it around a tree.

Death feels easier than this right now.

I pull at my shirt collar, opening the buttons and scratching at my throat as I try to catch my breath. My chest is aching as the reality of my life slices me open with a dull blade. The pinpricks on my feet almost distract me from the throbbing inside my brain.

I’d been having episodes like these since middle school, and I once used the school computer to Google my symptoms because I thought I was pregnant, only to find out they were called panic attacks.

Me, having panic attacks? There was no way. Until they kept happening, over and over again.

I’m used to getting them now, but not like this. Never this severe. I feel like there’s something inside my body mauling me to get out, leaving nothing but tatters of ripped skin and leftover intestines like roadkill on the side of the fucking road.

I’m going crazy. I have to be.

How else would I explain where I ended up? How else could I explain pulling into the hidden drive to find the open field where at least seventy other cars are parked.

Crazy is the only way I could explain why I’d shown up here, looking for him.

“You know where to find me when you realize just how bored you are in your glasshouse, Sage.”

Thinking clearly had gone out the window as I climb the grass hill, my heels sinking into the mud with each step. I can feel people staring, their whispers almost as loud as the car engines.All of them are thinking the same thought: what the hell am I doing at The Graveyard?

The Graveyard is an abandoned racetrack on the outskirts of Ponderosa Springs—a place where girls like me have no right to be. Everything that happens here is illegal, under the table, sketchy.People race on the broken asphalt and fight each other to bloody pulps in the center. Drugs are exchanged like candy, and cigarette smoke replaces oxygen.

You come here if you’re looking for trouble.

The wind nips at my heels as I push past the rickety metal fence that prevents bystanders from going on the track.My eyes scan the pits where cars and bikes wait for their heat. I know he’ll be there. He’s here every weekend. Never misses a race and never loses. You’d have to be deaf not to hear about his reputation at the track.

I spot him without having to try. His hood is up, smoke rolling from his mouth, all alone and off to himself. Even when he tries to stay away from people, they seem to be watching him. He’s hard not to watch.

Not caring about the rules or where I’m supposed to be, I cross the track towards the pits, making a straight-line for him, even if there is a set of cars racing headed around another curve and circling back to me.

“Girl, you can’t be back there!” someone shouts at me, but I continue to ignore everyone else except him.

There is no fear.Just a knowing feeling that when I enter Rook Van Doren’s own personal kingdom of the wicked, I’ll be stuck there for a while.

An angel seeking Lucifer for freedom.

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