Page 52 of The Oath We Give

Someone in my state sprinting out of a historic apartment complex with higher rent than a mortgage payment: natural waves riddled with flyaways, tight black T-shirt with more holes than material, no bra, and jeans that fit so loosely I’m having to hold them up as I run.

This man, maybe my neighbor or someone who lives on the same floor, at least, is getting an eyeful of the waistband of my Calvin Klein underwear. I’m hoping this will distract him enough that he won’t call the police for witnessing what he probably thinks is attempted burglary.

My chest surges, breaths coming out in quick puffs as I slide into the front seat of my car, forgoing the seat belt and sticking my new phone to the mount stuck in the vents. Tears stick to my cheeks, slippery and wet. The hum of the engine coming to life makes my hands shake.

I quickly pull up Lilac’s text thread, willing myself to ignore the most recent message so I can find her location, but my eyes can’t help themselves. They drift to the little blue bubble, and the fear the words had elicited earlier hits me hard once again.

Lilac: Dragon fruit.

It’s a stupid, silly fucking fruit, one that Lilac hates and threw up once when she was young. It’s stupid, but it’s our code word. I made her come up with one, and she thought it would be funny. This was supposed to be in case anything bad happened while we were apart to let me know she needed help, that she was in trouble.

She’s reckless and wild, thinks the world’s rules don’t apply to her at times, but…she wouldn’t use this as a joke. Lilac knows better, knows it’s only to be used when her life is in danger. I taught her better.

Nasty, vile fucking emotions chew away at my insides.

Fear, guilt, shame.

I taught her how to defend herself. How to use the pepper spray on her key chain and the Taser beneath her seat. I taught her to get away from trouble, to run. All the things I’d wish someone had shown me, and fear is telling me it won’t be enough.

I didn’t do enough to protect her.

My teeth grind together, allowing the adrenaline coursing through my veins to numb everything else. My foot slams onto the gas, peeling out of the parking garage.

“Siri.” I wait for her robotic reply before speaking again. “Call Lilac.”

The voice repeats the command before the dreaded dial tone echoes inside the car.

Ring.

I fly through a blatant red light. The screaming of a horn comes from my left as I speed through traffic, escaping an accident by mere seconds, I’m sure.

Ring.

My tears blur the map on my phone screen, my knuckles turning white as they tighten on the wheel, jerking sharply to the right in order to avoid missing a turn.

Ring.

Her last location is twenty minutes away from me. Twenty minutes.

Ring.

It took less than five for me to go missing. One moment, I was walking home. The next, I was unconscious. Stolen. Drugged. Naked. I was gone for two years in less than five minutes. What could happen to her in twenty?

Ring.

“Hi, this is Lilac! I’m here, but I’m not answering the phone, obviously. If—”

“Fuck!” I shout, breaking off her prerecorded voicemail message. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”

My hands slam into the steering wheel until the palms of my hands turn a violent shade of red. I’m stuck behind another car, the red light dangling above us taunting me.

I drop my head to the wheel, shaking my head as hot tears slide down my face. They are not tears of sorrow but anger, frustration tinged with panic. My body is so overwhelmed with emotion it has no choice but to leak.

It’s a morbid, awful thing I’m doing.

Hoping my sister was in a car accident or hurt herself while hiking. I’ve told her multiple times to always go with friends when she explores trails, but right now? I’m hoping she didn’t listen.

I will take her being stubborn over the alternative. I want to be a person who is optimistic, to believe in accidents. But deep in my gut, I know she’s in trouble, and he’s involved.

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