Page 106 of Survive the Night

You fight with your best friend and tell her to fuck off and then have to live with knowing that’s the last thing you ever said to her, when what you really should have done is thanked her forbeing by your side and understanding you and loving you for who you are.

After seeing too much of this senseless, brutal, cruel world—far too much for someone her age—Charlie chose to retreat into other worlds. Ones that can’t hurt her.

Life has failed her time and time again.

The movies have never let her down.

“But then there was a moment at the diner when you completely tuned out—just for a minute. That’s when I knew you were different from the others. Special. Like me.”

“I’m nothing like you,” Charlie says, spitting the words.

Something takes hold of her.

Rage.

The same kind Marge had talked about. White-hot and seething.

It’s the kind of rage that makes Charlie, like Marge before her, want to do unthinkable things. The only difference is that Marge had directed it at the wrong person.

Now Charlie has a chance to do it right.

She shifts the car into drive and lets it start to roll.

“What are you doing?” Robbie says.

“Driving.”

“Where?”

“Away from here.”

Charlie glances in the rearview mirror. Sitting in the back seat, right behind Robbie, is her father.

“Remember, never drive more than five miles over the speed limit,” he says in that father-knows-best voice Charlie couldn’t stand when he was alive but misses like crazy now. “Cops won’t bother you. Not for that.”

Her father pauses, locking eyes with Charlie in the rearview mirror.

“But sometimes,” he says, “sometimes your only choice is to drive like hell.”

Charlie nods, even though her father’s not really in the back seat. Even if it was just a movie in her mind, it’s still good advice.

As her father’s voice echoes in her head, Charlie doesn’t just press down on the gas pedal.

She floors it.

INT. VOLVO—NIGHT

The Volvo takes off down the winding drive like a bottle rocket, its rear tires squealing on the blacktop.

When the car nears the first turn, Charlie doesn’t tap the brakes. Instead, she lets the car keep picking up speed on the approach before cutting the wheel to the left at the last possible moment.

The Volvo fishtails around the bend before regaining a grip on the road as it straightens.

“Slow down,” Robbie says.

He reaches for the steering wheel with his left hand, getting the briefest of grips before Charlie slaps it away.

“Charlie,slow down.”

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