Page 78 of This Stays Between Us
I watch her eyes grow wide.
“I’ll stay there a couple days. Until I can work things out, figure out where to go next. Until I can secure a new identity.”
“But…” Claire fumbles as if trying to understand. “We only have a few more nights in Australia, and then you can go home, forget any of this ever happened.”
“You don’t understand,” I say, more forcefully than I intend. “I don’t have a home. I’m not sure I ever have. This is my only option.”
She stares at me, disbelieving, and I know she’s trying to think up further questions to deter me. I stop her before she can.
“It’s the only way.”
“But I can’t just let you go,” she says, emotion clouding her voice. “I can’t let you walk however many miles out here in the dark. It’s not safe.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“At least take this,” she says, shoving the knife in my direction. “I don’t know why I took it. My anger went to my head. Use it to protect yourself.”
“Actually,” I say, thoughts thundering in my head as I look down at the knife. “There is something you can do with that… You’re going to think this is crazy, but—”
Without warning, I wrap my hand around her fist, yanking her arm towards me so that the knife brushes against the skin of my forearm. A scream of pain buries in my flesh, and I watch in awe as teardrops of blood break through the new slit.
“What the— Phoebe, what the hell!” Claire yells. Her vision darts between her hand, still clasping the knife, and the bloodseeping from my arm. I turn my arm over, allowing the blood to drop down onto the dirt.
“If the police do search for me,” I say calmly, my adrenaline whisking away the pain, “they’ll find evidence that I was hurt. They’ll be looking for someone abducted or murdered. Not a girl using a false identity at the nearby women’s center. But there’s one more thing.”
Claire barely seems to hear me, still fixated on the knife in her hand.
“Can you cut a lock of my hair?”
“No. No,” she stammers.
“Claire, please. I’ll never ask anything of you ever again.”
That seems to do it, the reality of what’s coming. The fact that—if everything goes to plan—she’ll never see me again.
Without any words of agreement, she raises the knife as I bend towards her. Gently, so gently, I feel her fingers entwine themselves in my hair as she drags the knife across. There’s something about the feeling that’s nurturing, maternal even.
When she pulls away, a lock of my dark curls is laced around her index finger.
“Thank you,” I say softly, taking the hair from her and tying it around a nearby dehydrated bush. “Now, if you search tomorrow and can lead them here, that should be everything I need to point them in the wrong direction. If you feel like it, you can wipe the knife for prints and bury it somewhere out here. No one will ever find it.”
Claire nods, her face bleached white in the darkness, grief staining her eyes.
“But how will I know you made it safe?” she asks finally.
“I’ll find a way to get a message to you. On Facebook or with a burner phone. You’ll hear from me, I promise.”
It’s one I intend to keep.
I take her free hand in mine. “You were a great friend, Claire. The best.”
She nods, and I can tell she’s fighting tears. There’s still so much to say between us. So many things that will forever remain unsaid.
“Goodbye, Phoebe,” she finally manages.
“Goodbye,” I whisper, already turning back into the darkness.
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