Page 103 of Bound to a Killer
30
ARIA
Ican barely see where I’m going through the blur of tears streaking down my face, the road ahead dissolving as my hands clamp tighter around the wheel, knuckles straining. The farther I drive, the deeper the truth settles, cold and dense, like cement in my stomach, poured and left to harden.
How could she choose him over me? Her own daughter?
My foot presses harder on the gas, not out of urgency to reach anywhere in particular, but out of desperation—anything to outrun the pulverizing weight crushing my chest. The betrayal. The heartbreak.
The sheer disbelief of what she’s done bears down harder than the road ahead, everything around me slipping out of focus. I’m hardly paying attention to where I’m going, lost in the bleak spiral inside my head, imprisoned by it.
He wouldn’t have just shown up like that. There’s no explanation sound enough to make sense of it, no hints, no warning. It’s been years.
Why now?
The only answer I can find is one that sours my stomach—it’s because she’s never reallycut him off.
All these years, she’d been going behind my back, feeding me rotten lies and promises she never meant to keep. It all makes sense now. Her old habits are still intact. The same carelessness. Turns out it’s all because she’s been clinging to a double life all along, while I let hope blind me, convincing myself it was something else. Pathetic.
I thought our relationship was strained enough back then, but nothing compared to knowing your mother is still seeing the man who tried to violate you. Over and over. While she lay passed out somewhere nearby, leaving you alone to fend for yourself. She promised she’d gotten rid of him. And I believed her. I really, really believed her.
An arm moves up to wipe my eyes, trembling as my sleeve catches the tears, then soaks through while the final sob unravels in a weak, shallow breath as my vision begins to clear. But by then, it’s too late.
I don’t even register what’s happening until I yelp. Something fast and low darts across the road, a streak of fur catching in my headlights. I slam the brakes, my chest lurching against the seatbelt as the car jerks to a stop.
My shoulders curl forward, mouth hanging open as I gasp for air, both hands clamped on the wheel. I stare ahead, stunned, relieved I stopped in time. I shouldn’t be driving around recklessly like this, wandering aimlessly with my emotions still burning hot.
I slowly ease down on the gas pedal. My eyes squint through the smeared windshield, the marks from past storms and lazy wipers now glaring back at me under the lights. The road ahead glows faintly, but everything else is in perpetual darkness. Heavy. Silent.
I’ve been so lost in my dreary thoughts that I didn’t notice where I’ve ended up. I squint, but all I can see is cracked pavement tapering into the dark, ominous shadows that stretchahead, the rest of the world erased beyond the reach of the beam.
Anxiety cools my thoughts. My ears tune to the slow creak of the wheels rolling over the narrow sliver of road barely visible in front of me, a metallic gleam of a train track slowly emerges as I move forward.
I think about pulling over. Maybe checking where I am before I keep going, but then my car jolts.
Suddenly losing steam, it sputters forward on its last breath, gradually slowing before it finally jerks one last time. The engine cuts out. Everything, including my own breath, stills, brittle with disbelief. Right on the edge of the tracks.
What on?—
My eyes shoot to the dashboard, and there it is. The bright yellow warning light. Empty.
No. No. No.
Shit. I never got the chance to fill up the gas this week. I totally forgot. Frustrated, I press the pedal, jerking the wheel, but it stays stiff in my hands. It won’t budge.
Heat prickles behind my eyes. I snap them shut, forcing myself to stay in control as I drag in a long, deep, shaky breath and blow it out.
This is so fucked.
I shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be out in the middle of the night with no plan, no backup, chasing the storm they left me in like I could ever outrun it. You can’t outrun shitty luck. It always finds a way to catch up, seeping back in, wearing you down.
Just like right now.
How could I leave without at least checking my gas tank or grabbing essentials? No wallet, no charger, nothing. I didn’t think any of this through.
A high-pitched, unadulterated wail rips from my cinchedthroat as I slam a hand into the center of the wheel, the hurt clawing for a way out. The horn erupts beneath my palm, a harsh jolt that startles me when it sounds again, louder the second time.
My heartbeat snags, then slams into overdrive. Even the air feels serrated in my chest, the ache flaring sharp and tight, refusing to settle as tension coils in my limbs.
