Page 151 of Run Away Home: Tempered

Hayley

“CA-CAN YOU COME...Please, come get me.”

“You just got there.” I sniffle, pacing around the living room. Tristian’s sitting on the couch.

“I just... Come g-g-get me. I’m real sick.”

“It’s not my fucking job to come get you.” My voice trembles.

“I s-should have stayed home t-t-tonight.”

“Yeah. I fucking told you.” I sniffle again.

“Hayley...”

Tristian’s looking at me. He’s shaking his head.

“You have to go get him. This is fucked!” Tristian whispers.

“Okay, okay! You know what? Give me a few minutes. Just... Just stay where you are,” I say to Peter.

“I-I can’t wait. P-P-Please.”

“JUST WAIT WHERE YOU ARE!”

I hang up the phone.

“Clean yourself the fuck up, and go get him! It’s going to look suspicious as hell if you show up to the bar crying,” Tristian says.

“I’ll splash my face with some water.”

My whole body is shaking. I walk into the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. What have I done? I can’t back out now. Can I blame this all on Tristian? I can say it was his idea. Maybe I’ll get less time. But I’m the one who carried it out. I’m the one that poisoned him. I’m completely fucked. This baby is going to grow up just like I did, with their mother in jail.

I take short breaths in between sobs, turn on the sink, and start splashing my face with water. I take a nice long breath in.

My phone starts ringing. It’s him again.

“What? Hello?”

“K-Kara is...c-coming to get me.”

FUCK.

Kara

IT’S DARK. IT’S COLD. Why am I doing this again?

You’re stupid. This guy means nothing to you. There are so many men out there. Why are you wasting your time with him? Why did you agree to pick him up? He’s not worth your time!

I turn my blinker on. I’m done talking to myself about this. I’m done talking about this, in general.

The road is clear. I turn left into the McAlister’s parking lot, already looking around for him. He’s not in front of the bar. I turn left at the corner by My Tokyo.

There he is, sitting. No...laying? Laying on the curb by the dumpster? It just gets better and better, doesn’t it?

I pull over sharply against the sidewalk. I must’ve nearly run over his hand because he flinches fast. What reflexes for a drunk!

He’s sitting up straight now, grasping onto a mostly empty bottle. I get a better look at him. His long, wavy hair is matted into a bun. His black apron, which is normally tied neatly around his waist, is hanging off of his body. Was he using it as a blanket? His clothes are stained with...dirt?...vomit?

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