Page 51 of Crybaby

“Holy fuck,” I whisper, ignoring him because, what the actual fuck?

“It’s on sale with a discount of thirty percent, plus you get a free bumper sticker!” he pleads, desperate for the sale or for me to leave—I can’t tell which.

I stare at him. “Fine, give it to me. Hey, do you have hair clippers?”

“No, ma’am, we do not.”

There goes my idea of shaving my head to disguise myself as GI Jane.

We’re fucked.

Thoughts of my aunt come into my head, and I bet she’s called the police too.

Just then, I hear a jingle, and the store door opens to reveal two cops walking in and over to the donut stand. I glance outside to see Rev in the car, tapping the steering wheel while the engine runs. We’ve gotta get the fuck out of here. I bet he doesn’t even know he’s all over the news. That dumb bitch probably had the best sex of her life and is now claiming he broke in and robbed her.

I chuck some money at the clerk, take the damn bumper sticker, and walk slowly like I don’t have a care in the world out to the car. Rev stares at me through the windshield like I’ve lost my mind.

“Go,” I say calmly, watching the cops stand at the counter to pay for their coffee and donuts.

“Umm…yeah, all right. You okay?”

I smile sweetly. “You’re on the news, so what the fuck do you think? Get the hell out of here slowly.”

Rev turns to see the cop car behind him and then looks at me.

“Go!” I cry and stomp my foot over to his side of the car and hit the accelerator, which, in hindsight, was stupid because Rev was in reverse and hightails it straight into the cop car.

“What the fuck, Darcie!” His mouth hangs open, and he slams the car into drive and exits the parking lot a little faster than expected as my head flies back into the headrest.

I can hear sirens, and Rev is speeding and turning down random country roads and trying to weave us into farmland when we need to get back to the motel off the highway.

“Now we’re fucked!” he says, and I notice his face turn a pretty shade of pink.

I feel like laughing, but I hold it in and watch a few scarecrows whisk by, and some cows nonchalantly chew as we pass.

The sirens become faint, and I know we’ve lost them. But now, we can’t stay here. Now we have begun something we can’t turn back from.

“We need a new car,” Rev says, suddenly calm and collected.

He checks his phone, then rips the back off it and throws it out the window into a field.

“Well, that was a little melodramatic. You could have just destroyed the SIM and kept the phone. But you do you.”

I get a stiff upper lip in response.

We’d been driving for a while, getting farther and farther away from the motel. I’m glad I didn’t have any belongings in there. Our license plates are smashed from the police car incident, and I’m feeling safe.

“That one,” says Rev, pointing toward a small wooden house sitting quietly on acres of land with a long dirt road driveway leading up to it.

The gates are open, and a sign says,“Home is where the heart is.”A large barn is next to it, and a truck is parked carelessly in front. The doors are open.Taking a careful turn, we make our way down to the house.

“Do you have a plan here?” I ask, pulling on my men’s overalls and hoodie in the passenger seat.

“You go to the door and say you’re lost and looking for directions while I go scope out the truck. The gates are open, so we should be able to get away quickly, and whoever is in there won’t be able to run fast enough to catch up with us. I’ll disable this car while I’m out there.”

“Seems like a solid plan,” I reply as we quietly exit the car and put the plan into play.

When I walk to the house, I see that the door is ajar, but I knock on it anyway. I can hear music playing, old ’50s rock.

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