Page 45 of My Mafia King

I lean back and rest.

The more I relax, the heavier my eyelids get, and I realize how exhausted I am.

Struggling to stay awake, I ponder this little plan of mine. Find a gas station or a truck stop.

But maybe I should just take a nap and do all that later when it’s dark outside––take off my dress, put on my sweatpants, and get some sleep.

My plan sounds good. They always do. And then they never work.

I try to ignore that thought, rays of sun playing on my face until I fall asleep.

* * *

CARMINA

Maybe this is a dream,although I doubt it.

If this is a dream, it’s a loud one, for sure.

It’s like someone’s scratching or rubbing something. And then something tickles the top of my head.

Is this some sort of twisted dream? A premonition?

I wish I knew.

All I know is that a voice calls my name in my head, and I jolt out of my sleep.

I instantly know a man is trying to reach inside my car, and I jerk back and scream.

And just as fast, I figure out it’s Beau. And I surely know why he can't unlock the door.

I’m sure he has a key, or maybe he got sloppy and didn’t get a copy.

Whatever may be the case, he couldn’t open the door because the little fucker gets stuck when you lock it from the inside.

He cusses at me, and our exchange becomes quickly violent.

I knew he’d come back.

“Go the fuck away, motherfucker. I’m not coming with you.”

His maniacal chuckle tells me what I need to know.

Even if I don’t grasp it all, he’s spelling it out for me.

“You’re such a fucking piece of shit, my dear Car. Fucking Karma, Cara, Car.”

Every time we used to have an argument, he’d call me Karma.

And this is not him joking. He is fucking pissed, and I try to roll the window up and crush his fingers.

“Go the fuck away,” I snarl.

He retrieves his hand and puts his fist into the window.

My car jolts.

“You know what I’m gonna fucking do. I’m gonna take you back, and I swear to God, I’ll sell you to the first fucking pimp I cross paths with in LA. I’ll pick the worst guy so you can learn what life on the street really means. You have a fucking boyfriend??”

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