And that’s how we arrive at unit number thirty-four—holding hands like runaway lovers.
I like it.
I don’t want to let her go yet, so I fumble with my keys in one hand, unlock the handle, and slide the garage door up.
Rosalie’s the one to break our contact first, walking forward to run her fingers over the sleek black paint on the 1977 mustang.
My baby. I splurged on it a few years ago. Paid cash for it. I don’t spoil myself often—or ever—but this is my dream vehicle.
Damn, I’m gonna miss this car.
I go around to the trunk and pop it open. Scanning my supplies, I take stock of my disguises. I’m going to have to change my appearance, but I’m not sure which direction I’m going with it. I have temporary tattoos, fake piercings, and flannel. I could go the grungy hipster route. Then again, it’s been a while since I’ve worn my suit and tie.
Rummaging through the space, I move a box of hats and hair dye to the side and pull out two garment bags. I unzip the plastic and sniff the clothes. A little musty, but not too bad. Nothing a good airing out can’t fix.
Rosalie quietly approaches. “What are you doing?”
I glance at her dirt-streaked face. “We’re going to be changing identities for a while, and probably more than once.”
“You’ve got this all figured out.”
I can’t tell if she’s impressed or appalled by my preparedness, so I shrug. “It’s what I do.”
“Your job,” she says flatly. “Right.”
After slamming the trunk, I move into her personal space and lightly grip her chin. “What did I say about my job?”
Blue and green stare up at me. “That I’m not part of it?”
“That’s right. You’re not a job. You’re my Rosie Doll.”
“Your good girl?” she asks hesitantly.
My cock stiffens.
“Damn right.” I split a grin, and I can’t help noticing her lips trembling with the desire to smile. “So, the plan.” Moving past her, I open the passenger side, get into the glove compartment, and hold up an old burner cell. “I’ll destroy my current phone and use this one instead. Then when we get a few hours away, I’ll swap my car for something less recognizable.”
“You’re getting rid of this?” Enamored with the shininess, Rosalie rubs the hood.
“It’s just a car,” I grunt out regretfully. “Ivan knows I drive this. We need to be untraceable.”
Rosalie pins me with a curious look. “You’re really not kidding about me not being a job. You’re giving up so much for me.” There’s a heavy pause. “Why?”
Ignoring the question pertaining to my unhealthy obsession with her, I change the subject and let her hot-pink backpack slide off my shoulder. “Do you have any electronics in here?”
“Yeah.” She nods slowly, taking it from me. “My laptop.”
“We need to dump it on our way out of town.”
“But—but—”
“No offense, but if I can ditch my sweet ride, then you can lose the computer. I’ll buy you a new one.”
Rosalie lowers her sad gaze to the concrete. “I guess I’m just attached to it for sentimental reasons. For a long time, it was my only window to the world. Plus, I met Jessa on there.”
I spread my arms before letting them fall to my sides. “I’m right here. I know I’m not who you thought I was, but I’m still the same person on the inside.”
Glancing up, she squints. “You knew things. Girl things. How?”
During my time catfishing Rosalie, I tried to stick to the truth as much as possible. I might’ve lied about my identity, but everything else, all the little things that make me who I am, are actual facts. My knowledge about girly shit helped me pass as a female, but that’s part of me, too. Part of my past.
“Another story for another time.”
“Fine. Be all mysterious. I’ll just warn you that I plan to use this road trip to interrogate you. I can be very annoying. You’ll spill all your secrets.” She turns her nose up as she folds herself into the car, setting her bag on the floor between her legs.
I chuckle. “I look forward to it.”
I give the crowbar an incredulous look as Preston puts it in my hands. “You want me to smash it?”
“To pieces,” he confirms. “Lots of ‘em.”
My poor laptop’s sitting on the leaf-covered ground, all lonely and shit. It’s dumb to think of an electronic device as having feelings, but I feel bad for it. “Can’t we just leave it here? Maybe someone will find it and give it a home.”
Preston laughs. “It’s not a puppy. We don’t have much time.” Lifting his wrist, he looks at his watch. “When does your mom usually wake up?”
“Around six, but she won’t come get me for breakfast until eight.”
“Do it,” he urges. “We gotta go.”
“Pushy,” I grumble, even though I know he’s right.
We stopped on a deserted country road on the other side of Maryville. The same creek we crossed earlier runs this way, and after I do some damage to my laptop, Preston plans to toss it into the water. He already destroyed his cell phone and did the same with it.
Placing my feet shoulder-length apart, I grip the metal bar like a bat. Then I let it come down on the sleek black device. There’s no force behind my action. It barely leaves a crack, but I wince at the damage.
“What’s wrong?” Preston asks, his lips twitching with amusement. “Never destroyed anything before?”
“No, I have.”
“Really?” The skepticism in his tone makes me bristle.
“As a matter of fact, yes. I suffer from…” I struggle to find the right words. “Uncontrollable fits of rage. I’ve slammed doors so hard they split down the middle. I once tipped over a China cabinet and broke every dish. Expensive stuff, too. Limited edition from England.” It sounds like I’m bragging, but the truth is, I’m ashamed of my inability to control myself.
Preston doesn’t look like he’s judging me when he asks, “Why’d you do it?”
“I wanted to go to school. I wanted to go to the mall and to the movies and to have friends. I just wanted out of my fucking room. Lots of reasons. Take your pick.”
“But she wouldn’t let you,” Preston concludes.
“She said I was too crazy,” I admit, my voice small with shame. “And then when I got violent, all I did was prove her right.”
“She was gaslighting you. Putting you in situations that would make anyone go mad, then punishing you for it. Think about that when you use the crowbar.”
He’s right. For a long time, I’ve tried to be normal, hoping my mom would see that I’m a good person. No matter what I did—or what I didn’t do—it never made a difference.
I think about the endless days and nights in that house. The tick tick ticking of the clock. I remember how as I got older, instead of gaining the independence I was entitled to, she just withheld it from me.
“I bet I could tell you something that would really piss you off,” Preston pipes up, sounding a bit sad.