The headlights catch a wooden sign for a hiking area up ahead. The sign is cut ragged on the edges to look rustic. Disney rustic. We’re in the state park, I realize. “I was here once,” I say. “With my Girl Scout troop.”
“Don’t.” His rumbly tone makes my chest tighten. Even his voice is overwhelming, taking over everything.
“Don’t what?”
“Try to humanize yourself. It doesn’t work on people like me.”
I want to tell him I wasn’t doing that—I wasn’t doing anything at all, just saying a thing that came into my mind—but he probably won’t believe me, and I don’t want to get him angry. I’ve seen him angry. I mouth the word okay and take another bite, hating myself for wanting the burger more than anything else in that moment. Gluttony, my mom would call it.
Some of the juice drips down my chin. I wipe it quick, embarrassed. “Sorry,” I mumble out of habit, feeling him watching.
I can’t imagine how I must look in this torn dress, stuffing my face. I should have stood my ground about the burger. My mother would have refused, even if she were starving.
I take another big bite and close my eyes, enjoying the comfort and satisfaction of food entering my belly. A better person might not taste it. A better person might be focusing on her circumstances, but this burger is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. I take another bite. I chew, eyes closed. I swallow the goodness. I’m dissolving in rapture.
A rough sound comes from the driver side. I risk a look, steeling myself for the judgment in his eyes, the condemnation. I’m so used to this that it shouldn’t hurt, but it always does.
His face is in the shadows—all I see is the unruly outline of his black hair. Suddenly the glow from the headlights reflects off his face. The breath goes out of me. It’s not judgment I see. It’s something else.
I look away quickly, feeling as if I saw something I should never have seen. Something new in his eyes. Hunger, raw and feral. My heart pounds the way it did back in that alley, when I was listening to the thwaps.
I reach into the bag and grab some fries, stuffing them into my mouth. I don’t even care.
Something bad’s going to happen, and nothing matters anymore…and the fries are warm and salty and delicious. I’ve been hungry forever. This is my last meal, the one he chose for me.
And it’s perfect.
The dress cuts into my stomach, squeezing me. It’s a vise grip, squeezing the life out of me, but I can’t stop eating. There’s not enough room in this dress for food or life, barely even room for breathing, but I don’t care.
For a second, it’s just me and this rich, greasy, forbidden meal and not him looking at me like that. I stuff more fries into my mouth, ravenous. Screw it—I’m eating all of them.
Tears in my eyes. I’m a mess. For once it doesn’t matter.
I make a tray on my lap with the bag, and I squeeze ketchup all over the fries and eat them that way. The road gets really bumpy just around the time I finish my meal.
I force myself back to reality. Everything’s dark around us, no lights at all except for our headlights. I see something glint up ahead, and I realize it’s the river.
The road stops at the river. Whatever’s going to happen, it’ll happen now.
And that’s when the buzzing in my head starts. This animal buzzing—maybe it’s panic. I can’t get a breath. He stops the van at the river’s edge, and I’m gasping for breath.
He looks at me. “What’s going on with you? What’s wrong?” He sounds angry.
“I can’t breathe,” I gasp. “I can’t get a breath. This dress. I shouldn’t have…” I try to suck in air, but I can’t. I press my hands to my belly. “No.”
He’s got this strange look on his face, like he’s alarmed, like I’m a wild animal trapped in his car with him. Isn’t that funny? Like I’m the animal. I would laugh if I could breathe.
“It’s too tight…I shouldn’t have…”
“Loosen it.”
“I can’t just…” I feel dizzy, crazy. Suddenly heavy hands are on my shoulders, turning me, pushing me to the door. His fingers are at my back. He’s unzipping my dress. The sound echoes through the tiny space. “No,” I beg. “Please don’t.”
“Shut up.” He yanks the zipper all the way down to the base of my spine. I feel the cold on my skin, the release. The rush of air into my lungs.
I hold the front of the dress to me and turn, shrinking back, as far away as I can get from him in this tiny space. I stare at him, eyes wide, backed into the corner where the seat meets the door.
“Better?”
I just watch him. “Are you going to rip the rest of my clothes off now?”
He snorts. “Any dress that makes you choose between breathing and eating isn’t worth wearing.”
“I’d rather keep it on.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to rip it off you.”
I keep it at my chest, heaving breaths. I don’t believe him. I can’t.
“I’m not going to rip it off you,” he repeats. “Okay? That’s not where this is going.”
“Where is it going?”
He moves his hand to the armrest on his door. Everything slows. I jerk as a pop at my back tells me he just unlocked the doors. “Get out.”
I watch him, afraid to move. What will he do to me outside?
“Do it. Get out. And don’t even think about running. You won’t like what happens. Do you understand what I’m saying?” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “You really won’t like it.”
With shaking hands, I open my door. He opens his, eyes on me. I start to climb out.
He’s one step ahead of me, shutting his door, a devil in black.
The van’s still running. He left it running. What does that mean? That he’s going to kill me quick? That I’m not even worth turning the engine off for?
He’s walking around the front, quick steps in the glare of the headlights. He freezes and turns my way, alarmed, as though he just realized something.
It’s like a cord is connecting us—in that instant I know what he’s thinking. I could slide over. I could take the van.
And I do.
I slam the door behind me and scramble to the driver’s side to lock him out. I yank the front of my dress up as I settle into the driver’s side. I’m shaking as I release the parking brake. I kick off my heels and fumble for the pedals.
I’ve taken driver’s ed, but I don’t have my license yet. Still, I know where stuff is. Get it in reverse! I tell myself. Press the brake pedal. Find the shift thing and get it in reverse!
He bangs on the window. I find the brake and grab the shifter. Something grinds as I get it in reverse.
He’s pounding on the window. No—punching it.
The van jerks to life, and I’m backing away. I’m going fast, driving crazy, but I’m doing it— backing the way we came. I see him illuminated in the headlights, running after me, powered by pure fury.
I can’t let him catch me now. I won’t like what happens—he promised as much.
I keep going backward. I can’t see anything. I’m hitting and crunching things. He’s catching up.