“Come on, come on,” I chant, pleading. “Where are you?”
My movements become jerky before I give up, tossing the bag to the ground. My knees hit my chest as I slide down the side of the vehicle. This can’t be happening.
The keys aren’t here. I must’ve left them inside with the other half of the stuff that fell out.
My hand wraps around the charm on my bracelet. The crescent moon eases my comfort a fraction.
I want to scream but I know my already tender chords won’t allow it.
Gazing back from where I came, I have two options. Go back inside—which isn’t happening—or call someone for help.
Blindly my hand grabs for my phone. At least I hadn’t forgotten this.
Somehow this option feels worse. The last time I’d reached out and asked for help had been after the Lorna incident in the conservatory and we all know how well that ended.
The back of my head hits the steel.
There is always the third option. I can walk. As quickly as I have the idea, I shut it down. It’s an as equally stupid thought as going back inside.
Unlocking my phone, I scroll to their name. Shoving past the growing ball of nerves in my throat, I put the phone to my ear and wait.
Part of me hopes that it goes to voice mail, but I know it never will. Not if I’m calling. Maybe that’s why I chose them over everybody else.
The phone picks up on the first ring, exactly like I knew it would.
Here goes nothing…
“…Eli, I need your help.”
forty
Rory
Dustingmyknees,Istand from my spot after seeing a pair of headlights roll in. The car comes to a stop behind mine.
My breathing may have evened out in the thirty-minute time span it took him to get out here but that’s only given my pity time to soak in.
I’d been attacked, the guy choked me. As if thinking it, my swallow deepens to an almost painful level. The ache there getting worse, not better.
A part of me is ashamed that I came alone, and the bigger part is upset that I’d come at all. Every time, I always end up with more questions than answers. Then there is the embarrassment. I should’ve been stronger; I know I could’ve handled the walk home by myself.
The darkness. I should have pushed past my fear.
It’s too late for that now.
My eyes crease as the person steps out of the shadows and into the blinding headlights of the still-running car.
“You’re not Eli.”
Cole sighs, looking past me, he doesn’t seem in the mood any more than I. “Look, Princess, I’m not going to let you sit here all night, so let me take you home.”
I squint. “Where’s Eli?”
“Not here, Princess.”
That’s obvious.
In reality, I should be grateful someone showed up at all, but I hadn’t called Cole for a reason. His seeing me like this replays bad memories for me. It makes me feel weak, vulnerable.