1.It’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you.
Lucas
Nice going, genius. You’ve officially lost your damn mind.
Punching the gas pedal to the floor, the red speedometer arrow hit 80 and ticked upwards.Slow down.The cheery pop song blasting through the speakers was an oddly fitting soundtrack for my descent into madness.
I didn’t even bring my phone or wallet when fleeing my apartment like a wanted fugitive headed for the border under the cover of darkness. A noise from outside my bedroom window had startled me. Beforeit’s just the windeven had the chance to cross my mind, I’d already jumped out of bed and headed for the door.
Someone’s there,I’d thought.They’re after me.
So I did what any sensible prey does when hoping to live through the night: I ran.
Driving through woodsy back roads in North Carolina with only my own headlights to illuminate the road, it felt like I was the last person left in the world. Too much pressure for a guy on the edge of a nervous breakdown. I stopped at a modest gas station with an attached all-night diner.
The not-quite fresh air with its bracing combination of oxygen, exhaust fumes, and motor oil helped wake me up. Running away because of a noise, the sheer irrational terror that gripped me, what the hell had I been thinking?
“Come on, Lucas. Get it together.”
I used to be a normal productive member of society. Then the accident happened and now… now I was …
“Talking to yourself,” I realized. “Stop talking to yourself.”
Beyond the gas station, pine trees and their tall shadows towered above everything. What unknown wild animals lurked beyond the trees, watching and waiting to pounce?
My first steps—splash—led me right into a puddle, cold water seeping through my thin pajama bottoms. No critters watched me from the woods since the rain drove them away—shit. The rain.
Rain. It had rained.
I’d heard the wind battering against the bedroom windowpanes and the sounds of a storm outside. Instead of checking the weather forecast, some misfiring survival instinct kicked in and sent me running.
Nobody was chasing me. Who’d even care about snatching a twitchy 26-year-old with a broken brain?
My appearance wasn’t exactly a selling point either, according to the security mirror above the cash register in the gas station. Unwashed dark blonde hair, bloodshot eyes, pale skin like a vampire, and a normally thin frame that looked more gaunt these days. Even after finishing physical therapy, I still leaned heavily on my right side, not yet used to having full range of motion again.
The accident happened over five months ago. My body had slowly mended itself. My mind, however, was taking longer.
The two dollars and spare change found in my car’s cupholders bought me scrambled eggs and two strips of bacon at the diner. While sitting on a worn padded seat and sipping on cool free water, I began to feel better.
I’m fine. Normal. I’m nobody special. Nobody’s watching me—hang on, is that guy checking me out?
Had I suffered lingering brain damage from the accident? Ultra-sexy guys like him never noticed me, especially not now.
His dark, invitingly messy hair framed a painfully good-looking face, and his tall frame and broad shoulders proved his body was just as exquisite. As he twisted to pay the waitress at the counter, dark jeans lovingly cupped a full, pert ass.
He—ah! He caught me watching and winked, boyish amusement lighting up his face.
I startled and nearly knocked over my water glass. My fingers twitched, desperate for a cigarette to calm my nerves. A bad new habit of mine, they were stacking up.
Closing my eyes, I inhaled one deep breath, then two. When looking again, nobody was there. Phew. Now I could rela--
“Hey, man. You okay?”
"Oh, Jesus!"
The man had approached me and now stood to the side of my booth. Only his quick reflexes saved my water glass from tumbling over when I startled at his voice and proximity.
“Sorry I startled you.” He ducked his head and offered a friendly smile. “Everything alright?”
