A fucking gun.
He removed the safety. “Do it,” he said. He held the gun, offering it. “Go on. Kill me.”
The metal was dull against his palm, drawing me in like bullseye. I couldn’t make myself move; I was glued to it, as if it would harm me if I dared to look away. Taking his life wasn’t something I actually wanted to do. Make his life miserable for a short amount of time, yes, I would love to, but I couldn’t kill him. Not when he had apparently helped keep my sister safe. Not when he could have hurt me all of this time, but hadn’t. Not when I could barely function with an accidental death on my conscience. Dean was enough. I didn’t need an actual murder to screw with my psyche too.
I was shaking my head without realizing it.
Grant armed the safety and put it back in the glove compartment. I glared at him, watching for a smug look, a daring grin, anything to give me the actual nerve to take his life, but he stared blankly ahead. He started the engine and drove. Past the trucks tall enough to block the view of a murder. Past the empty gas station. Past the burger joint.
A girl, maybe mid-teens, sat on the curb in front of the fast food restaurant, faded makeup caked around her eyes. Grant kept driving, taking us over to the strip mall, filled with other food options and clothing boutiques, but I kept looking back at that girl. She looked up, locking eyes with me, bloodshot and weak, still looking at me no matter how far we drove. She was familiar. Lost. Uncertain. Trying to hold onto anything that would give her hope that she could belong somewhere. The kind of girl I had known growing up.
Because every time I looked in the mirror, I saw traces of that girl. She was just like me.
Grant turned around the curve of the parking lot and I lost sight of her. He motioned at the restaurants.
“Burgers?” I asked. He turned the car around, taking us back. But by the time the corner of the restaurant came back into view, the girl was gone.
The place was empty inside. We stood in front of the menu board for a solid three minutes before anyone came to take our order. My stomach growled at the smell of fried food, reminding me of how long it had been since I had had a fresh meal. Food that was warm, right out of the kitchen. Not dragged through the woods or different endless corridors of a clinic. Anything straight from the source sounded amazing. Fries. A cheeseburger. A damn brownie. A milkshake.
We waited in a plastic booth, neither of us wanting to make eye contact and acknowledge that we came there together. Ugh… The thought alone made me cringe.
The door to the bathroom swung open. Out came the girl. Dark hair. Skinny like she needed to eat. She went out the front door to resume her position on the curb. Waiting for someone. Anyone who would help.
Our number was called, and I stood quickly. I left Grant’s tray on the counter and took mine out of the restaurant, using my shoulder to open the door. The girl stared forward, gritting her teeth, her jaw tight. Trying to seem stronger than she felt.
I sat down next to her, setting the tray beside me. I held the carton of fries, and sipped the strawberry milkshake. She sniffled, then looked down at her phone’s cracked screen. I took a fry, then handed her the box.
“I’m full,” I said. She glanced over at the box, eyes greedy at the sight of the food.
“You didn’t touch it,” she said.
“I had a large one inside,” I lied. “Take it or it’ll go to waste.”
With slow movements, she took it from my palm and ate one fry, chewing it with care. Then there was a clear shift in her face, like she thought to herself, Fuck it, and gave in. She shoved a handful of fries into her mouth, and I sucked down one full straw of the strawberry milkshake, then handed that to her too.
“I’m Hazel,” I said.
She took the milkshake. “Micki,” she said.
“Do you live around here?”
“Not anymore.”
The door to the restaurant opened with a creak. She flinched, but kept eating the fries like they would vanish. I unwrapped the burger and set it on her lap. She scarfed it down in a few bites.
Grant stood behind us. I pretended like he wasn’t there. “What happened?” I asked. “You seem upset.”
“I got kicked out,” she said, then went back to stuffing her face. She said it so matter of factly that I knew what she meant. That she ran away from home. The sweatshirt covering her arms might have been hiding bruises. Things we couldn’t see.
“I’m fine, really,” she said, gaining confidence. She wiped her mouth on the sleeve. “Thanks for the food though. I forgot my wallet.”
“Hazel,” Grant said, his voice alarmingly deep. Clearly, Muscle Boy didn’t know how to tone it down. I tried to plead with my eyes, begging him to give Micki and me a minute alone. I could help her. But he waited for me.
“Hold on,” I said to Micki. I walked over to Grant and waved him to the side. “We have to help her,” I whispered.
“She’s fine,” he said. I shook my head. “She said it herself.”
“Any girl in her position is going to say that. I’m not leaving until we do something.”
