Then the passenger seat shifts, and the movement breaks through the narrow focus I've locked myself into.
I didn't look at it at first. I already know.
Luke sits there, one arm draped casually, head tilted, a smile on his face like a bad joke that never dies. He looks solid. Real enough that my hands tighten on the wheel.
“Well,” he says, glancing ahead at the road. “Kind of ironic, right. Both our moms. Headshots.”
He lifts his hand and presses his index and middle finger straight against his temple, thumb cocked. He makes a quick, sharp gunshot sound under his breath. Then he flicks his thumb down like he’s pulling the trigger.
My chest tightens.
“Go away.”
He chuckles softly. “I mean, sure, my mom did it to herself, but still. Very poetic. Family tradition, maybe.”
“Shut the fuck up Luke!” I snap.
“I’m losing count,” he continues. “Seriously, I am. You keep stacking them up, and it’s getting hard to keep track.”
My vision pulses at the edges as I force myself to keep my eyes on the road.
“How many people is it now?” he tilts his head slightly as he studies me, “that you thought you could love and save?”
The words land heavy, they hit something that is already cracked open.
“You couldn’t save Brooke,” he adds. “She barely made it out of that place alive.”
My jaw tightens as my grip shifts slightly on the wheel.
“You couldn’t save your baby.”
My hands falter for a fraction of a second before tightening again.
“You couldn’t save your mother.”
Pain in my chest twists so hard it feels like it might tear.
“You couldn’t save Natalie.”
My breathing stutters as the names stack on top of each other.
“You couldn’t save me.”
His smile widens, like he is enjoying every second of this.
“You can’t save anybody, Seth.”
My hands start to tremble on the wheel, not enough to lose control, but enough that I feel it, enough that it bleeds into everything else.
“So stop pretending,” his voice lowering just slightly, just enough to make it feel closer and heavier. “Stop acting like you're something you aren’t.”
My vision sharpens, then blurs, then sharpens again as I try to force focus back into place.
“Let the rage do what it is supposed to do,” he continues. “Let it burn everything else out of you until there is nothing left but what you actually are.”
“Shut up,” I snarl, the words coming out harsher this time as I try to force him out of the car with the sound of it.
He leans back again, that same expression still fixed in place, but something about him flickers for a second, just enough to remind me that he isn't really there.
