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His hand leaves my wrist, moving to backhand me. Searing pain shoots through my face and I feel skin tearing open. Blood begins to drip down a wound at my eyebrow. But most worrisome, my headphone falls out of my ear, tumbling down my top into my dress.
I have no idea if the connection is gone, but I can’t hear Ben anymore, my anchor.
Panic rises as I realize my line to sanity and calm is gone.
I didn’t realize how much it was saving me.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“You do not tell me what I can and will do. You? You are fucking nothing. Your sister has worth to me, Lola. You arenothing. I could fuck you until you were useless to me and throw you off the fucking pier into the ocean. No one would care. Your dad would use your death as a campaign platform. Your sister would know, but what would she do? Nothing, Lola. Nothing at all.”
At that moment, I know he is right.
After all these years of sacrificing myself, of doing what was best for my family, for my sister, I forgot to protect myself. I forgot that I, too, need someone to look out for me, to comfort me, to take care of me. And while I don’t regret helping my family or keeping my sister safe, it left me vulnerable.
No one would care.
His words echo in my mind.
But those words, inky and dark and terrifying, are shattered by light.
I see the paintings that gave me chills what feels like moments ago.
Ben would care.
I find that comforting.
Unfortunately, Johnny isn’t interested in my mental breakthrough. “Get in the car, Lola,” he commands, tired of waiting for me, probably jittery in fear that we’ll be interrupted.
“No.”
“Get in the fucking car, Lola,”he shouts, and his voice echoes.
Ben isn’t here yet.
My time is up.
He opens the door and starts to move me closer.
“No!” I shout, grabbing the edges of the door frame.
A fist comes down, hitting my hand. Pain sears through my fingers and for a moment, I panic about a broken bone. But the pain is stifled by fear.
Because Johnny’s putting his weight into my back, pushing me inside.
I buck against him, trying to do whatever I can tostay out of this car.But the thing is, Johnny Vitale is not new to forcing his way. He’s not new to violence, and I know he has ways to get me into this car.
And as I look over my shoulder, he has a gun in his hand. The hand lifts.
I don’t think he’ll shoot me—not here. Too public. But he might knock me out with the butt of it. And if that happens, the game is over.
I’m gone.
Lilah might as well be gone.
And as that hand comes down, I close my eyes, waiting for it to happen.
In my mind, I apologize.
