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The fact that he’s challenging me, daring me to fire the gun, makes my face turn white with dread. I’m going to try to fire it, of course, but why would he tell me to? Who would keep an unloaded gun in their car? Someone with a brick of cocaine right next to it? I’ve never fired a gun before, but the idea that my only saving grace might not even be loaded seems too absurd to be true. It’s like tonight is the night I’m supposed to die, and fate is going to make sure of it.

Right now, I’d give anything just to know what this person is thinking. I could at least anticipate his intentions and maybe calm myself down, but for now, all I have is my instinct and the ice-cold hand of anxiety on the back of my neck. If I could only get into his head for a split second, maybe all of these threats and fears could be allayed.

But I can’t.

I brace myself and pull the trigger, and nothing happens. I feel defeated, embarrassed, and frustrated. He should have known that he was putting me in danger by driving me out here. Why didn’t he just pass me? If this wasn’t part of his plan, he could have just passed me. I would have been perfectly fine without him, even if I would have been cold and scared.

“See? No point in trying again. Just relax,” he replies with a maddeningly nonchalant tone in his voice. “Maybe you should just trust me, since I’m the one driving us to safety. Don’t be fucking stupid. It isn’t your turn to be a hero.”

Now I want to scream. The futility of my escape has been shown, and it’s obvious that he knows he’s the one with all the power here. My survival and death are solely in his hands at this point. I’ve put all my trust, my future, and my safety into someone whose name I don’t even know.

Unless...

I reach down towards the machine gun at my feet, praying that I can either figure out how to use it or intimidate him enough to make him leave me here. Even the idea of touching a machine gun sends a wave of hot panic through me, rolling from my back forward and up into my head. I want to curse my simple, soft life for not preparing me better for something so dire.

I pick up the machine gun, adjusting my grip on it multiple times before I secure it.

When I point it at him, he simply rolls his eyes.

“This will also do nothing for you. You can try to fire it if you want, if it makes you feel powerful, but you will gain nothing else from it,” he says. He speaks to me as though I’m an idiot, and I resent him for belittling me so much.

I toss it back down to the floor in anger. “Why the hell do you have two unloaded guns in your car?!”

He sighs, wincing a little as he turns the steering wheel a bit. “It’s an antique, a gift for my father. It was used in the Soviet war in Afghanistan. He collects them, since he fought in it. Are you happy now? Do you have any other pointless questions for me? You can ask all about my personal life when we’re both going into shock.”

It takes every fiber of my being to not burst into tears on the spot. How could I have gotten into such an unsolvable situation? People like me aren’t supposed to experience anything like this. I’ve essentially been kidnapped in a car with two guns that don’t work. Right now, I feel like I have the worst luck on the planet. If I really am supposed to die tonight, I wish the universe would just cut my lights out and get on with it.

I shake my head, biting my tongue as tears fill my eyes. I’m not the strong, fearless woman that I’ve always thought myself to be. My last moments will be filled with shame and embarrassment on top of terror.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Now don’t throw my things like that, it’s very disrespectful,” he continues as the car picks up speed.

I see him smiling to himself as if he’s gotten away with something. Perhaps he’s just addicted to being right, backing people into corners and turning their actions against them to break them down. He seems like such an asshole inside and out. How much worse could this get?

As he turns his smug, satisfied face away from me, I reach back into the glove box and pull out the brick of coke. He doesn’t see me do it until I’ve rolled down the window and tossed it out into the snow. If all I can do is piss him off in order to make him take me seriously, I might as well try.

When he sees what I’ve done, it takes him a moment to register it. As soon as he realizes it, his face turns from mildly amused to enraged. It’s too dark to see the details of his face, but I can tell that he’s holding back a righteous anger that could kill me with one blow. I’ve done something terrible that I can’t take back.

“What the fuck?! What’s wrong with you?” he roars, and I realize that I might have made a huge mistake. I can’t even remember what it is that I thought I would gain from this. Was I just trying to get back at him? Of course, this isn’t something I can apologize for, and we don’t have a rapport that could absorb some of the personal cost.

He’s going to make me pay for this some way or another.

My fears are confirmed when he slams on the brakes, sending us further down the road with enough traction to flip the car around. For someone who claims to be in complete control, it wasn’t very difficult to throw him into a tirade. His anger is the only thing I can manipulate.

Now is my last chance.

I reach over and grab the steering wheel, pulling it as hard as I can in the direction that the car has started to spin. If I’m able to crash the car and disorient him, I might still see freedom.

The ice causes the car to continue spinning, but the added inertia from me pulling the wheel makes it spin even faster. It shouldn’t be long now.

Being in another crash is a terrifying prospect, but I might not have a choice. Escaping from this situation might be the only way I’ll get out of this alive, but if I die, it might be quick and painless. If I’m lucky, I’ll smack my head on the dashboard or the window and never wake up.

I can’t believe how much my life has turned upside down in the past hour. One crash leading to another feels wrong, like it breaks a law of physics. You shouldn’t be able to have two near-death experiences in one day, much less one hour.

Then I remember that it’s not a law of physics, and anything can happen. In fact, it could manage to get even worse from here.

Tucking my head down is the only way to keep myself from smashing into the passenger window as the car barrels down the road. We’re headed towards another guard rail, and I’m immediately sick to my stomach. This can’t be happening. I can’t believe this is really happening to me. Was I supposed to die in the first crash? How did I evade death just to meet it once again?

As her car continues to spin, I start to grow anxious that I’ll be hurt in the crash as well. Now that I’m in the throes of mortal danger, I’m terrified to crash. Why can’t I use my brain? Why would something like this ever work?

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