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Instead, I’d rather remain here in comfort, with nothing but my painting and Erick, the only two things I really want right now. I need him like I need my art, but having them together means I’m completely satisfied.
It’s strange how when this all started, I would’ve killed for a chance like this. Instead, I’m reluctant to take the risk.
But in the end, I walk around to the back of the car and pop open the trunk. It’s unlocked, because why bother locking it? There’s nobody around. I steady myself before climbing in, and I take one last look at the garage door, then yank the trunk lid down and shut myself in.
Darkness falls.
The only sound is the pounding of my heart.
I’m supremely uncomfortable, but at least I’m not very big. I have to shift my weight and contort myself before I find something vaguely comfortable, but eventually I start to relax as I realize that I’m here for a while, because I have no clue when Marina’s actually going to leave.
A thousand things rip through my head. The note won’t be enough—Erick’s going to check on me anyway, and he’s going to find the studio empty. If that happens, he’ll realize something is happening, or he’ll panic and think I’m in trouble. Either way, he’ll tear the house to pieces to find me, and Marina won’t be going anywhere.
Or maybe Marina has those reusable bags and she’s going to find me hiding in here before she even leaves, which would be a freaking nightmare. Or she’ll spot me when I try to get out once we make it into town, which could be even worse. Or I’ll suffocate in here because I’m not getting any air, or I’ll die of heat stroke out in the desert since this trunk isn’t air-conditioned, or I’ll fall out mid-drive and get run over by a semi.
Dozens of ugly deaths and failures torture me as an agonizing amount of time passes. I try not to check my watch, but it starts to become compulsive as I count the minutes. An hour, two hours. I start to wonder if Marina’s ever going to leave and if I’ll be in here for nothing.
I want to scream.
Until I hear a sound. It’s a door opening nearby, followed by voices, muffled at first. They get louder as people come near.
“Yes, yes, I’m sure, leave her be.” Marina’s voice, sounding harried. “She’s happy when she’s working, yes? If she has food and tea, she’s fine, let her work.”
“I don’t know. She’s not good about taking care of herself when she gets like this.” Erick’s voice. He sounds worried.
“Stay out of there, okay? Leave her alone. Now, I’m going to the store, and I’ll be back in a few hours. When I get here, I’ll check and bring her food, okay?”
He sounds slightly better. “Alright, that would be a huge help.”
“No problem at all. Go to work. I’ll make sure she’s okay.”
“Thank you, Marina.”
A car starts nearby. Not the one I’m in. A door opens, the garage door grinds upward, and tires crunch on gravel.
A minute later, Marina climbs into the front seat. The shocks groan, the body shakes on the springs. The radio turns on, tuned to a Top-40 station, and Marina hums along as she backs out.
Then we’re on the move.
Fuck, it’s bumpy. I shouldn’t be surprised since it’s a freaking desert road, but still, I’m practically getting thrown around like a piece of luggage. I have no clue how she hasn’t heard me thumping around yet, and I do my very best to brace myself, but it’s not helping that much.
Then it gets hot.
Like, really hot. I knew it’d be warm, but holy shit, I’m sweating like crazy and getting jostled and I’m pretty sure I’m getting cooked in this stupid thing. I don’t know what I was thinking, getting in here to begin with, running away from Erick when we finally made a breakthrough together last night.
He cares about me. He has feelings for me in the same way I have feelings for him, and here I am, running from it.
Risking something good for a father that doesn’t deserve my devotion.
I’m aware that this is a massive mistake.
As I’m thrown around, I keep thinking I should yell out, tell Marina I’m here, explain to her the situation and hope she takes pity on me and drives me back to the house. Maybe she won’t even tell Erick, since she knows he’ll be really pissed and hurt.
Erick. His lips. His arms. The way he looked at me in the desert during our walk. He opened up, told me his story, gave me a piece of himself and it was a beautiful moment, something special, something I cherish.
Here I am, running from that.
This is wrong.
