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With a silent nod, he hands me the change. I snatch up the bag of supplies and head toward Lila, standing by the exit.
“Let’s go,” I command. The morning air’s chill counters the heat running through my veins whenever I’m near this girl.
“Get whatever you need from the car,” I instruct, pulling a cigarette from my pocket and lighting it. She hesitates, her gaze flickering to the car and then back to me. After a moment, she nods, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she steps toward the vehicle.
I blow the smoke into the air, watching her as she collects the few belongings she wants to keep and returns moments later, a small carrier bag clutched in her hands.
Without a word, I approach the old beat-up truck. “This is it,” I state, the rusted metal cold under my touch. With practicedease, I break into the vehicle, the door groaning in protest as I yank it open.
The truck sputters to life a few wires later, its engine roaring in the quiet morning. “Get in,” I command, my voice barely audible over the grumbling engine.
She jumps into the passenger’s seat, and I pull out of the parking lot, the wheels crunching over the gravel as I drive away, leaving behind the remnants of a town that’s another pit stop to freedom. We’re getting closer. And I need to keep going and ensure we don’t hit more hitches like the storm last night.
8
LILA
Ash is insane. I’m trapped with a man who’s capable of unspeakable things. I don’t know what he was in jail for, but clearly, he’s not right in the head.
The journey is a monotonous blur of passing landscapes. The truck’s tires hum a continual drone on the tarmac, lulling me into uneasy calm. Ash’s face is hardened, his eyes focused on the road, hands gripping the steering wheel hard.
Hours later, the truck slows down, pulling into a barely noticeable trail leading off the main road. Following the path, we arrive at a dilapidated motel, its neon sign flickering intermittently in the encroaching twilight. It’s a place that thrives on its anonymity, a hideout for those who wish to be lost in the world’s crevices.
Ash turns off the engine, the sudden silence a sharp contrast to the drone we’ve grown accustomed to. He turns to me, a steely glint in his eyes. “We’ll stay here for the night,” Ash announces. He hands me a wad of crumpled bills. “Get us a room,” he instructs, and I notice, not for the first time, the dwindling pile of money keeping us afloat.
Nodding, I step out of the truck, the chill of the evening air a stark contrast to the stuffy interior of the vehicle. I walk towardthe motel’s office, the gravel crunching under my shoes echoing in the stillness. I push open the door, greeted by the smell of stale cigarettes and cheap aftershave.
Behind the counter, an older man smirks at me, his gaze lingering inappropriately. The sense of unease I’ve been carrying grows as he slides a motel key across the counter, his hand brushing mine. His touch sends a shiver of revulsion down my spine. Suddenly, the door flies open, and Ash steps in, his face a mask of fury.
He lunges at the man without a word, knocking him out cold. The room is eerily silent, the only sound being the faint hum of the neon sign outside. “What the fuck was that for?”
Ash glares at me. “He was eye-fucking you.” He pulls a knife from his jacket, poised to strike the unconscious man.
I gasp, stepping forward and reaching for his hand. “Ash, no!” I plead.
He shakes his head, the knife gleaming in the dim light. “He looked at you like a piece of meat. He looked at what’s mine,” he growls, his jaw clenching. “And, he’ll call the cops. I’ve got no choice. It’s him or me.” His voice is disturbingly calm, and I realize with a sinking feeling that, to Ash, this is the only logical course of action.
I feel sick, my stomach tying itself in knots. A part of me can’t believe this is happening, that I’ve somehow landed in this grim reality where life and death decisions are made in a rundown motel lobby.
I step forward, gently placing my hand over Ash’s on the knife’s hilt. “We can tie him up,” I suggest. “And gag him. He won’t be able to call the cops.” I look into Ash’s cold eyes, pleading for understanding, for mercy. “Please, Ash. There has to be another way.”
Ash freezes for a moment, his gaze locked with mine. His expression softens as he studies my face. Slowly, he lowers theknife. “You really are something else,” he murmurs, his voice softer. “My starlight.” His words hang in the air. “The light to my dark.” He pulls away from me, placing the knife back in his pocket.” Alright,” he says. “We’ll do it your way.”
A sense of relief washes over me. I’ve managed to save a life today, a life that was teetering on the edge.
The man on the floor grumbles. “What the fuck?” he brings his hand up to his nose and then notices us. “You better suck my cock for this, bitch,” he spits, glaring at me. “Compensation for that idiot’s actions.”
A chill runs down my spine, the words echoing in the silence. The atmosphere turns deadly. Ash’s face darkens, his eyes flaring with a terrifying rage. Like a predator pouncing on its prey, he pulls the knife again and lunges at the man, the held-back fury unleashed in a terrifying spectacle of violence.
Ash’s knife carves through the air swiftly and mercilessly. The cold steel finds its target multiple times, each jab producing a ghastly, wet sound that echoes in the room. Blood begins to spray in all directions, painting a morbid picture on the walls. Life drains from the man’s eyes with each plunge of the blade, his body jerking violently, then slumping lifelessly onto the floor.
The room falls eerily silent save for Ash’s ragged breathing.
I stand frozen in place, a scream trapped in my throat. The room spins, a macabre carousel of crimson and terror. I want to look away, to close my eyes to the horror that unfolded, but I can’t. I’m rooted in place - scared but numb.
I feel detached, as if watching this scene from outside my body. In the depth of my fear, a strange calmness washes over me, a numbness that dulls the sharp edges of reality. There’s no turning back now. I witnessed a murder and the extent of the depravity that my kidnapper is capable of.
Finally, he stops stabbing him and turns to face me. His face and clothes are splattered with blood. “Sorry, starlight. Any man that even thinks about you touching his cock must die.” His voice is so casual, as if he took the trash out, not murdered a man in cold blood for being a dickhead.
