Michael

I’m flipping the map of the country over my knees, devising the best route to the border and the safest place to cross it. With a contract out on me it’s not going to be as easy as I’d like it to be. My gang got busted and it must be a reason Jared placed a price on me, meaning he and some others probably escaped the Feds and are now in hiding.

“Are you sure you still need me?” She whines, stretching her legs by the open car door. The sun hits her face and a grass field lists in the breeze behind her. “The gang is gone, right?”

“Probably not all of them.” I scrutinize the roads, squinting in my glasses. It’s long since I need new ones. I can’t see for shit from up close. “And if they are I still have a bounty on my head, meaning any decent criminal gang will know my face.” This creates problems. I won’t be able to get a fake passport as easily, and I do need a good counterfeiter if I want to successfully escape the authorities freckles will send after me.

She stretches her arms over her head. “Great.” She jerks suddenly once, her body convulsing in a wanton motion I don’t fail to notice.

“Freckles?”

Her attention strays off into the field, her face numb and her body tensing.

“Hanna?”

Sweat masks her forehead in seconds and she climbs into the car, shutting the door. She bends down and hides her head under her hands as if bracing for impact. “Are they still after me?”

My gaze jumps to the front view mirror. The dusty country road is empty. “No one is after you. No one is here.”

“Are you sure? Because I-I saw a man. Two of them,” she whimpers, still hiding.

To make sure we’re safe I climb out. A lone car drives by, leaving a dust trail in its wake, uninterested in our vehicle whatsoever. “It’s clear, freckles.” I blow a huff of relief, my hand warming on the car’s roof. She’s making me paranoid, always on high alert for anyone. Well, as I should be.

Inside she continues hiding, lost in flashbacks, hallucinations, and intrusive thoughts, which after all she’s been through she has no choice but to believe without hesitation. If she makes it out of this trip alive, she’ll have years of PTSD to deal with. PTSD that I gave her.

She scrambles into the back and hides in the footwell, pulling her knees to herself. “What am I gonna do?” I hear her utter, a clear sign she’s not out of it.

I start the car and pull into the road. “There’s no one here.”

“What am I gonna do?” She bites out. I arch my head back to look at her briefly. Ruffled hair covers her face, forgotten in the midst of psychosis, and her gray eyes stare out in front of her. She’s completely catatonic.

I set my attention back on the road, ignoring a short needle-like prick in my chest. It literally hurts seeing her in this state. “What do you wanna eat?”

No answer. I check the rearview mirror continuously in case she lashes out at me again. “Hanna?”

“Why do you care?”

I grind my teeth. “Because you’re fucking suffering, that’s why.”

“You started it.”

Here we go. If we keep talking, one of us will lash out again and we’ll end up killing each other, so I keep shut.

“Something filling,” she voices a tad later. “Like a burger or something.” Still, her tone drags and I figure the traumatic state will last a while.

And it does, till the next refill. Once the gas tank in my car is full I drive to a small parking lot nearby and open the door to the back seat. “Come on, freckles. You pick something.”

She moves locks of hair from her face and looks at me, her eyes wide and sorrowful. I snap my head away and, unable to run from myself, focus on the evening sun, heating my face. I’d rather have her try to kill me than look at me with pity or sadness. “Come on, come stretch your legs.” I force some levity and softness into my voice. It sounds gruff all the same.

Or maybe it doesn’t because she shifts. I pass her one of the baseball caps and help her out. Collecting her red hair under the cap she looks around the gas station and takes a deep breath.

“Do not make a scene, or I’ll be forced to kill everyone in that station,” I say quietly as I put my cap on as well, then slide on my glasses, and pull off my gloves. “Keep yours on.” Two of us gloved would be too suspicious.

Once inside the store she tilts her head up at the TV, hoping for news. I keep glancing over the aisles, observing her, the cashier, and the television. Thankfully, it’s a typical program, the cashier is moping the floors, and freckles joins me to choose her food.

Back on the road we drive, till clusters of stars scatter through the sky. I don’t plan to stop in a motel tonight so I drive through the night hours. Only when my eyes start growing heavy do I pull over.

Freckles is long since asleep in the back seat and I sit for a good hour, rotating a ziptie in my hands. I should tie her up if I want to get some decent sleep, but I can’t force myself to go through her writhing in her nightmares. God, I can’t.

I shove my hand into my inner pocket, resting it on my knife, and drift off only for her loud yelp to wake me up. “Freckles?” She thrashes in her sleep, reliving the horrors in her nightmares.

It’s enough. I pull out my gun and my knife and leave them under the seat, then climb out and slide into the back seat. It’s either I tie her up or hold her close enough for me to wake me up if she does anything dangerous.

With careful movements I lean over her and lay my hand on her shoulder. She jerks awake, a panicky gasp leaving her mouth. Strangely, she doesn’t shy away, and better yet, she props on her elbows to observe me with a soft, lingering gaze.

I run a hand over the side of my neck, a little uncomfortable but one hundred percent positive this is the only thing I can do. “Let’s try and sleep—”

She kisses me, so suddenly I almost grab her neck again before I realize what’s happening. “Freckles stop,” I breathe out as I pull her away.

“Kiss me.” Her hand slides behind my neck.

I recoil. “You kissed me,” I spell it out, trying to bring her senses and morals back, only now grasping the extent of damage I inflicted on her.

“It helps with the nightmares.” Her cold fingers crawl under my shirt, leaving my skin tingling. Her lips brush against mine, generating arousing heat that travels over my body, weaving into my every cell.

“Freckles…” I let out over the kisses. She pulls herself closer and arches her little body against me, severing a few more strings of hard control I hold over my instincts.

Think of what you’re doing, Mike…

I try to distance myself. Try to pay attention to anything but smoothness of her torso, squirming against me with what seems to be deeper desire than any hooker ever had.

She’s clearly enjoying me. Why shouldn’t I enjoy her?

No, keep it straight.

Her hair slides against the side of my face and her hot breath tickles my ear. It breaks me.

I wrap my arms around her, sinking my lips into hers.

Stop it, Michael, stop it…

But I can’t. I kiss her and I kiss her hard. I tilt her head to the side and move down to her neck, tasting the smooth and salty skin. My hand slides down between her legs, over the jeans, and a trembling gasp escapes her. It makes my head spin with thirst.

“Stop,” she moans, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure. Yet her arms cling around my torso as she pushes her body against my hand between her legs. “Stop it.” She doesn’t mean it at all.

But it snaps me back.

I pull away, my manly parts screaming in protest.

She pants, a flush on her face bright even in the moonlit night. “We’re not gonna fuck, are we?” She rakes her gaze over me.

“No,” I straighten and a rivulet of sweat runs down my back. She’s not in her right mind. But neither was I.

God, I need a hooker.

She smacks her lips, her breathing slowing. When she takes me in for a second time, kneeling between her legs, her eyes widen. “Oh god, what have I done!” Her eyebrows curl and she covers her face with her palms. “I can’t believe it.”

“Welcome back,” I utter. Her senses returned, just a little too late.

I don’t want to fuck her. She doesn’t deserve it. After all I put her through she deserves a night with someone better than me. With someone she actually likes for real, someone she willingly met.

With lips as soft as yours, rings in my ears.

The thought hits me like a hot pan. Do I wish for her to be happy? A tingling feeling tells me I want her to end up okay. I accept the fact she desires things and it’s a recipe for a disaster. But I can’t stop myself, can’t stop my head from painting the perfect picture, seeing things I never had. It’s as if a part of me woke up from a life-long sleep and now is doing everything to create new desires. And it desires her living a worthy, painless life. A life my mother wanted to live.

“It’s wrong,” I tell myself as I vault off her and get out, trying to keep my shattering beliefs in place. She will never be this happy. The perfection I want for her is an illusion that eats away the reality, that makes you blind. And now it’s making me blind.

“What’s wrong?” She climbs out after me.

“Everything,” I growl, my hands locked in fists. “Get back into the car.”

Not risking my anger she complies. I grab my stuff from the front and walk down the road a little bit, purging those poisonous thoughts from my head.

Then to make sure I don’t hurt her I tilt my head up at the sky and let the blade of my knife leech out the rage.

…

“Freckles, what’s wrong with you?” I hold my gaze on the road. “Making moves on a thirty-two-year-old man like that.”

“Aha! I knew it. Thirty-two,” she exclaims, chewing on a sandwich, then turns serious. “When I want to die you accept it as normal, but when I desire something as simple as a kiss, you think I’m crazy? What is wrong with you? Have you never had whores?”

I gape, no words of denial forming on my tongue. “Desires kill people. Desires are a root of suffering.”

“How so?”

I sigh. “You fail to see the truth when you live in your dreams. It brings pain to you, and to those around you.”

“Is that’s what happened to you?”

I ignore her prodding.

She gulps down and sighs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. It’s just,” she rotates her finger around her temple,” craziness gets to me. I’m seeing things. I recalled you kissing me to snap me out of it and last night I went for it instinctively. I go with what I feel, you know. I feel like killing you, I try to do it. Feel like kissing you, try to do that too. But you’re way more accepting with the killing apparently.”

“No, kissing is better,” I grunt. “But not from you.”

“And isn’t kissing a desire? Or do you not get horny?” Her voice rings playful but cautious at the same time.

“Sex is different. It’s instinct,” I tell her.

She frowns. “How’s that? So like fucking is okay? But wanting a happy family life is not?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, you are fucked up.”

For some reason I feel insulted. “Says the girl who tries to hit on a man who murdered her sister.”

She glares at me and I level her stare. It’s warranted.

“She would’ve made it,” she bites out. “The only one of us who would’ve saved up for that college. Who could’ve provided for me and Shia. It was her dream. It kept us together while everything around fell apart.”

“And that’s why it fell apart,” I say, my tone strict. “Shut up now.”

Tension creeps into her shoulders as she stiffens, her spine straight and her face hard. Just back off, freckles— “No. Shia and I tried to keep our uncle under control, while Selena worked to achieve things. We worked on it!”

Knowing where this is going I pull over the country road and get out.

“We tried to make the reality better as well!” She doesn’t back off, striding around the car to face me. “We weren’t blind to what was going on around us. But you know when everything fell apart,” she gets into my face, her eyes rimmed with tears, “is when you killed her, Mikey. It’s not the desires that kill people. It’s you.”

I grab her shoulders and ram her into the car. “I’ll kill you.” Maybe, I finally will.

“That’s fine.” She tilts her head up at me.

The words strike me so hard even my grip on her falters. “What?”

“If you kill me that’s fine. Then that’s what I want. If I live, then I’ll make my life is worth it. Especially after all this,” she says. “I’ll adapt like I always have. And I’ll be thankful for all that you taught me.”

A few breaths escape me. “You don’t make any sense!” I hit the car with my palm. She should pick one! What is wrong with her?

When I ferret out my knife she grabs my arm. “No, stop! Don’t harm yourself!”

I pull my arm from her small hand. “Get away before I hurt you.” I lower myself to the ground, shielded by the car’s shadow.