Page 46 of Run
I feel the bite of the cigarette as it burns into the skin on my back. I scrunch my eyes closed and swallow a strangled groan.
Don’t cry. Don’t let him see you cry.
Of all the things going on in this moment, what I focus on is the song that starts to play in the background. It’s one of my favorites, and it’s either going to save me, taking me away from this moment, or it’s going to be something else I love that is ruined.
I’m not sure how many times he burns me, or for how long I’m lying there as he does it, but eventually he eases up from me and sits back on his heels and, I assume, admires his handiwork.
Taking the opportunity, while he thinks I’ve given up and given into the pain, I buck him off, causing him to roll over and into the coffee table. I scramble to my feet and head toward the door, pulling it open and running into the hallway. Soon, I’m crashing through the exterior doors and into the darkness.
My arms and legs pump as each stride takes me farther away from the apartment, and my mind swirls as the reality that I will never be able to run far enough or fast enough sinks in. This is my life. I will never be able to outrun Axel, or Sean, or all the other Axels and Seans in the world.
Pointy little pebbles on the concrete bite into my bare feet as I cross an abandoned parking lot and push through a broken fence, then cross a street and keep running.
Am I stupid, or cursed? Or just un-fucking lucky?
Slowing my pace as a cramp sets in, I fold over, holding my stomach, unable to catch my breath—which is not like me. I run all the time and never run out of breath. I’ve been running my whole life. Maybe this is my body’s way of telling me it’s done. I can’t do this anymore.
Straightening up on the sidewalk amid a bunch of small, run-down houses placed close together, I hear music off in the distance and see lights on here and there. I suck in huge gulpsof air that burn my lungs with each intake. Unable to control my breathing or my mind, my limbs shake with the itch to keep running, and the sudden realization that all I’m doing is running in circles.
Squeezing my eyes shut and wrapping my arms around myself, I let the darkness—literal and figurative—wrap its arms around me like a comforting blanket.
A car gets closer and then passes by, sending a whoosh of air that brushes my hair against my neck, reminding me of the times I would run on the backroads and guess how close a car was, and wonder how far of a step I would have to take to be in its path.
And if I would have the courage to take that step.
Eyes closed, arms clenched tightly around my middle, my tired feet shuffle a little closer to the road. The sidewalk turns to grass before I reach the curb, and my toes curl around the concrete where it drops off while I take hesitant steps onto the roadway. My feet aren’t the only part of me that is tired. My mind, my heart, my soul are all exhausted.
An engine sounds in the distance, getting louder as it approaches, and I wonder how close I could get …
My feet shuffle under me, taking little steps further into the road.
I’m so tired of this life. I wonder what it’s like to just let go.
The vehicle sounds closer as I shuffle a little further. How close is it now? A few hundred yards? A few feet?
And then something foreign happens. I freeze as I unwrap my arms from around my body and raise a hand to my face and wipe away the wetness streaming down.
Tears. The final give from my body, my heart, my soul.
I take one more quick step, and hear the screech of tires.
CHAPTER 16
ARI
It’s constant. A sound in the distance. Beeping. Measured and slow. Warmth creeps into the edges of the darkness, bleeding into the nothingness at a pace so leisurely I almost can’t tell it’s happening.
But it is.
Slowly, the pitch black gives way to light. My throat tightens and releases, mouth parting as air tickles my dry lips and I inhale a shallow breath. My eyelids crack open, and for a moment all I can see are slivers of muted color through clumpy eyelashes.
I scrunch my eyes then force them open, only to quickly snap them shut again. Reopening them, I have to turn my head away from the light above. I try to pull my hand up to block the light,but it gets tangled in tubes and IVs. Smacking my lips together, I swallow a few times.
Feet shuffle off to the side and I turn to see a nurse in pink scrubs backing up just outside the door and peering into the room. “Oh! You’re awake! I’ll alert the doctor right away. He’s been waiting to officially meet you.”
I smack my lips some more and try to blink away the cloudiness in my mind, peering around the small hospital room. My feet are tucked securely under a stiff and starchy white blanket, which is wrapped tightly around my legs and sides, all the way up under my armpits.
“What a pleasant surprise.” A masculine voice draws my attention to the door where a man in a white coat over blue scrubs stands, one hand on the doorframe, the other gripping a stethoscope around his neck. He has a full head of graying hair. “I’m Doctor Powell.” He plucks a clipboard out of the little holder on the door and wheels a stool over, then sits down and lowers the rail on the side of the bed. “You, my dear, are a miracle. What’s your name?”
