Page 50 of Forever After Fall

“I’m not your girlfriend. I’m your ex. You need to leave.”

“You aren’t my ex. Not really. You know this baby. We’re never really over. You know that as well as me.” His tone turns to coaxing but I’m in no mood to be cajoled into feeling an ounce of sympathy or loyalty to him. Even if I was single, and I’m not, I wouldn’t want anything to do with him anymore.

“I’m pretty sure when you went to prison, we were really over. Besides, you dumped me, remember?”

“I had to pretend to so I could get her help.”

“Whose help?”

“Never mind. Just tell me where we can go. I need to take cover for a while. Until this blows over.” He motions to the jumpsuit he has on like it’s self-explanatory.

“No,” I insist, holding my ground. I hear voices coming closer outside, not close enough that I can tell who they belong to, but close enough that it makes Chris startle. I see the fear on his face, and he snatches my arm and drags me toward the steps.

“Let’s go!”

“No. I will scream if you don’t let me go, Chris. Let me fucking go!” I start to raise my voice, and then suddenly, seemingly from out of nowhere, he pulls a gun and points it at me.

“Don’t you dare fucking scream. I came here to get you. So we could run away together. Now you’re going to fucking out me? What the fuck, Bristol?” He seems genuinely confused that I’m not excited to see him.

“Just let me go. I won’t say anything to anyone,” I beg him, trying to use my weight as a counter to his, but he just drags me up the stairs with him.

“No. You’re coming with me. I did all this for you.”

“What are you talking about? What did you do?” I ask as he drags me along with him. I’m not sure I really want the answer. I can barely believe this is happening.

When we reach the second floor, he leans against the wall to peek past the shades at the window, watching what’s unfolding outside. He pins me to his chest, not letting me have any room to run from him. I don’t know whether to hope for a rescue or not. I want help, but I don’t want it at the expense of someone surprising Christ and him using that gun.

“Is there another floor?” he asks. “From the outside, it looked like there was a third floor.”

“I think there’s an attic,” I answer truthfully. I haven’t been in it, but I’m pretty sure I remember seeing an attic door tucked into the ceiling in one of the rooms.

“Take me to it.” He urges me on, and as he tugs at me, it twists my wrist, and I whimper in pain. “I don’t want to hurt you, Bristol. I just want to get somewhere safe before someone finds us.”

I clutch my wrist to my chest as he follows me closely, nudging me with the gun and making me hurry through the narrow hallway of the old house. I push to the right, opening the door, and look up to see the dangling chain of the attic door.

“There.” I nod.

He doesn’t waste time, pulling it down and letting the stairs drop. They nearly thud on the floor, save for him catching it with his foot. That’s when I notice his leg. There’s blood on it, dripping down and soaking through his pants. He’s hurt. Badly, if the amount of blood is any indication.

“What happened?” I ask just as the downstairs front door squeaks open.

“Get up there.” He pushes me toward the rickety ladder, and I glance up into the dark void above our heads. There’s a small stream of light that streaks overhead. I’m guessing there’s a missing board or a small window that’s letting some sunshine in. But otherwise, it’s going to be pitch-black and likely to have some friends with eight legs or wings that I’d rather not meet again.

“Chris, please.” I try to plead with him one last time, but he refuses to listen, driving me forward with a shove of his hand and the reminder that he’s holding the gun in the other.

He follows me up and, with some effort, pulls the attic door closed behind us. I’m hoping he can’t get it set back into place before whoever came in the front door reaches the top floor. But I hear Anson’s muffled voice call my name just as the door slips shut.

“Don’t say a word.” Chris breathes against my cheek as he holds the gun to my chin. I nod in understanding. I’m as scared for Anson as I am for myself.

He never liked Anson. I suppose now he’d say all his fears were proven, given the way Anson and I have ended up. But I think he would have hated him regardless for being all the things he could never be.

I hear him call my name again, pacing around the floor one more time before his muted footsteps disappear. I’m trying to tell myself not to cry or panic just yet, but my brain is already doing the calculus about how long we can stay here. Chris has hard limits to his patience. I’m not sure what he wants or where he thinks we’ll go after this, but I can’t argue too much more than I have before he starts getting pissed.

Where we go next―I don’t even want to think about that. I have no idea where he’s planning or how he thinks we’ll get there when he’s bleeding. I have no money or assets to speak of. I poured everything extra I had into Many Moons and her inner secrets. Profits are starting to turn, but I had to spend all of those on hiring someone new to help with the additional work and hours. That means my bank account is looking scarce. It’s nothing I can’t handle on a regular week, but in the bright light of a getaway fund, it’s going to look meager at best. So here’s hoping he’s not counting on me for cash.

Once Chris is sure Anson’s gone, he turns to me.

“Where’s my truck?”