Schizofriendly

He was suicidal when i met him, so I can't really blame myself for much. Running into him was an accident; it was merely by chance. But honest to God, it was the best chance I've ever gotten.

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4. ~4~

"Y-you... you're... the stranger from before," I stutter.

"And you're the girl from the news," he looks down at me with those dark, cold eyes. "And there seems to be a pretty hefty reward for your return."

 

My breath hitches in my throat. Of course no one would help a runaway. I stand up, backing away from him and up against the opposite wall.

 

"Please," my voice is weak as he moves toward me.

"Please," my voice is desperate now that his hands are on my shoulders. "Don't turn me in." The tears have finally spilled over.

"Turn you in? Hmm... why shouldn't I?"

"I--" my throat closes, my voice cracking, "I can't go back to him! Please don't make me." I slump against the wall, his arms being the only thing to hold me up. "He hates me; he'll kill me if I go back ther--"

"I'm not going to turn you in," he says clearly.

"W-what?" I look into his eyes, seeing only a hard gaze.

"I said, I'm not going to turn you in," he repeats.

"You're not? But then why--"

"Shh, we've gotta get you outta here," he pulls on my arm, but I refuse to move. He gives me an exasperated look. "Do you want the cops to find you?"

 

I shake my head "no" in reply.

 

"Well then, let's go!" he yells, me following after.

 

~O~

 

My insides twist and moan loudly as we sit in the cab of his truck. I hug myself in embarrassment.

"Hungry?" he teases.

"Yeah," I blush, "I dropped all my food running from the cops."

"Oh. Well, I might have some crackers in the dash or something."

I lean over, pulling open the dashboard. There, a large handgun and some scattered ammunition lays about. I quickly shut it back.

 

Who is this guy?

 

"Find 'em?" he asks.

"Nope," I squeak.

"Sorry then."

I fold my hands in my lap, trying to avoid eye contact (or contact in general) at all costs. The cab is silent and uncomfortable; the awkwardness palpable.

 

Who is he? Why is he helping me? And most of all, why do I feel I can trust him?

 

I have to say something.

"So, uh--"

"Evan."

"What?"

"My name is Evan."

"Okay... I'm--"

"Shae. Yeah, I'm aware."

 

I blush.

 

"Um, Evan?"

He smirks at me before eying the road once again. "Yes?"

Where exactly are we going?"

"Somewhere safe. Well, safer than there anyways."

"But, why?"

He gives me a sidelong glance, repositioning his hands on the wheel. "You ask too many questions."

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