I drive extra careful on the way home checking the rearview mirror approximately every 2.5 seconds. Bile rises in my throat and I want to pull over to throw up but I can’t let you know the extent of the damage that asshole has done. Equally, I can’t be sure he won’t be there on the side of the road waiting. I wouldn’t put it past that sick bastard to follow us home. But then why would he? He already has our information. You don’t know this, of course. You think I gave him the fake ID’s and I meant to, I really did. Until I couldn’t find yours, and well, I was so worried about you taking the beating, that I did what I had to do in the moment.
“Did he hurt you?” you ask once again. You slur your words as you speak, and your gaze is off. Understandably. Still, it’s starting to worry me the w
