Page 5 of Fly Back to Me
I shrug my black shacket over my long-sleeved sweater dress, standing up with Alex and Emma to make our exit.
We weave through the tables and chairs across themahogany wood floor when I ask, “Where are you guys parked?” The cool gust eventually wraps around us when we step onto the sidewalk. “I couldn’t find any parking on the main strip, so I parked in a random lot off Windom Street.”
Alex averts his attention to Emma with a prying wave. “Not a problem. We’ll come back for our cars.”
Emma nods before we walk along the sidewalk together. “Thanks,” I grumble, despising that I feel like a burden. “My sincerest apologies for not being an aggressive driver and hazing people for a parking spot. I’ll do better next time, I promise.”
“Apology accepted,” Alex teases.
After we say our goodbyes, I pull my Toyota Rav4 out of the parking spot. My eyes are trained in front of me as I reach over to the passenger seat, and I dig one hand in my crossbody. I’m sifting through random papers and small lotion bottles, only to realize my phone isn’t there.
My brows crinkle in confusion, and I apply pressure to the brake. As soon as I’m idled in the deserted lot, I click the overhead light on to search through my bag.
There’s small tubes and crumpled papers, but no phone.
“Ugh,” I grunt, punching the map light off.
I reoccupy the parking space from before, only to jab the push-stop button and open the car door. My Chelsea boots kiss the blacktop, a few scattered leaves crunching beneath them when I start walking off.
With my impatience wearing thin, I mindlessly enter the alleyway between the large buildings. I catch the withered and spray-painted brick bordering either side of me, and my pace reflexively accelerates along the unmaintained path. On instinct, I shove my hands in the pockets of my shacket, halting when my fingertips greet the plastic shell of my phone case.
Tilting my head to the dark sky, I shut my eyes as I shake my head. “Why are you so stupid sometimes, Liv?” I murmur.
I withdraw my phone completely, relief infiltrating my system. A long breath ejects from my mouth, and I tuck the device away before scrubbing my fingers through my soft curls.
When I spin around, my gaze locks on the edge of the dumpster at the end of the alleyway. My white Rav4 is just a few yards beyond it under the one and only light pole, and I sink my teeth into my bottom lip.
Discomfort knocks into me, and I realize just how murky it is without that source of light.
How much I’m starved of it in this moment.
I finally tread forward, the tapping of my boots on the ground blaring against the mass silence. A quiet I hadn’t really noticed a minute ago when my mind was thwarted.
Adrenaline vibrates through me just as the nighttime sky is cloaked in a mocking, onyx shade. My hands dive in the pockets of my shacket, my fingers curling and twisting into the fabric. A couple of my nails nearly slice through the flannel material, but the consideration is brief. Irrelevant as my subconscious gnaws at my bones.
The chafing of the dirt echoes within the confined lane. Almost piercingly until another sound crashes through.
“Hey, miss?”
My body violently jolts, heart leaping in my throat. I whip around to the gruff voice, the blood draining from my veins as my lungs rapidly deplete.
Just a few feet away, there is the silhouette of a man strolling toward me, his features sharpening under the raven-colored sky.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he coos. “Do you have a lighter?”
My throat clogs, ankles chained to the ground as my eyes rake over his six-foot-tall frame. He’s donning a white t-shirt with distressed jeans that fall over filthy boots. His dark hair is short and uncared for, whisking haphazardly in every direction.
“N-no,” I croak out, drinking in his tall and lanky stature. “I don’t smoke.”
His black cuticles appear when his fingers absently wipe over his scruffy chin, a deceitful smirk playing along his thin lips. I cautiously retreat backward, my heart pounding against my breastbone—every harsh thud fueling my steps.
My breathing falls shallow, his horrid presence latching onto my skin before I whirl around.
“You’re real pretty.”
His voice is pure sandpaper, grating the shell of my ear as a gasp tears from my mouth. My legs frantically march forward, but my efforts are futile when he circles around me.
I stumble a few steps back. “Please, you’re scaring me. Just leave me alone.”
