Then it’s night again.
We’re in the back of an old truck.The seat belt digs into my ribs.My chest burns.I can’t breathe.Can’t move.My lungs scream.And she laughs as if we’re just two kids messing around.Like I’m not breaking apart inside.
The truck moves.
Toward the lake.
I want to ask for help.I want her not to leave me.I reach for her—grabbing air.
“Please,” I whisper.
She turns her face away, opens the door, and steps out.
“Don’t leave,” I beg.
But she doesn’t stop.She fucking leaves me behind.
I try to scream her name.Attempt to say it—Don’t go, take me with you.I almost tell her I love her.Almost.
I don’t know why I’m begging.
I should be able to get out.
I should be strong enough to leave.
But I can’t move.
The truck hits the water.
The sound is deafening.Metal twisting.Water rushing in.
I thrash, but it’s useless.Panic claws up my throat.I open my mouth, and the lake fills me.
I’m drowning.
Not just in water—but in the knowing that I’m going to die alone.
Then—
I’m back on the rock.
Same drizzle.
Same numb burn in my body.
But this time, I remember.I’ve been here before.
I know now.
I’m trapped.
And it’s breaking something loose inside me.
I slam my fists into the dirt.“Let me out,” I roar.
Nothing.
I scream her name, but it doesn’t sound like a name anymore.Doesn’t sound like anything.Just a noise.A howl that doesn’t belong to a person.