Page 60 of Mr. North

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Despite the years and the events that have so violently altered our lives, I still remember the way to Thalia’s building. Being inside the car feels safe somehow. I can pretend the lights, the other cars, the thousands and thousands of people swarming on the streets, aren’t really there. They’re not real. They could easily be a part of a simulation, nothing more than expertly rendered pixels all programmed to react and interact with their environment. I manage to convince myself of this as I turn through side streets, burning through red lights, my foot leaning on the gas pedal, the tires screeching as I grow closer and closer to my destination. I enter some sort of numb state, where nothing happening on the other side of the Tesla’s windshield can effect me. I’m protected here. I’m strong. I am capable. I’m going to find Beth and make sure she’s okay. I’m going to hold her in my arms. I’m going to tell her how much I love her, and everything is going to be okay. This bullshit with Paxton is going to be resolved, and we’re all going to sit down and figure this shit out once and for all. Beth will know everything there is to know about the accident, and she’ll leave well enough alone. Paxton will see Beth cares for me just as deeply as I care for her, and that she’s not after my money. As for me… I’m going to put the past behind me. Somehow, I’m going to learn how to forgive myself. No more running and hiding myself away up in my high tower. No more shying away from reality. Life is short. I’ve allowed too much time to pass me by. Now, I need to look forward. I need to work on building something truly special with Beth.

I pull up outside Thalia’s apartment, and a wave of panic lights up my nerve endings. I feel it all over my body, from the roots of my hair down to the tips of my toes. What are my friends going to do when they see me outside of the penthouse? I don’t know what the fuck I’ll do if I find them arguing like children with one another.

I don’t give a shit about leaving the car on the side of the street. I keep my head down as I hurry across the sidewalk. I don’t make eye contact with anyone. I don’t even raise my head. My hand’s on the polished brass handle of the entrance when suddenly the sound of breaking glass and crunching metal fills the air.

“Oh my god!”