She Goes Away

Foolish Girl

Spittle sprayed my face as the man said, "That's enough." He grabbed my arm and I noticed the dried streak of blood on it from the previous bleed. "Looks like ya fowled up and done chose the wrong person to call. Let me guess, his lips are now plastered on a bottle of whiskey instead of on yers? Or is it his head is already in the can?"

I stammered, "How...wha...what are you talking about?"

He swiped his hand in the air, as if to dismiss me. "Bah! Teenagers are all the same. Impulsive know-nothings. Are ya really broke down?"

"Mentally, yes," I wanted to say. Instead, I couldn't stop sniffing back blood. This old guy probably figured me for a druggy, up to no good. And maybe I had fabricated that my car broke down, but I couldn't very well tell him that I endeavored to walk to my ex-boyfriend's house nearly eight miles away from my own. It sounded unbelievable, even to me. "You're probably thinking it, but I want you to know I don't do drugs, sir. I swear. The sniffing...I get chronic nose bleeds. It's a condition I have," I said, my heart kicking at my ribs.

Wiggling my arm free from his grasp, I backed away slowly and made my way toward the door.

"Yer a foolish girl." His strong reaction continued to alarm me. I'd been nothing but nice coming in. "There's only one way this ends," he snarled.

"What does that even mean? I only wanted to use your phone. If you let me use it one more time, I'll speak with my parents and they will pick me up."

"You've had yer chance. I told ya to stay away from Jack."

"How do you know about him? You're a psychopath!"

His eyes bulged in menace. When he reached out to grab me again, I threw open the door and escaped. Dashing for the driveway, I looked back to see if he followed. Horror struck, an image of him pulling the axe from the stump and coming after me with it, made my mouth dryer than before. It became difficult to swallow.

Thankfully, he avoided the axe, but went to the garage and untied his dog from a post. He's going to let that mutt loose on me. I'll be mauled. Instead, the dog got led into his beat-up Ford truck. I stopped cold when the high-beams turned on, blinding me. This crazy hillbilly meant to run me down.

With all my might, I reached the end of the driveway and darted into the ditch on the right-hand side like a rabbit trying to escape a fox. This type of thing just didn't happen in real life. You watched scenes like this in the movies. But this wasn't Hollywood. Nobody was acting. I'm going to die.

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Holly