Loving Scarlett

Chapter Two: Headlights

I opened my mouth to say as much, but I snapped it shut just as quickly when I realized exactly what he had just said to me.

Home.

He called whatever place we were going "home".

It wasn't home. My home was back in Bridgeport with my father and my friends. I would never have another home.

I didn't want a different home. I wanted my home.

"Okay," was all I said to him in a clipped voice, my mind wandering elsewhere. Wandering to the text books I'd read at the request of one of my many tutors when I'd studied basic psychology.

Out of curiosity, I'd read farther than I'd needed to for the credit. Near the end was a chapter on criminal psychology, explaining how such individual's minds work. I'd read every word of course, and in this moment, I was grateful I had.

I couldn't remember the exact text— my mind was too fogged— but, I remembered the main point.

Criminals often dehumanize their victims, as a way of dissociating from the horrible acts they commit. Which is why when faced by someone dangerous, many people tend to try and remind the criminal that they are in fact human, just like them.

Their was no doubt in my mind that this man didn't see me as a person. I was an just object, a toy he was set on having all for himself. He knew I had a family and friends who would miss me, and he's used that against me. There had to be something about me he didn't know, something that could make him rethink his plans for me.

I opened my mouth, and words stumbled out. "I—I'm anemic. I ha—have—" I swallowed down a gulp of stale air, trying with every nerve in my body to stop shaking like a leaf. "I hit my head— I hit my head hard. If I'm bleeding, I might not stop."

His voice was neutral and flat, entirely unconcerned by the suggestion I may have been bleeding internally. "You just said you're fine. Make up your damn mind."

"I— Everything is fuzzy. I can't think straight."

"Then stop fucking thinking," he snapped. Any hint of the faux-care he'd shown before was gone now.

Maybe I had pushed too much.

My gaze flickered down to my still bloody hands. "I—I'm sorry. I just— I figured I'm no good to you if I'm dead."

He let out a cruel laugh, the shock of it in the quiet cab making me flinch. "Well, if you think I'm just going to let you die so easy, you've got another thing coming, Angel. Just remember what happens to your precious friends if you do something as stupid as that."

He'd kill them. Or worse, he'd take them and hurt them too. How could I forget?

All you're doing is making it worse. You said you'd be good, so shut up and just stop trying.

The voice in my head was right. I was here for a reason. I agreed to give up.

So why couldn't I do just that? Why was I still fighting the inevitable?

Because you want to live, a tiny voice said, softer than I was used to. This wasn't my anxiety or my fears talking. This was different, the voice more... loving. It was oddly familiar.

It sounded like my mother.

Tears sprung to my eyes, welling up as I resisted the urge to cover my mouth and sob.