Going 78 Miles Per Hour | ✓

22 | Toyota, Ford, Mustang

There was more I wanted to do today. Since we started at eight-thirty because of her shift—I wanted to test her on the road. Nothing too big, maybe just to see if she was listening and following my directions when I was driving behind the wheel. I wanted to see how she would do with reversing and driving.

But that's far from my head at this moment.

I don't want to teach her how to drive—I want to know what the fuck is going on at home.

So, I unlock the parking brake and put the gearshift in reverse. I easily maneuver out of the empty parking lot and shift into drive, heading onto the road.

Dahlia grabs the seatbelt buckled over her shoulder and her eyes widen, "w-what are you going?"

"We're not finishing the lesson today." I declare, taking a turn at the traffic light. "Don't worry, I'm not fucking kidnapping you."

"Harlow." She mumbles, her tone etched in panic. "I don't want to go anywhere with you—if we're not going to finish the lesson, then take me home."

"No."

"No?"

"No," I confirm. "We're not going home."

She doesn't respond and I spare her a quick glance. She looks reluctant to the whole situation—her shoulder slouch, her eyes watching the road as if each move might cause be our last—but honestly, I don't fucking care.

It sounds like an asshole move—and it is—but it's the only way.

There's a trick to Dahlia that I've learnt.

You could be the rudest, foulest, worst son of a bitch on the planet. You could threaten and belittle her to reveal her situation at home—but she will never tell you.

Not until she's ready.

━━━━━

SÁBADO
10:42 PM

Reid Harlow

"You took me to a grocery store?" Dahlia queries, raising a dark brow in my direction. She turns away from the large building that stretches across three parking lots. The K-Mart logo is hung against the beige concrete wall, emphasized through bright neon lights of red and green—underlined with a fine white. From this distance, I could see the newspapers pinned on the bulletin boards, flapping against the wind while old customers brush past them, approaching the automatic glass doors.

"What? You've never been here before?" I taunt, which isn't far from the truth. We're on the outskirt of our city, nearing the edge of the next state. If basing on assumptions, I wouldn't be surprised if Dahlia never explored this far into the city before.

Unlike me, who've been dropped on every fucking square inch of the state.

"No..." She mumbles, sparing a second glance at the store. She turns back to me. "What are we doing here?"

"I have to check something out," I explain, dancing on the line between honesty and a white lie. "My foster family does grocery shopping every two weeks and each kid gets a turn."

Dahlia hums in reply, but I don't correct her that it wasn't my week. It was Presley. Someone I have to text for the list.

"Come on," I usher, nodding my head towards the store, stuffing my hands into my pockets as I walk. I took a couple of strides, before I realized Dahlia wasn't following. I stop.

She's standing in the middle of the parking lot, and hasn't moved an inch from her original spot. She looks to the ground, her shoulders slouch and her mind must've been racing with hundreds of thoughts.