“Afraid of what?” I ask, pushing for clarity. I need to understand what we’re dealing with.
“The people I got involved with… they’re not just anyone. They have connections, and they don’t care about hurting others. I saw things I shouldn’t have seen, but they wouldn’t let me go that easily.”
My blood runs cold. “What did Dustin do to you?” I demand, the rage bubbling up inside me. I can’t help but feel a deep sense of protectiveness toward her, a need to shield her from the suffering she’s faced alone.
“Hawk, don't ask me to tell you, please.” Her voice quakes, and I can see the fear and regret swirling in her eyes. “What’s done is done. Just get me back home."
The ride back to Massachusetts is quiet; Whitney refuses to speak. I'm forced to listen to songs from our childhood and sit with the memories all by myself. I know Raze and Whitney are both feeling the nostalgia, but the heavy atmosphere controls them, preventing anyone from engaging. It's not a time for celebration and smiles when regret and shame are the only things we feel. I was hoping to hold her for the ride while Raze drove, but she sits as close to the window in the backseat as she can, keeping her eyes on what's on the other side in the dark. Her monster is gone, so what is she still afraid of? Suddenly, the rhythmic thump of tires on asphalt is interruptedby the crackling of Raze’s voice breaking through the suffocating silence.
“Can we at least pull over for a moment? I need to stretch, and we could use a break.” His suggestion seems harmless enough, but I sense an underlying desperation in his tone, the kind that comes when you’re coiled too tightly and need to release some of that tension.
“Fine,” I say, keeping my eyes locked on the road as if to convince myself that everything will be alright. “Just a quick pit stop. We need to keep moving.”
The headlights from other cars weave around us, casting an eerie glow across the darkened highway. I steer us off the exit into a dimly lit gas station, the neon sign buzzing insistently. As the car comes to a stop, I notice Whitney still staring out the window, her face barely illuminated by the pale light. Raze unbuckles his seatbelt, and for a second, I contemplate whether to follow his lead or to stay right where I am—to preserve this moment, even as uncomfortable as it is.
“C'mon,” Raze urges, tilting his head toward the sign for the bathroom. “You both need air.”
I can’t argue with that; the tension in the car is suffocating me, and the weight of Whitney’s silence is palpable. I slide the seatbelt off and step out into the sharp bite of the night air. It’s too cold, like stepping into the frozen grip of uncertainty. But I need to clear my head, collect my thoughts, and figure out what comes next. Raze heads toward the gas station building, the squeak of snow beneath his boots grounding him to this reality. I glance back at Whitney, who hesitates for a moment, her eyes still fixed on whatever haunted her from the seat.
“Do you want to come with us?” I ask, trying to pull her from the shadows of her mind.
For a moment, she holds my gaze, and I see the flicker of something—maybe hope, or maybe fear. I wish I could decipher it better.
“I just need a moment,” she finally replies, her voice barely above a whisper. The way she says it seems more like a barricade than an invitation to comfort.
“Okay,” I reply, swallowing my disappointment, and step away. Raze seems to sense the rift between us and tries to coax her. “We won't be long. Just try to breathe a little. The worst is over for now.”
With that, Raze and I head toward the doors of the gas station, and I can’t help but feel that sting of isolation stretch between Whitney and me. She’s come back to us but might still be lost in the haze of what she endured—something even I might not be able to pull her out of.
Inside, the fluorescent lights hum overhead, reflecting against the linoleum flooring, making the whole place feel too stark and bright. Raze heads toward the restroom, while I aimlessly wander the aisles, searching for something to ground myself in reality—a snack, maybe, or just another burst of adrenaline in the form of soda. Time seems to stretch as I pace back and forth, lost in my thoughts. Not knowing what happened to Whitney gnaws at the edge of my mind, creating shadows of doubt that threaten to creep in. I can’t lose her again; I refuse to.
“Do you want something?” Raze appears beside me, a small bottle of water in hand, his brow furrowed. This is a side of him I haven’t seen very often—a concern that lies heavy on our usual bravado.
I shake my head. “I just… I’m worried, man. What if she goes back into her shell when we get out of here? We need her to open up.”
Raze leans against the cooler, letting out a sigh. “I know. But just give her time, Hawk. She didn't just go through some minorshit; she's been through fire and back. It’s going to take a minute for her to adjust to us again.”
I nod, running through the possibilities in my head like a movie on repeat, reliving our last days before everything imploded. It’s a vicious cycle, but I can't help myself. “It wasn't supposed to be like this,” I murmur, more to myself than to Raze. “We were supposed to be there.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Raze asks, his voice sharper than I expected. “You’re not alone in this struggle. Remember why we’re pushing forward. For her. For us.”
His words echo within me, forcing me to confront the icy grip of guilt that has woven its way through my soul. “You’re right,” I admit finally, my voice nearly catching. “We’ll figure it out together. We just have to keep her safe.”
As we head back to the car, I can’t shake Whitney’s image from my mind—the way she looked just an hour ago, the uncertainty etched in her brow. I only hope she’s finding the strength to wrestle with her demons tonight. When we step outside, I half-expect to find her still nestled in the back seat, but instead, I see her standing outside the car, shivering slightly, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. In that moment, she seems lost once more—tiny and vulnerable against the vast emptiness surrounding her.
“Hey,” I call softly, my heart aching at the sight. “We’re back.”
She turns, her expression unreadable, but the flicker of relief that washes over her features reassures me that we’re still in this together.
“I didn’t want to sit alone,” she admits, her voice small, almost fragile against the chill night air. “I thought if I stayed in there, I’d just… disappear.”
“What? You could never disappear,” I say firmly, stepping closer, closing the distance between us. “You’re too important for us to let go.”
The tension in her shoulders eases ever so slightly, and she takes a breath, the cold air visible as it escapes her lips. “I don’t know what I’ll do if—”
“We won’t let them get you again, Whitney. You’re safe with us.” My words feel strong and defiant, and for a brief moment, I see flickers of her usual spirit returning.
“Promise?” she asks, her voice trembling with a hint of vulnerability.
