Veah glances at me, her dark eyes brightening, and the cars ahead part for us like the sea of Moses. It might have something to do with the way she rams our convertible right into the truck in front of us.
You’re going to get us sued ! I protest, looking back at the driver as she becomes smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. I see something in her handa phoneand it takes me two seconds to put it together.
Oh, lovely. We’re about to have the police on our tails, too.
Let’s throw a party, shall we ?
Did you, or did you not, tell me to drive faster ? She is still grinning, as though both the Mafia and the police are of no concern to her. And maybe they shouldn’t beI’ve seen her fight.
I stop complaining.
The airport, from a distance, is a one-story building shrouded in palm trees and open, white columns.
From the runway, I see an airplane incline towards the sky, dipping into the clouds.
The airport. Maybe I should have asked her why it is we are going to the airport.
I open my mouth, but the car jerks to a stop on the outskirts of the parking lot.
Can you run ? she asks, unbuckling her seat belt.
I thought we already established this ! I’m already out of the convertible, and from behind us, I see a sleek black car running over a shopping cart. An old woman screams.
She looks to me, and somehow, I already know what she’s asking.
For someone who can’t run, you’re pretty fast, she remarks, crashing through the doors of the airport.
Could be the threat of oncoming death, kidnapping, or possibly terrorists. Pick one.
She grabs my hand, and I’m too out of breath to even protest.
Before the security guards can see, we are already in the bathroomVeah drags me into a stall, pressing me up against the wall.
We are so close our breaths intertwine. So close I can hear the roar of my heartbeat, echoing hers.
Maybe she isn’t as athletic as I thought. Maybe that’s why her heart is racing.
But she’s not panting, like I am. Her eyes are staring deep into mine, as though she can’t believe I’m real. As though maybe she’s staring at a ghost.
Stop it, I whisper.
Stop what ?
Looking at me like that.
Like what ?
I scowl. You know what !
She is making this ridiculously hard. I should have already ditched her by nowI should have already run in the opposite direction. Why am I still here ?
We have toto get out of here, I whisper, and I don’t know why I’m whispering.
This moment feels like stitched glasssharp and breakable and on the verge of falling apart. But desperately, preciously beautiful.
Her mouth is so soft, and all it would take is a single lean. A single breath, sealed.
Safer to stay here and hide, she whispers back.
No, no, no. This is all wrong. I have to get out of hereI have to go.
I have to think of Cassie. I have to get my priorities straight.
I’m going to go check, I say, and before she can stop me, my trembling hand unlocks the door to the stall. I slip out before she can grab me and add, I’ll be right back.
It’s a lie.
The moment I’m out of the bathroom, I walk too fast to be casual, finding a crowd to lose myself in.
At the entrance of the airport, I see Japanese men in suits, barking out orders, scanning through people with their sharp gazes.
Oh, shit.
They’re here. They’re looking for us.
They’re looking for her, I remind myself. They won’t want me.
But it doesn’t quell the edge of panic. My eyes dart nervously towards the businessmen who begin to disperse into the crowd. Striding purposefully in all directions.
Do I look suspicious ? I might.
I’m the only one here who doesn’t have a luggage. Or an airplane ticket. Or even a phone.
They won’t want me, I think. Now that I’m not with Veah.
I can’t convince myself. I can’t stop the doubt from clouding into my mind, seeping through me. Quickly, I tap on the shoulder of a woman with a pink suitcase.
She turns around, her blonde hair shiny and almost painfully bright. Can I help you ?
Her name tag says Karen.
II’m On the run from the Yakuza. No, I don’t think that one would go over so well.
Her husband says, Come on, dear. The line has moved up.
She gives me a last scorching look, as though I’m on LSD and I’m not worth her time.
Okay, I think. Okay, fine.
I don’t need her help. I don’t need anyone’s help.
Which is exactly when I notice a slender, sinuous man in an all-black tuxedo, striding in my direction. There are sunglasses masking his eyes, but they don’t conceal the snake tattoo that winds up towards his temple.
I start to back away. This is not good.
Maybe you shouldn’t have left the only person who was protecting you behind, suggests my common sense.
She’s the reason I’m in my mess, I fire back.
But I don’t have time to argue with myself. The snake-tattooed man is coming closer, and I know now without a doubt his target is me.
I slip out of the airport line and duck behind a potted plant.
PrayI should start praying. Does manifestation work ? Can I manifest this potted plant into something that will actually cover me ?
You don’t see me. You don’t see me.
I don’t think it’s working.
A tattooed hand is suddenly hot against my mouth, and I feel the cold, metallic press of a gun to my ribcage.
You’re going to follow me now, like a good girl, and you’re not going to scream.