have minded him paying a little more attention to getting her off.
And then, just when she thought he was about to finish, he put his hands around her neck and tightened them so she almost—but not quite—lost consciousness. She struggled at first, clawing at his back, gripping his hands and trying to pry them away from her neck, but the struggle only seemed to excite him more, and the lack of oxygen to her brain made her weaker and weaker until she finally went limp. He let go long enough to shove his cock in her mouth and call her a fucking whore as he came, and then he kissed her on the cheek—not the mouth, not after she’d swallowed—and rolled over and went to sleep.
She took her clothes into the living room and, body huddled from the air-conditioning, pulled on her jeans and hooked her bra and slipped her shirt over her head, keeping her head very still as she did, so as not to strain her sore neck. There would be bruises in the morning, bruises she’d dot carefully with concealer to avoid answering the inevitable questions—jokes, more likely—from the guys at the bar.
He hadn’t asked if she was into that sort of thing. He’d clearly just assumed she would be or hadn’t cared if she wasn’t. So much for the sensitive-singer-songwriter bullshit. He was just another straight-up asshole in a long line of assholes who took what they wanted without bothering to ask. She was sick and tired of it. She remembered the music journalist back at the bar saying Jake was just about to land a big tour, that he’d be a national name in a couple of months. No wonder he thought he could get away with this kind of shit.
This time, she decided, it was going to cost him.
She ordered a Lyft from the curb outside his apartment. Nine minutes away: plenty of time. She pulled a notebook and a pen out of her bag and made a few notes. By the time the car arrived, she was halfway to writing the article that would change her life.
Amherst, Texas—278 Miles to Albuquerque
Rebecca had watched the silhouette of the city disappear in the side-view mirror until it was swallowed up by the night sky. Only then did she let herself take a full breath.
It was easier now that they were out of Lubbock. It was the first step, and the biggest.
When the Jeep had pulled up outside the house, she’d sat in the dark of their bedroom, hands folded neatly in her lap, and listened to the faint rumble of the Jeep’s engine. This was what she had wanted—what she had carefully planned—but now that it was here, she was paralyzed. Five minutes passed, then ten. They had told her the driver would wait for twenty minutes—no longer. At the fifteen-minute mark, she grabbed her bag and ran to the door. If she hesitated for even a second, she knew she’d never make it. When she stepped out into the freezing night, there was no bolt of lightning waiting to strike. No corrective zap from an electric fence. Just a girl in a Jeep, waiting for her.
Rebecca couldn’t believe how quiet the neighborhood was at that time of night. The low thrum of the engine and the distant cry of a skulk of foxes. She could hear her heart pounding in her chest as she checked the lock on the door, and the soft pad of her footsteps as she walked across the pavement. It was easy, in the end.
Still, the same worries snagged in her head. What if he comes home early? What if someone found out my plans and told him? They promised total confidentiality over the phone, but I know how people operate. No one can be trusted, especially not if there might be money involved. And with this, there would be.
Rebecca looked over at the girl. She was young: somewhere in her mid-twenties. Just a baby, really. She had expected someone older. It felt strange being driven by someone so much younger, a reversal of the natural order.
She turned her eyes back to the road. Nothing. Nothing. Silo. Nothing. Nothing. Storage unit. She felt tiny out here, like one of those paper dolls she had played with as a girl.
Nearly three years in Texas and the place still felt as strange and alien as it had the first time she’d set foot in it.