A knock on the door sounded and she hopped from the bed, eager to get her delivery. The guy standing in front of the door handed her a warm pizza box, the tang of pepperoni and warm dough seeping through the cardboard to meet her. She handed him some bills, as he passed her over a bag containing the sides and dessert.
“Thanks. Keep the change.”
She gently closed the door and carried the items over to the desk like sacred possessions. Opening the pizza box, she inhaled the scent of fried food and felt like she was home. The chicken wings were just right; enough crunch to the skin without being overly greasy, and the pizza dough was light, with pepperoni, ham, sausage, and meatballs on top. She used the dips to dunk the crusts into, relishing every mouthful.
When all that was left was a greasy smear on the bottom of the cardboard box, she poured herself a soda and took the ice cream tub from the bag. She had a couple of teaspoons with the coffee and kettle the motel supplied, so she took them to the bathroom sink and scrubbed them to make sure they were clean. Then she carried the spoons and tub to the bed and settled her laptop in front of her.
The ice cream was just how she liked it, melted around the edges of the tub, so she started there and worked her way inward.
Ryker was right. Gianni’s did great food.
She pushed away the painful surge the thought of Ryker had generated. She needed to forget she’d ever met him. That was the only way she’d get through this. It was going to be hard getting her car back and having to see him again, but perhaps she could ask if the other guy—Sam—could handle it?
Jenna imagined how hurt Ryker would be if she didn’t even want to see him long enough to say goodbye, and knew she’d never be able to make such a request.
With a stomach full of food and a carb overdose, combined with the early start and all the emotion of the day, Jenna found she struggled to keep her eyes open. She pushed everything littering the bed to the floor and curled up on her side, pulling the blankets over her body.
Within two minutes, she was asleep.
***
She was back outside of the bar again.
A couple of guys were lit by a yellow glow flooding from the bar doorway, their faces obscured by the cloud of smoke from their cigarettes. Help! She wanted to call to them. Help me! But when she opened her mouth no sound came out.
Instead, she found herself unwillingly turning to face the vehicle in which she had almost died. It was as if she were on a revolving platform and it swiveled around to position her in front of the car door. Her hand reached out and opened the door.
No, stop it. Don’t get in there!
But she didn’t seem to have any control over her body. She slid into the seat, settling herself behind the wheel.
You can’t drive! You’ve been drinking!
No, no I haven’t. But she was confused. Have I? She couldn’t taste alcohol, but she might have had a glass of wine or two. Was that enough to put her over the limit?
Whether she had or not, she found the key in the ignition and turned it, the car rumbling to life. Garrett is going to be furious when he finds out I’ve taken his car. Yet she was incapable of doing anything else.
She put the car into gear and started to drive out of the parking lot. She craned her neck, staring helplessly at the two men standing outside of the bar. I know them, she thought. I know who they are now. Yet she couldn’t remember their names or the reason why she knew them.
She took the same road into town where she’d been in the accident, helpless to do anything other than follow the same route.
I don’t want to be here. It’s going to happen again.
Movement came from behind her. Someone leaned over the back seat and spoke against the back of her head. “You know you’re about to die, right?”
Garrett!
Jenna froze, her fingers tight around the steering wheel, her knuckles white. Her heart pounded and her breath came in short gasps.
No, she wanted to say. I don’t die. I don’t!
A second figure leaned forward, over the back of the passenger seat, his forearms locked around the headrest, his fingers casually linked together. She recognized the pattern of tattoos covering his skin, the thick silver ring on his finger.
“The fat bitch deserves to die,” Ryker said, humor in his tone. “She’s so fucking dumb.”
No, that isn’t you talking, Ryker. That was Garrett’s voice. The things he used to say.
“Yeah,” laughed Garrett. “Stupidest fat bitch I’ve ever met.”
The headlights of the car illuminated the dark road. The trees either side appeared to create a tunnel through which she sped.
“Faster, little bitch,” Garrett spat in her ear. “You might as well end it. No one is ever going to love you anyway.”