Chapter 49 Amara
AMARA
“Are you sleeping?”
Electra’s voice fills the dark room. I roll over to face her. Obviously, she is staying over. The fact that Ransome left in the middle of the night tells me something is going on. Something I probably don’t want to know about.
But that’s fine. I’ve got enough to deal with as is.
“No,” I admit.
Electra looks at her phone. “It’s 2 A.M.” She sighs. “And I’m too wired to sleep.”
“I am too,” I sigh. “I’m glad you’re here though.”
She rolls to face me as well and smiles. “This is like old times. Sleepovers in high school when your dad was gone and I’d come over. Your siblings were all asleep, and we’d stay up late eating snacks and watching music videos.”
“How could I forget? I’m pretty sure Harry Styles’ voice is embedded in my frontal lobe for eternity, whether my musical taste has changed or not.”
“And the Jonas Brothers,” she adds, then starts singing sotto voce. “We go together…”
I laugh and shake my head. “God, I forgot about that. It’s been years.”
“A lifetime.”
“Remember all the junk food we ate? Slim Jims and Otterpops and pickles.”
“And those little pizza bagels,” she adds.
“It was disgusting.”
“It was,” she agrees.
“I’m hungry,” I admit.
“Me too,” she says, and we both laugh.
I push myself to sit up and unplug my phone from the charger.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Looking up this Thai place,” I say. “It’s kind of in a sketchy area, but the food is so good. I found it when I was working as a waitress at a diner when I was like eighteen. I got sick of burnt burgers and soggy fries and I’d go to the Thai place instead. They gave me free gyoza every time.”
“That sounds so good,” she says, sitting up. “You think they’re open?”
“They’re open till 4 A.M.,” I say, but then I frown. “Damn. They only deliver until midnight.”
Electra taps her finger to her lips. “We could go get it?”
I look at her. “I don’t know. After everything that’s happened, Ransome would murder me if I left the house.”
“I mean, I get it. But also, we aren’t children,” she argues, very much sounding like the old Electra.
“Aren’t you worried about Sean?”
She shakes her head. “He’s probably drunk. Or at a strip club. Or drunk at a strip club. Either way, he’s never around this time of night. I bet he’s already written me off.”
I’m still hesitant. But at the same time, I want to do something fun. And being in this house feels like a prison right now. I feel like a sitting duck. A hungry sitting duck.
“Alright. Let’s go.”
Electra squeals, a sound that I very much appreciate after everything that’s happened.
Turns out, getting out of a house that is meant to keep people out is just as hard as breaking in.
But after following all the security steps, we are home free, cruising down the dark streets, Thai food bound.
For old times’ sake, we listen to music as we drive, blasting the Jonas Brothers and One Direction.
We also throw All The Single Ladies in there just for kicks, since Electra is very much done with Sean.
She’s planning on filing a restraining order tomorrow and reporting his ass.
Thank God.
We go a little crazy at the restaurant, ordering panang curry—this baby loves spicy food—and pad Thai, plus drunken noodles and Singapore noodles with duck.
The place itself is definitely a little on the janky side, but in contrast, the people are nice and there’s a sign on the window that says Voted number one Thai restaurant in the city.
Is it true? I don’t know. But it smells true.
It’s also busy. Despite it being 2:30 A.M., it’s almost shoulder to shoulder inside.
“I vote we take it back home,” I tell her as they hand us the stapled brown paper bag.
“Good call,” she agrees. Before we left, she put some makeup on, and is wearing my hoodie to cover up the bruises. She keeps her head low, not making eye contact with anyone.
We worm our way out the door, excusing ourselves every time we need to slip past someone. Electra goes in front of me, her eyes on the floor.
Just as I’m about to go through the door, my shoulder clips someone else’s hard.
“I’m sorry,” I say, nearly dropping the food.
The man is wearing a black hoodie, the hood pulled up and his face is down. He doesn’t say anything, but he does hold the door open.
“Thanks,” I say carefully, hurrying towards the car. I am suddenly feeling the urge to get home.
“That was crazy,” Electra says. “But it’s so going to be worth it. It smells amazing.”
“Yes it does,” I agree.
I put the car in drive and head back to the estate. The roads are dark, clear of most traffic. But of course, there is a cop right behind us.
“Ten bucks says we’re going to get pulled over,” I mutter.
“If we do, it’s because the guy is bored,” she says, pulling two fried dumplings out of the bag and handing me one to munch on. “Use your belly to get out of the ticket.”
“I don’t think being pregnant is going to get me out of anything.”
“You never know,” she says while chewing. “If not, I’ve used my boobs more than once for that purpose.”
“Jesus.” I smile and shake my head. But suddenly, the cop turns their lights on. “Shit.”
I’m about to pull over when the cop flips around, bolting in the opposite direction.
Both of us let out a breath and start laughing. “That was close,” Electra says.
I agree and relax a little. Until her brow furrows again as she stares in the side mirror. “The car behind us is really coming in hot,” she says.
I look in the rearview mirror and sure enough, a black car is right on our ass. “What the hell is he doing?”
“I don’t know, but he’s going to run us off the road,” she says. Then she rolls her window down and sticks her head out. “Hey, dipshit! Go around us!”
“Electra,” I warn, worried that she’s going to fall out.
The driver gets even closer and I get a look at him in the mirror.
My heart slams into my ribcage.
It’s the hooded guy from the Thai restaurant.
“Electra. Get back in the car. Electra!”
She yells another profanity and, just as she’s about to turn around, he bumps us. It’s enough to jet her forward, making her hit her head as she sits back down.
“Fuck!” she lets out.
“Are you okay?” I ask as I glance at her while trying to keep my eye on the road. I also hit the gas in hopes we can lose him, but no such luck. He’s still right on our asses.
“Yeah. Except that I am now going to have two black eyes. What the fuck is his problem?”
“I think he’s following us.”
“No shit. If he was following us any harder, he’d be right on top of us.”
“I mean from the Thai place. I saw him inside.”
“What did he look like?”
“I don’t know. He was wearing a hood.”
“Well, go faster!”
I press the pedal even closer to the floor. The engine revs and we speed up, going nearly seventy in a forty-five on a dark narrow road.
“He’s insane,” she grits, and his bumper taps ours again.
“He’s trying to run us off the road.” I look for anywhere I can possibly pull over. But there’s nothing.
“Amara,” she calls, fear brimming her voice.
“I know!”
Suddenly, he hits us again, this time hard enough to knock us to the side. We hit the curb, flying up over the top of it.
Then, with little to no traction, we both scream as the car sails straight towards a post.
After that, it’s as if the world has gone from ninety miles per hour to slow motion.
Lights blurring to lines.
Sound turning to white noise.
My heart stopping in my chest.
My stomach bottoming out.
The impact, jarring and blinding.
Pain.
And then, everything goes black.