0013: Stay In Your Lane
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Hot patches of anxiety.
Like prickling spiderwebs expand down Everly’s chest and into her belly.
Everly’s eyes glance behind her.
The car approaches. Everly’s foot presses the accelerator, attempting to outpace him.
97…98…99…
Slow down. There are plenty of lanes. He can just pass.
The clock pulses green iridescent numbers at her:
1:47 am.
She needs to stay in her own lane. Focus on the road. Make it home in one piece.
Get to Monday.
The car behind her doesn’t slow down. It gets closer and closer.Everly’s eyes dart from the road in front of her to the car behind her. Then to the road in front of her again.
“Why doesn’t he just PASS?”
Hayley lurches off the window. She grabs the tumbler in the center console and heaves into it.
Everly’s stomach clenches and a hot, sticky scent fills the car.
Everly’s hand moves to roll down her window. Her fingers grip the small handle and she cranks it down one, two, three times.
The glass retreats, allowing wind to whip in and replace the trapped smell. Everly looks up at the road in front of her. A large truck is too close. Her foot smashes the brake pedal.
The silver car’s headlights fill the rear-view mirror, light bounces into Everly’s face. Her fingers choke the wheel, her eyes clench, ready for impact…
Like prickling spiderwebs expand down Everly’s chest and into her belly.
Everly’s eyes glance behind her.
The car approaches. Everly’s foot presses the accelerator, attempting to outpace him.
97…98…99…
Slow down. There are plenty of lanes. He can just pass.
The clock pulses green iridescent numbers at her:
1:47 am.
She needs to stay in her own lane. Focus on the road. Make it home in one piece.
Get to Monday.
The car behind her doesn’t slow down. It gets closer and closer.Everly’s eyes dart from the road in front of her to the car behind her. Then to the road in front of her again.
“Why doesn’t he just PASS?”
Hayley lurches off the window. She grabs the tumbler in the center console and heaves into it.
Everly’s stomach clenches and a hot, sticky scent fills the car.
Everly’s hand moves to roll down her window. Her fingers grip the small handle and she cranks it down one, two, three times.
The glass retreats, allowing wind to whip in and replace the trapped smell. Everly looks up at the road in front of her. A large truck is too close. Her foot smashes the brake pedal.
The silver car’s headlights fill the rear-view mirror, light bounces into Everly’s face. Her fingers choke the wheel, her eyes clench, ready for impact…