Why I Lost Her

Chapter 1

It was 3:00am. She'd chased him out of their room, and was now hovering over him. He looked sternly into her eyes, but she wasn't there. All he could see was fury, pent-up frustration, and a twinkle of vulnerability.

Lying down on the floor beneath her, gripping her wrist, he thought for a split second he would just let her do it. However, instead he sighed, watched her let her guard down, and tore the knife from her grasp. Having prepared the needle beforehand, he immediately injected it into her shoulder. Eight hundred eighty-two mg of Aristada, or Aripiprazole Lauroxil, administered into the deltoid muscle.

He took the trembling, sweating woman into his arms, and laid her in bed. He combed the honey colored bangs out of her face, and lay next to her, holding her as he waited for her to settle down. These were only a few of the drug's side effects.

Eventually, she fell asleep. He looked down once again at her expression, and saw the woman he once knew come back to him for a moment, even if only in her unconscious state. Glancing at the clock, he read 4:45am. He'd have to wake up once again in fifteen minutes to start his day, so instead of going back to sleep, he got out of bed and took a shower.

His first job started at 8:00am, but traffic was intolerable in the city, so he made sure to leave two hours prior every day. It wasn't uncommon in the city for people to work several jobs in order to make a decent living, but it was rare for one to be majoring in neuroscience at the same time.

Ten years ago, if someone had told him he'd be studying to become a psychiatrist, he wouldn't have believed them. In fact, he wouldn't have believed he'd be studying at all. He was perfectly content with the idea of living in the countryside working as a gas station cashier for the rest of his life. It wasn't until he met her that he even pictured a professional career in his future.

It was 2007. He was twenty five, working at the 7-Eleven down the road from his parents' house in Bethlehem, NY. He'd been saving up, and was only two grand away from buying his dream car, a Jeep Wrangler. He could go off-roading, ride with his friends to the beach, or go on a roadtrip to wherever. It would be a perfect temporary escape from the slow town.

After two years of slaving away at the station, he'd received the news that his seventeen-year-old sister had gotten pregnant, and that the father had run off. The entire family would have to pitch in for her to be able to support the child. So, he gave up his five grand. It was back to square one. That night he took an extra shift at work.

It was about midnight when he heard a piercing scream. He looked outside and saw a girl struggling against a middle-aged man who was gripping her hair as she cussed at him.

"Oh, shit." he whispered.

He knew he had to do something. After grabbing a hammer from the station toolbox, he hopped clumsily over the counter, flustered, walked out the door toward the offender, and hollered. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?"

The muscular, bearded man, stopped for a moment and spun around, the girl's short blonde hair still in his fist, and responded, annoyed, "You're better off pokin' your head in your own business, boy."

When the offender saw the young man coming closer, hammer in hand, he quickly shoved the girl into the back seat and, almost lazily, pulled out a pistol from his glove compartment.

This stopped the worker in his tracks. He wanted to help the girl, but it wasn't worth losing his life for a stranger.

"I'm serious, Kid. This is none of your concern," said the tough guy. He pointed the gun directly at the interloper's chest. "Y'all better just get back to your business."

The kid was just about to retreat, when he noticed something from the corner of his eye. The girl was now in the front seat, gripping the steering wheel. The engine roared into life. The man lowered his gun, bewildered, and turned around once again. "What the — get your butt out of my truck, you idiot!"

The girl accelerated, headed straight toward the aggressor, her intentions clear as the starry sky above. He quickly ducked out of the way, and she sped the car around, stopped next to the man who'd saved her, and opened the passenger door.

"Get in!"

The worker froze, glancing toward the moron on the ground.

"He's got a gun!" she yelled.

This woke him up. He hopped in the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him as they drove off.

After a few moments of silence, she spoke up. "Thanks for that."

He drew his brows together in confusion. He did diddly squat, he thought. She didn't even need his help. "For what?" He asked.

She threw her head back, howling in laughter. "You're funny."

This confused him even more.

"You saved me, Mr. 7-Eleven. What's your name, anyway?"

"It's Devon," he said, tapping his fingers on the car door.

"Hm, mine's Lacey."

He was torn on whether or not to ask Lacey about Tough Guy and what she was doing with a nut job like him.

"So..." he started.

She beat him to it. "He's my stepdad. Butch. Real piece of work, ain't he?"

All he could do was nod.

"We should probably leave town for a while, lay low. We've got his car, after all. I mean — I should. I can just drop you off somewhere, if you'd like." She peered at him for a moment, awaiting his response.

He thought about this. If Butch was coming after her, he didn't want her to be all alone to fend for herself. No matter how independent she seemed, there's not much a girl can do against a beast like Butch. He thought back to the gun the guy had pointed at him.

"No. I mean, I've got nothin' better to do, so..." He trailed off.

A faint smile crept up on Lacey's face. She liked him.

The two spent the night at a small motel about fifteen miles off the main highway.

That was all in the past now. Devon stepped onto the bus, hands in his pockets, settled into one of the hard plastic seats, and fell into the most peaceful sleep he'd gotten in a while.