r.e.m

hate our love.

"I can't lie, I wanted you the first time that I saw you
Tried to diss me 'til you realized I'm someone you could talk to 
You've been hurt over and over, tell me what has it taught you? 
Soon as you fell for me, though I had caught you 
Dead your exes, don't let them haunt you 
You know if they want what's best for them then they still want you"

The early morning light cut through the fog as the car sped down the highway, the roar of the engine filling the quiet space between them. Jazelle, Blaze, and Zyra wasted no time hitting the road, Miami their destination. Zyra, well-rested from the night before, chattered happily from the backseat. Blaze, on the other hand, had barely scraped together a few hours of sleep, his jaw tight as he navigated the empty stretches of road. Jazelle, seated beside him, hadn't closed her eyes all night. Her gaze had been glued to the highway signs until she saw they'd finally crossed the Virginia state line. Only then did her body surrender, and she slipped into a deep sleep, her head gently resting against the window.

It wasn't the kind of peaceful sleep that soothed the soul, more of an escape from the memories clawing at her mind. Killing Earl had been necessary, but necessary didn't mean easy. There was no regret, no remorse. Jazelle knew Earl had it coming; there was no question in her mind about that. But the weight of taking a life wasn't something that disappeared with time. She wasn't God. She had no right to play judge and executioner, but sometimes, like in Earl's case, she felt like her purpose was to end the suffering of people trapped like she had been. Justified or not, it left a mark.

Blaze felt the tension radiating from her, even in her sleep. It was why he'd insisted on being the one to kill Earl himself, but Jazelle had stopped him. She'd been right; this was something she needed to do. His grip tightened on the steering wheel as he thought back to the text from his mother. Apologies, weak, empty apologies for everything she'd done to him. She'd shown the police the footage, claimed self-defense, and they'd let her go. Now, she was checking into rehab, asking for forgiveness. But there was nothing left in him for her. He hadn't responded to the message. Instead, he blocked her number. To Blaze, she was dead.

In the backseat, Zyra had no clue about the weight hanging over the car. She was simply enjoying the ride, loving every second of the high-speed drive. Her brother's fast driving didn't scare her. Instead, it thrilled her. She grinned as she tried to keep count of how many cars they passed, eventually giving up when Blaze blurred past them too quickly to track.

"Zayn, I think I need to use the bathroom," Zyra called from the backseat, shifting restlessly.

Blaze glanced over at Jazelle, still knocked out in the passenger seat, before checking the signs on the highway. "Aight, we'll pull over at the next stop," He assured her, already searching for the nearest exit. He spotted a rest stop a few miles ahead, pushing the pedal a little harder. They'd left at five in the morning, and by now, it was close to noon. He was making good time, nearly halfway to Miami.