ROUGH DRAFT of Loser || WlW

Twenty-Six

I'm running.

She's behind me. I can hear her; feel her hot breath on my neck.

My mom found me. She broke out to finish the job she started years ago. She wants me dead and Kyle is letting it happen.

Twigs snap under my heels. I can't turn around. I don't have time to look. To think.

Branches whip at the gashes on my face. The wind stings the road rash on my arms.

I can see the highway. My heart flutters at the thought of safety.

A low guttural sound growls in my ears.

I choke back a sob and propel my body over a fallen tree.

A car zooms past on the highway.

I'm so close.

I can't cry out; can't risk slowing down.

Chills ripple up my neck. I can feel her reaching out for me as I break through a line of bushes, not stopping to find a way around. I barrel through the thick foliage, thorns digging into my calves and thighs.

Her fingers brush against the skin on my neck as I break from the forest. I continue half jogging, half limping until I'm in the middle of a dimly lit parking lot of a Seven-Eleven.

I turn, gasping in air, ready to fight for my life but there's nothing.

The crickets grow louder as I squint into the trees, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever was chasing me.

My mind flashes back to the episode I had in my room. Was this all in my head? My mother is insane; she wouldn't have stopped just because the tree line ended. She doesn't have rational thoughts. Or maybe she does now. I haven't visited her in years.

"Hey, kid."

I jump.

A guy in a trucker hat steps back at the sight of me, spilling part of his double big gulp on the ground.

I glance at my reflection in the Seven-Eleven window. Twigs are sticking out of my knotted hair. My face is so swollen I'm hardly recognizable. My shirt and pants are covered in a mix of dirt and blood. My face burns with road rash. I look like I walked out of a zombie movie, but I'm the zombie, not the survivor.

"You okay, kid?"

I nod. "Could I use your phone?"