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(8 months later)
Sierra fled from the car, bruised and bloody beyond recognition. The crash had dislocated her elbow and probably more, but that’s not what mattered. Where the fuck was her phone?
The embers of a burning vehicle stung her nostrils. Desperately, she crawled from the wreckage and landed flat against her back. Her chest heaved up and down like a pump, blood dribbling down her chin in a mess of saliva and cuts.
Yet, her only source of communication still sat in her pocket.
Quickly, she dialled the number that came into her head first.
. . .
leave a message after the beep.
“nye? hey, hey— fuck, fuck —things went a little out of hand, nye. i really messed up.”
“i dont know if i’m gonna see you after this, nye. it’s really fucking bad.”
“don’t—
don’t forget our promise.”
“stay happy, bro. i mean it.”
- click