168 Hours in Hell
Which is the last thing I want to be.
When I blink, I see her in the car again. Broken and bleeding.
Then I blink again, and I see the arc of the crowbar coming down on Jack’s knee.
Again, Violet is up against a tree.
Again, and she’s in my car, blood welling up on her thigh.
I shake my head to dislodge those images.
The violence I crave versus the woman dancing before me.
“I see you,” she says. Her head whips around with each spin, up on her toe. She turns breathtakingly fast, but she doesn’t lose balance.
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