The Chase

"'You got a flat, mister'" (228), I said. Humbert pulled off the road, put the car in park and turned off the engine. I glanced at the side mirror and saw Quilty do the same 50 feet behind us. I felt at ease. Humbert clamored out of the driver's side to see the damage. He glanced at me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him look for my gaze. I refused it. I felt him examine every curve of my body--piece by piece like he always did. Shivers ran down my spine. He almost touched me, but stopped. I tried not to move; when I squirmed, he had the power.

Humbert clamored out of the driver's side to see the damage. He looked at me again and saw my face strain. Sticking his hand in his right pocket, he marched toward Quilty. I jumped on my seat and saw Quilty smirk. Closer. I knew one would die and that would ruin the whole plan. Closer. I thought, perhaps, maybe Humbert should die, but I couldn't have that on my conscience. Closer. He loved me, I hated him; but, he couldn't die. Closer. I had to do something. Closer. I turned on the car and hoped I could get it to move. Closer. It started to roll, but Humbert didn't seem to notice. Closer. I honked. He stopped. I rolled. He ran.

He opened the car door and looked perplexed. "Are you okay, Lo?" I hated how he called me "Lo." I nodded my head. His face changed; he looked defeated. Quilty turned his car around and drove away. He knew I had won that round.