Alamort

2. Priya

Help I’m Alive - Metric

T he car rocks to a soft halt and the doors click to unlock. Taking my time to open my eyes, I unbuckle and raise my arms into an amazing stretch, releasing some tension in my muscles as I sprawl over the backseat.

“How long was I out, Baldie?” Asking mid yawn. Frowning, I pick up my phone to no missed texts.

“An hour and a half. Now hurry up and get your snacks. We have 45 minutes left until we get to the school.” He practically growls, irritation rolling off of him. Scrunching up my nose at his attitude, I can definitely see the award-winning personality he has going on.

Letting out a sigh, I slide out of the black SUV, grabbingthe precious gift Addi gave me, a miniblack backpack with time worn expensive leather and azipper nearly broken from thegrief and anger that threatens to break free.

I take in my surroundings. The hair on the back of my neck stands, accompanied by a prickling sensation that makes my skin feel like bugs are crawling all over me. The sense of eyes watching my every move. Not just being watched. The lingering presence that has me uneasy.

Taking a quick look around, I realize the only things in sight are a run-down convenience store, a pair of neglected gas pumps, and tumbleweeds stubbornly clinging to the pump hose. A desolate gas station in the middle of nowhere with sparse trees scattered around.

This is the beginning of a horror movie. I can feel it.

Approaching the—probably used to be white—building, I tug on the stubborn door. A crumpled missing persons ad with a young girl on it draws my attention. “ Have You Seen Me?”

Megan Riley, a seventeen-year-old with brown hair, has been missing for four years. It could be my paranoia, but as I look at her, I couldn’t help but notice the similarities — curly brown hair, blue eyes, and the same age as I am now. And for me, that is close enough. I’ve watched enough “Cold Cases” and “Criminal Minds” to make me a detective. Although my personal amount of solve rate of any case is zero.

Addi always teased me for my excessive worrying, claiming that I’d easily succumb to mass hysteria if given the chance. My intrusive thoughts seem to win more times than not, leading me to have hypochondriac tendencies.

I’m not too keen on the similarities of seeing a missing person at a gas station in the middle of bum fuck nowhere that’s 45 minutes from the place I’ll be calling home for the next nine months.

Feeling my frustration rise, I inhale deeply to regain composure before I lose my shit, exerting all my strength to wiggle the door open, almost losing my balance. The ding announces my arrival in this clearly empty store, cue horror music. I straighten myself out and move away from the deserted front counter, making my way through the dingy aisles towards the to the back of the store where the restrooms are located. Immediately seeing the women’s restroom, I make a beeline and quickly lock the flimsy, brown door. Letting out a relieved huff of air, a tingling sensation spreads through my fingertips, anticipation building. The ‘dirty-rundown store’ seems to be an ongoing theme, continuing here in the bathroom.

My gaze shifts upwards, and I can’t help but notice the ceiling, a patchwork of holes, pipes, and wires with no cover panels. There doesn’t seem to be any fire detectors, which is ideal. Quickly grabbing the matches from my pocket, I take two black paper sticks and snag a couple of cardboard-looking paper towels, then walk towards the grungy sink that could use a deep cleaning.

My hands quiver with anticipation as I flick the comb against the matches. The orange flames leap up, eagerly engulfing both white tips. I carefully place the matches on top of the brown paper towels in the sink, adding some paper from my bag to intensify the blaze. The heat, the smell of sulfur dioxide, and the small flame. A perfect trifecta.

The only thing that could make this better is some gasoline to make it touch the ceiling until eventually, the entire store burns to ashes. A shudder of relief goes through me as I watch it burst up in flames and unceremoniously die down. The worries of my trip washing away momentarily.

See? I set controlled fires. I am responsible. It’s either this or my blade writing my story through my skin. I’m working on it.

‘It’ being myself. I’m determined to get clean of both vices. Just a long ongoing process and trying to figure it out by myself is a little harder than I expected.

Turning on the cold water, I empty the nasty basin and wash the evidence off my hands. Someone wrote all over the mirror in black sharpie, “M+O=4ever”, and “Call Brad 4 a good time” with his number listed underneath. Through the words, I catch a glimpse of my reflection. I visibly cringe at the thought of looking homeless and repulsive. My mother would be disgusted by my appearance. Sleeping in a car has left my long brown curls disheveled, while my usually lifeless, blueish eyes appear dilated.

Quickly drying my hands, I waste no time in heading straight for the snacks. Hopefully, someone is in the back and heard me come in. It would raise Baldilock’s suspicion if I came back empty handed. A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips, thinking of how embarrassing it would be for him to lose his first fight to a seventeen-year-old girl.

Grabbing a few things like chocolate, some chips, and Addi’s favorite bottled sweet tea. I head to that section that every convenience store has of miscellaneous stuff. My fingers wrap around the cold metal of the lighter fluid, its faint familiar smell filling my nose. The sound of the can rattles as I wrestle with the decision to take one or two. Throwing in a pack of condoms in case he sees me, not by the snacks. It’s better to be safe than sorry, then I make my way up to the register.

An older man limps toward the counter with a stained, worn yellow t-shirt. Honestly, it could’ve been white in its past life. The sight of his greasy white hair and the gaps in his front teeth immediately draws my gaze. He shuffles his way to the counter. His beady eyes are anything but subtle, openly ogling me. His eyes roam over my figure before settling on my chest, where my black V-neck tee showcases a glimpse of my breasts. Wrinkling my nose at the smell wafting from him, it smells like piss and cigarettes. I’m second guessing my snacks because of the cleanliness of this store and its employees.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” Never once taking his eyes away from my chest.

Giving the politest smile I can muster, “Can I also get a couple of books of matches?” He nods his head while reaching under the counter. I discreetly grab a black lighter and put it in my bag as he lifts his head and sets down two white sets of matches.

“Anything else for the pretty lady?” Ugh, I’m going to puke. Is there a sign on my forehead for creeps?

I clear my throat through the lump forming, “Maybe a little more… please?” Pulling out the extra cash I’ve stashed away from tutoring.

Walking out feeling giddy and lighter since the unfortunate turn of events in my life, I jump into the SUV and buckle up to avoid questioning.

Sucking in a deep breath of the new car smell, I look at Baldie, “I’m ready!” Smiling so big my cheeks hurt. With narrowed eyes, Bald win puts the car in reverse and we continue on our merry way to my new prison. I pull out my phone and go to Addi’s messages, seeing all of my unanswered texts in the past 9 months and still open a new message.

One of your hugs would be nice right now. Iloveyou and I miss you. I don’t know what I’m going to do without you. Will keep you updated as soon as I’m settled. xoxo

I give my phone a watery smile, remembering when she said we had to spell I love you like that so nothing can get in between us. I miss my sister.