Runaway Hearts: Seduced by Danger

4. Guns and Malls

Chapter 4

Guns and Malls

A smile spreads across my lips at the spirited rays of the sun chasing the clouds away this late afternoon. As I pull into the sprawling parking lot of the Mall-Mart, my fingertips fidget on the steering wheel. The pavement is worn, with patches of grass and weeds sprouting between the cracks.

I love shopping. But as I glance at the figure in the passenger seat, my smile fades.

I must wake him now. Stranger Danger presents a pleasant picture; regular deep breathing raises his chest with each inhale. Sunlight plays patterns on his face, and compassion tickles my stomach.

First step: unfasten my seatbelt.

It’s stuck, of course. Things never work the way they should.

Fucking new car!

I press the button calmly, and the mechanism unrolls with magic. It’s a miracle.

Like a butterfly landing on a desert flower, I place my hand on his shoulder. I then find myself with a cold metal barrel pressed against my forehead.

Oh.

A hot coil tightens in my abdomen.

I don’t even blink.

Eyes sleepy but fierce, his fingers curled around the gun with a confident grip, hair in a sexy mess. He’s a maniac. Sanity is a distant memory, replaced by a primal instinct to survive.

I should’ve left him to rot in the disgusting gas station toilet. I’m a threat to myself. Worry creeps into my stomach as I stare at him and realize my heart holds no fear. Positive proof: I’m missing a few neurons. But time is still running; I’m not dead yet. A glimmer of understanding illuminates his eyes.

“Shit!” he mutters.

Why am I not scared of the gun? Of him?

Something hot and bitter wells up in my throat, but it’s not anxiety. My blood warms, my fists clench, and my heart hammers.

“Get that off my forehead, you fucking crazy psycho!” I yell as he blinks slowly.

Oh, my god. That’s a first. Anger.

He removes his weapon. Send in the parade, the choir, and let’s sing. I’m still alive. He slumps back in his seat, and I sit silently until the pressure drops. At least my heartbeat is steady.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, combing his hair with his fingers.

“Oh really? I thought the gun would knit me a pair of slippers.”

He sighs and holsters his gun in his jacket. “I’m not used to having someone wake me.”

I point at the giant store. “We’ve arrived at your destination.”

He cocks his head, unblinking, and adds, “You’re weird. You know that?”

“Off you go.” I gesture toward the doors. “You need things for your vacation, don’t you?”

He scrutinizes me, searching for an answer deep in my dark brown eyes. Then, his lips stretch with an unexplained smile. “I think I might like you,” he says with an unreadable expression.

“Okay…”

I have a deep conviction this will end in gorgeous disaster.

“I’ll return in a few minutes,” he adds.

“All right.”

He struts into the oversized store, and I get out of my car to take a deep breath. The occasional honk blends with birds chirping and people’s distant chatter.

I need to get rid of him, but the task is intimidating. A gun to my head is a no-no.

I walk up to the store, and a sudden breath hits the back of my neck like an icy gust of wind. It sends a violent shiver down my spine, causing my skin to crawl and my heart to race with fear.

I struggle to swallow. When did he come back? This man is not normal. He reads my thoughts.

“And don’t even think about leaving me here.” His whisper brushes my ear.

But what am I going to say?

“I had that chance at the gas station,” I reply.

My uncle’s house waits for me with a hot shower to exorcize this chaos. I should go right now.

The hitchhiker walks into the store again. A greasy food and freshly brewed coffee aroma wafts through the air, and my mouth doesn’t even water.

A mother with her toddler tribe gives me a worried look. “Is something wrong, darling?”

Help me, please, ma’am; I’m a big dumbass!

My throat tightens, and no sound escapes my lips. I blink rapidly, hoping the breeze created by my fluttering eyelids could somehow dry the tears threatening to spill down my cheeks. “I’m just tired.”

Reality catches up to me in an epic tsunami of madness.

Shit.

It hits me hard, dispelling any notion that I’m living in a movie where the hero always survives. My eyes fill with tears, blurring my vision as my poor decisions crush my heart, and my head fills with the rattles of pills in a bottle and Eric’s mean whispers.

“Such a fucking cunt. You’re not worth it.”

Loving Eric was bad, but the suicide attempt scarred my soul.

But it’s not too late to change the course of history. I wipe my eyes and run to my car. No more foolishness, I tell myself when I sit and start the engine.

As my tires squeal, I glance at the store’s door.

The stinging in my fingers announces a panic attack. Now isn’t the time. But the need to flee causes panic.

It’s time to apply the knowledge of years of therapy.

I park in an alley a few kilometers from the mall, and in my mind’s eye, I walk to the ocean’s edge with the sea breeze, the seagulls’ cries, and the rasp of sand between my toes.

Anxiety has me in a powerful grip, crushing every breath out of my lungs and making my temples throb from the blood rush.

“Breathe...”

Sheltered in my mind, I slowly inhale the refreshing scent of the ocean, a mix of salt, seaweed, and mild fish. It’s an invigorating and calming essence, soothing my soul and bringing peace to my mind. Its cool wisp carries the promise of a new day.

The sound of the waves is a rhythmic lullaby, with each wave providing a distinct note that blends to create a graceful melody.

“Feel the sand...”

The soft, grainy texture of the sand is invigorating. It’s a small reminder of the power of nature. The tiny grains massaging my feet offer a gentle, relieving sensation.

“I have the right to be calm.”

But the clenched muscles of my back tell me otherwise, as do the whitening knuckles holding on to the steering wheel.

“Ah!”

The urge is just another polluting thought.

I’m not a slave to my thoughts.

My breath comes in quick gasps, every muscle in my body cramps, and my heart thrashes in my chest.

“It’s okay. I’m in control.”

I must tame this terrifying inner chaos before it swallows me whole. A beast of shame and self-doubt rages within, fueled by the constant need to stand my ground without causing any inconvenience.

It threatens to rip me apart, tearing at the very fabric of my being.

I can’t escape myself, and it horrifies me.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” I scream until my throat burns.

While tears stream down my cheeks, the unpleasant physical manifestations of my panic subside. The number of panic attacks I’ve had today is unsettling. I haven’t had a panic attack in three months.

If only my suicide attempt had been successful…

A bitter taste floods my mouth as I contemplate taking my medication, knowing it will only serve as a temporary band-aid solution to my larger issues.

But I should take it.

I want nothing to stand in the way of my plans for the beach, not even Stranger Danger. He’s a potential threat, a time bomb waiting to go off, and I refuse to let him ruin my vacation.

Sure, something about him made my heart fly, something electric and explosive that I can’t quite put my finger on. But it’s a distraction, a temporary moment of chemistry that would ultimately lead to disaster.

Right?

How can I focus on healing with him by my side?

Relationships, especially with someone as captivating as Stranger Danger, would only derail me from this path. I’ve been down that road before with Eric, only to find myself shattered and lost amidst the wreckage of failure.

It’s as if Stranger Danger has been plucked from the depths of my fantasies and placed before me, a tantalizing temptation laced with peril.

A real-life villain.

The true healing of my broken soul can only be achieved through a journey of self-discovery and self-repair. It’s a path I must walk alone, no matter how tempting the distractions along the way may be.

Some help would be nice, though.

I sit alone in the car. Failure and disappointment in my ability to manage myself overwhelm me, and I’m left with a heavy discomfort that clings to me like a spaghetti stain on a white shirt. The negative space where he sat, now empty, is a gaping hole, making me dizzy.

I left him at the mall, and in doing so, I left behind the possibility of something thrilling and new. But I also left behind the danger and the uncertainty, and maybe, just maybe, that was the right choice after all.

Shit, I’m so confused.

As the mayhem in my head subsides, I realize I’ve been in this alley for at least an hour. My brain burns from the emotional turmoil I’ve been through, and the weight of it crushes every fiber of my being. With a deep breath, I press a button on my dashboard, waiting for someone to answer the phone.

Aunt Nina’s voice crackles through the line. “Where are you, sweetie? Your uncle and I are worried. You should’ve called earlier.”

I steady my breath before responding. “Hi, Nina. I left later than I intended. I’ll be there for lunch tomorrow.” I hope my shaky voice doesn’t give away the conflict inside me.

There’s a pause on the other end of the line before Aunt Nina speaks again. “Chickadee, what’s going on?”

I try to smooth out the trembling in my voice as I lie. “I’m just tired. I’ll be stopping soon.”

From the back of the line, Corey’s voice interrupts, “I found them!”

Confused, I ask, “Found what?”

Aunt Nina laughs. “The old videos on tape. You always watch them when you visit. Corey was worried he lost some, but they’re all there.”

Relief fills me. “Oh, thank god. I can’t wait to watch them.”

Maybe reliving my childhood will bring some clarity to my mental state.

“All right, sweetie, we’ll see you tomorrow. Stay safe.”

“Bye.” I blow a kiss in the air and hang up. Maybe some answers will arise from these videos.

I hate lying to my family, but I can’t tell them I called them late because of too many panic attacks generated by a steamy hitchhiker. No one knows about my intense breakdowns.

Eric knew, and he took advantage of it. I swore to hide it since.

I drive for another hour before I spot a rundown motel on the side of the road. I wonder what Stranger Danger is doing right now. The chances of the wound not healing properly were high if he didn’t get the proper care fast enough.

A dash of guilt travels up my stomach and settles into my heart.

I neglected someone in need. But... Gun to your head, Marianne.

His jacket catches my eye as I gather my bags, thrown carelessly on the back seat. My sole focus was on my panic attack...

Did he forget it or left it in my car by mistake? A silver glint causes my eyes to widen. His gun. I gasped at the idea someone might see it. I stuffed it in my suitcase, hoping no one would notice. If someone found a gun in my car, the cops would have questions for me, and I could go to prison because I helped a deadly criminal escape the law. My uncle and his wife would discover why I was absent.

I step into the motel office and try to smile at the woman behind the desk. A fluorescent clock stares at me with its bright 7:30 flashing away.

The receptionist flashes a bright smile as she greets me. “Hello, welcome to The Dodo-on-the-road. How can I help you?”

“I need a room for tonight.”

Her smile never wavers as she grabs a key and hands it to me. “Excellent, I’ll give you number seventeen. It’s at the end of the alley. Park your vehicle in front of the door.”

I thank her before walking back to my car to get my luggage.

I’m being ridiculous.

No one is following me. Or my blue Civic. There’s no reason for me to freak out. But I still do. I need to take my pill because I know I can’t relax without it, as awful as it is. So, I act like a responsible woman and push open the door of my room. The floorboards are uneven beneath my feet, and the curtains are frayed, barely hanging onto the rusted curtain rod.

As I go to the bathroom, the flooring creaks under my weight.

Am I that fat?

The bathroom door moans when I push it open, revealing a tiny space. The bathtub is clean, with no visible signs of grime or dirt. The faint aroma of a lemony cleaner is a welcome reassurance.

I nestle in the room and open the satanic bottle.

The little white pieces defy me.

Three whole months without having to rely on this crap.

Three months under control, gone because of a man, too sexy for my mental health.

Two breakdowns in just one day. And I thought I had it under control.

I’m screwed.

I grab a pill and swallow. It’s as bitter as the illusion of being able to live without them. I taste the strain of it bearing down, suffocating me. It’s a constant battle to keep my thoughts in check, to keep from drowning in the chaos of my mind. But a bitter resignation takes hold of me. There’s nothing I can do to change my reality. I must accept it.

An hour later, a relaxed sigh flies out of my mouth as I rest in the bathtub. It’s unclear to me why I wanted to stop taking my pills. The idea seems irresponsible. Maybe Eric’s theory about my inability to survive without them has something to do with that, but I don’t care right now.

I trace vague patterns in the water with my fingers until my eyelids droop.

I get out of the bath, put on my thick pink bathrobe, and throw myself on the bed. The fan blades twirl and twirl.

It’s so hot in this room.

My sighs are no longer countable.

The blades spin and spin.

I follow the motion with my eyes when a fluffy little rabbit shows up. A small, naughty furry ball looks at me, perched on one blade. I can’t stifle the laughter that comes out of my mouth. He winks at me. It’s hilarious. He observes me with his silver eyes. I see his lips move, but I don’t hear a thing.

Am I asleep?

“Hello, little bunny. Want a hug?” The stuffed animal jumps from its perch to land on my chest. He rubs his nose on mine, and I giggle. He’s so soft. A blue bunny jumps from the fan, then another pink and a purple one. It’s a mess. Bunnies fall around me until they make a carpet of colorful fluffs on the floor. I roll on the ground, arms outstretched on either side, stroking the stuffed animals to the fullest. The music of little bunnies collapsing, creating crumpled piles, makes me beam. The little rabbits carry me at arm’s length in a rock concert of adorable stuffed animals. I feel so good, my eyes closed, and I consent to this sympathetic mess.

That’s never happened to me before, but then again, it’s been three months since I took my last pill. Maybe I should’ve taken only half.

I’m suddenly transported to a very luxurious hotel room. There’s a weird bunny in the corner. He looks like a dictator with viper eyes. He’s overseeing this whole commotion, that’s for sure. You should never trust the little stuffed bunnies that fall from the ceiling.

I’m not in danger. I must have dozed off without realizing it.

The rabbit has the same mean hazel eyes as Eric. I jump in place, fists high and ready for battle. It’s not a rabbit; it’s him. Eric is here. His whiskey scent hits my nose, and a bottomless fear nests in my gut.

But what the hell is going on?

“You no longer separate reality from dreams, huh, princess?” Rabbit-Eric says.

“Fuck you, shithead!”

His smile flees from his face. I would hide, too, if I were his smile. Lord, he has so many wrinkles. The angry lines on his forehead are canyons.

“Tell me you haven’t taken a full tablet after all this time off.” He sneers, crossing his arms over his chest.

I raise an eyebrow in challenge. “Why?”

He scoffs, his eyes blazing with contempt. “Wrong decision. Dr. Rossi had those pills imported specially for you. But you couldn’t resist the urge to disobey, couldn’t you? Fucking spoiled princess.”

My fists clench at my sides. “Princess? Who are you calling princess, jerk?!”

He leans closer, his voice taking a menacing note I know too well. “Careful with your tone, now.” All the times he told me that before simmered on the periphery of my drugged mind.

It’s an absurd illusion, and I want control. I take a deep breath, ready to tell him everything with freedom. A black line encrusted in my wounded woman’s heart. “I don’t love you anymore. You’re just a massive asshole.”

Laughter rises from my chest, making me shake like a leaf caught in a storm. Eric forces me to hold his gaze. Any comic connection disappears as fear creeps into every cell of my being, and I stop breathing. I feel each of his fingers on the delicate skin of my throat. “You need me, princess. Nobody else wants you.”

My resentment erupts without warning and lands on his cheek.

The hand tightens its grip, and he leans into my ear. “Oh, you got feisty.” Then, nothing but his tongue in my mouth. A snake winding its way through my head.

I’m in room seventeen at Dodo-on-the-road. I have nothing to fear from this degenerate Eric illusion. My hand searches for his zipper, and I slam it open.

“I don’t want to come back to Placo Springs! And if I ever do,” I say, taking him in hand. His head falls on my shoulder with a grunt. The grip loosens. “I’ll skin you alive, starting with that piece of crap,” I add and squeeze his cock.

My knee makes a treacherous blow to his masculinity. And I laugh, I laugh so hard.

My laughs thud on the door.

“It’s the maid!” a weary voice yells.

I wake with a start, gasping for air. The last remnants of the nightmare cling to me like a snake coiled around my mind. Nothing but his tongue in my mouth, I remember, shuddering at the memory. My stomach churns with nausea.

I sit up in bed, trying to shake off the feeling of disgust. The room is light and quiet, except for my ragged breathing.

Skin Eric alive? What the heck?

I take deep breaths, focusing on the present moment, chasing images of a furry Eric-rabbit toilet seat rug.

But fear lingers, seeping into my bones like frost on a window.

“You’re just a massive asshole!”

I would’ve ended up lifeless if I had spoken to Eric this way.

The thuds on the door become insistent, and I drag myself out of bed. I open the door to a woman in her fifties, visibly upset.

“Honey, I have a schedule to keep, so move on.”

I get dressed, run to my car, and speed off.

I only have one pill left. Nightmares about my ex come and go, but this one lingers. Yesterday was clearly too stressful for my fragile nervous system. I head to the pharmacy to refill my prescription and leave as soon as possible. I need to rest in a safe place and take a literal chill pill.

As I stop, my cell phone rings, reminding me that I still haven’t seen a text message I received yesterday morning. I give the prescription to the pharmacist and turn my attention to my phone.

The pharmacist frowns. “I’ll have to make a call. Please wait here.”

“Okay,” I mumble, my attention locked on my phone.

I’d rather not open the file. However, my fingers have a will of their own, and the file is open in a burst. It’s a picture.

My eyes widen as I observe the black-and-white photograph on my screen. A metaphoric kick in the gut. The man I picked up yesterday is none other than Hiroshi Kwunaru the Seventh.

He’s the heir to a monstrous criminal empire that no police force has ever stopped it.

The Kwunaru empire is built on the pillars of drug trade, money laundering, corruption, and clandestine gaming tables. They have been ruling over Winnipeg for at least a hundred years.

Hiroshi Kwunaru is infamous for his use of brutal tactics. Those unlucky enough to cross paths with his gang often end up in the hospital, missing various body parts.

I remember treating a patient last year with a cut tongue and three missing fingers, allegedly victims of Kwunaru’s group. However, according to rumors, no one has ever survived a direct confrontation with him.

Or has ever seen his face. Any faces of his organization, honestly. They’re ghosts.

That means the picture comes from his side.

It’s so…

It’s so Hollywood.

I scoff. I avoided a certain death. Another reason to move away from Palco Springs.

A myriad of emotions swirl in my head. “Seito, baby... What’s this shitshow about?” I whisper to the fly on the counter. “Was he vetting me to be his outlaw bride?”

This idea triggers a fit of interior laughter, causing me to cough.

The pharmacist returns to me, his white coat crisp and a concerned look on his face. “I’m sorry, miss,” he says, shaking his head. “We don’t have any of those pills in stock right now. I’m sorry. It’s not a usual medication.”

Well, okay, but give it to me. I’ll have to transfer my prescription once I get to Nay.

“Have you considered other options with your psychiatrist? Maybe I can call him and figure out an alternative if you need it now.”

No. I need the exact pills.

“It’s okay, I’ll manage,” I say with a tight smile. My mind is spinning with the implications of this newfound knowledge. “Thanks for trying,” I add, and a thought occurs. “I took one last night because I had two panic attacks in one day, but it had been some time… and I had a terrible nightmare. Do you think I could take only half?”

He winces and stares at me with almond-shaped eyes. A sigh escapes from him, and his fingers clack on the keyboard until his eyes narrow even more. “You could begin with a quarter and see how it goes.” His features soften.

I consider this for a moment before nodding. Anything is better than nothing, and I must get going.

“Would you like me to cut your pill into quarters for you?” he asks.

“Sure.”

He hands me the precut pill with a soft smile. “Take one piece; if your symptoms don’t improve within twenty minutes, take another piece.”

I thanked him and left the pharmacy with my precious medication in hand. It may not be ideal, but it’s better than nothing.

I slide into my car, feeling all kinds of weird. My heart is still thumping from the nightmare. But there’s also a joy hidden deep in me.

Glancing around, I scan the parking lot for something, anything, to make sense of what’s going on in my head. But my soul screams for something that isn’t there, something I don’t even know about. And that something makes me return to the pharmacy to pick up a stitches kit and antibiotic cream from the shelf.

When I return to my car and start the engine, the sound doesn’t drown out the noise in my head the way it should. A spotlight shines in my head, featuring Stranger Danger lounging on my beach house’s front patio, sipping on tequila, and smiling at me.

I need coffee to clear my mind.

Somewhere deep within me, I hope to see the hitchhiker again.

I enter a coffee shop, seeking clarity through caffeine. The rich scent of roasted beans and sweet pastries fills my nose. Warm beige walls, wooden ceiling beams, and vintage posters enhance the cozy atmosphere. To me, coffee shops are a respite from chaos and a place where time slows down, with freshly brewed coffee aroma as the only important thing.

Driving is unadvised with these meds, but I’m used to it. I swallow a piece of pill with my latte as I stare at the photo on my phone and a dreamy sigh escapes.

Hiroshi Kwunaru the Seventh clearly redefines the concept of drop-dead gorgeous .