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Driving Straight

With the pot coursing through her veins, it’s all she can do to think straight, let alone drive straight. She feels the sharp edges of the bills against her breast. She had been going to get away. She was so close.

But there he was in the car, right behind her, so close that she could smell the alcohol on his breath mingling with the scent of cigarette smoke that hung around her car no matter how many times she cleaned it. A shudder ripped through her. It couldn’t be. Not him.

She was fourteen, the silky feel of her new homecoming dress clean against her skin. Her hair had been curled to perfection, and she wore a corsage on her wrist.

“You look so pretty, Cassie,” he’d said, gently taking her elbow and leading her out to the car.

And then later, whispered in her ear like a soft wind – “C’mon. Let’s get outta here.”

She felt for the little scar she still had on the back of her shoulder, and felt the wire tighten against her throat.

“I said drive.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she drove.

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