Page 45 of UNAwere

I watch it sail away, heart breaking. ‘I could have eaten that!’

‘Get in the car.’

Briggs is done. Any semblance of patience he’s had for me this past week is gone.

‘No.’

I’m eating. I’m hungry, my stomach gnawing at my insides with how much I want to eat. And the thought of him disrupting that makes me want to tear at his throat again.

‘Get in the fucking car.’

‘Twenty-eight, and no. Not until I’m finished.’ I take another large bite of the hot dog. ‘You should get one. It’s really good.’

‘Sybbie.’

‘Caleb.’

Confusion flashes across his face. ‘What?’

I shrug. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know your first name.’

He huffs, opening the passenger door. ‘Get in the car.’

‘No.’

Briggs rubs his temples, grunting. ‘I’ll tell you…’ He sucks in a deep breath to fuel his words. ‘My name… if you… get in… the… damn… car.’

I consider it.

‘Is “damn” a swear?’ I scratch my head, chewing. And then shrug a shoulder. ‘Mm, I’ll let it pass.’

‘Right.’

Before I can ask him what he’s doing, he bends and picks me up, slinging me over his shoulder. I yelp, dropping the last quarter of my hot dog, and beat at his back with my fists.

‘Let me go! Briggs, I dropped my hot dog!’

I’m forced into the passenger seat, and before I can let out another retort, my can of cola and container of fries are thrust under my nose. I snatch them off him, scowling as he slams the door and stalks around the bonnet.

When he gets in, he winds both windows down and starts the car. We’re back on the highway in five minutes.

His knuckles are white again.

I shove the rest of my fries in my mouth and chuck the empty container into the back of the car, where our bags sit squished on top of each other.

Briggs is breathing hard. Lung packing, even though he says he’s not.

The sound of him breathing and the wind roaring in through both windows sets me on edge. I grip the sides of my seat, gritting my teeth. My nails grow, puncturing the upholstery. My tongue scrapes across sharpened canines.

Briggs lets out a growl, swerving off the side of the road.

The little hatchback bounces across a dirt track until we’re up over a hill and in a gulley dotted with orange and yellow, and cut in half by a river. As soon as he kills the engine, I’m bursting through the passenger door.

My vision hazes. I’m so angry I could wring his neck. I’m so angry I could kill something.

I’m Turning before I even realise it.

My ribs expand, my spine arching as it cracks. I gnash my teeth, moaning as they lengthen. This Turn is more painful than any I’ve ever experienced, and yet it feels so relieving. I shudder, collapsing, writhing into the dirt. And when it’s over, I smell him, and my rage returns.