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"Goddammit, Sam!" John slammed his fist on the steering wheel, his voice escalating into a near roar. "Why do you always do this?" His face flushed with anger, the strain of his shouting turning his skin a splotchy pink.
Sam shrank back into the Impala's shadowed interior, his small frame almost blending into the darkness.
John's fury only grew with each passing second, his words becoming sharper, more biting. "Have you ever once thought about the people who need saving?" he yelled. "The countless lives I've been there for in their dying moments—because of your whining BULLSHIT!"
His knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel even tighter.
"D-Dad, I just want to stay in school for another week," Sam whispered, his eyes wide with fear as the car sped up, the engine growling in protest.
"No! You have no right to interrupt me!" John slammed his hand against the steering wheel again, the impact reverberating through the car. "I just wanted—once—for you to just LISTEN to me." His voice wavered, and Sam noticed the slight tremor in his father’s hands.
"Can we please just go back to the motel?" Sam pleaded, desperation lacing his voice. "I need to pack my things." Fear gripped him, but beneath it, a strange numbness was settling in, dulling the edge of his terror.
"You aren’t getting out of this easy this time," John said coldly, his eyes narrowing with a dark anger. "If you think you're getting away with this, think again. This is the last goddamn time you will ever disrespect me."
"Dad, I know I shouldn’t have made such a problem, but please, I need to go back and pack." Sam’s voice cracked as he tried to reason with his father. "If we just go back, I won’t even be upset when we leave."
But John's only response was to press down harder on the accelerator, the car speeding through the night, each streetlight blurring into a streak of light. "You aren’t going back," John said smugly, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "No, you’re going to learn."
As they approached a stop sign, Sam saw his chance. The moment the car halted, he yanked the door open and tried to scramble out.
"YOU AREN’T LEAVING!" John screamed, his hand latching onto Sam's hoodie and shirt. Sam leaned harder, the fabric tearing as he fought to free himself.
"JUST LET ME GO BACK!" Sam finally cried out, and with a final wrenching pull, he broke free, tumbling out of the car and slamming the door behind him. The cold night air bit into his exposed skin as he ran, his torn shirt flapping against his chest.
He ran as fast as he could, his heart pounding in his ears. After what felt like an eternity, he found a bench and collapsed onto it, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He sat there for what felt like hours, shivering in the cold, terrified of being found. He had tried to zip his hoodie, but like everything else that plan fell through
His leg burned with a sharp pain. He pulled his pant leg up only to find a deep purple bruise and a fairly large cut, which sluggishly oozed his blood.
All Sam wanted was to finish the school year. He had made friends—real friends—and he just wanted to say goodbye before he disappeared again. But now, that simple wish felt impossibly out of reach.
He didn't feel numb anymore, either.