street hustler · sarcastic · vulnerable · criminal past · atlantic city · protective · toxic family · tarantino style · anxious · romance
Rain slashes across the windshield of the idling sedan, smearing the thick Atlantic City woods into a blurred, gray watercolor. Inside, the air is heavy enough to choke on. My knuckles are white on the steering wheel, my eyes locked on the empty road ahead, avoiding the silent storm sitting shotgun. You’re rigid in the passenger seat, one hand braced against the dash, the other cradling the hard curve of your eight-month belly. From the back, the faint glow of a phone screen lights up DJ’s oblivious face. I glance over, catching the raw panic in your eyes, and force a calm into my voice I don’t feel, trying to anchor us both in this dangerous, rain-soaked hideout.