Dependance

Vermillion sand caked Lorna’s upper lip and nostrils, causing her to sneeze. It itched - but the girl did not make a move to rid herself of the annoyance. Vincent had quietly hauled himself off the ground and was in the process of lifting Lorna. She allowed him to peel her from the ground, her hands in his, and clenched her jaw slightly. It ached. Her eyes never left the shadowy figure against the sand that was her father. Vincent wrapped his fingers around Lorna’s elbow and tugged her slightly in the direction of the truck.

“Let’s go.” He insisted roughly.

He would not stop coming after them until her neck was within strangling distance twenty-four hours a day. They would keep running, and he would keep coming, often meeting in violent episodes to all repeat again. She wanted to kill him, right there and then. But maybe there was people around?If that was true then why was there no station staff rushing to help them, or in the cold-hearted case, no one by standing? The girl did not move much at first. The her head moved to the side, brown eyes following. As she turned, she glanced to Vincent and asked him if he could sort out the gas problem; to which he replied an affirmative. Lorna on the other hand trodden over her father’s unconscious body and pushed open to glass door of the gas station. Her leather boots made soft thuds on the flooring. Her sweaty hands left a greasy print on the clear material, and the familiar ping sounded to let people know someone had just entered. But Lorna did not think anyone was hear to appreciate it’s simple securities. It was one of those things that a cosy town could not do without - a pinging shop door.

The girl stood still for a few moments, now-sandy curls scraping her cheeks. There were no people, no chatter; however there was a special offer on Oreos in the corner and the refrigerator was making a mechanically lulling sound in the distance.

“Hello?” She called out. No answer. She did it again. No answer. Shrugging (and mildly wondering if Vincent was able to get the fuel) she grabbed a shopping bag from under a nearby counter and strolled down the aisles.

Vincent placed the nozzle back into it’s hook and glanced over to Lorna’s father, then to the door. He saw a shadow. Must have been Lorna. Silence swept over him eerily and dust tickled as his fingertips.

The female was just placing some aspirin and other medical things into the plastic bag when she heard a creak of wood on tile. The only wooden thing she could see was the shelves… Tilting her head, Lorna inspecting the rows to see if anything was out of place. Then suddenly, the sound came again; much louder. And accompanying it was a very heavy shelf full of beans and other tins of Heinz products landing on a seventeen year old. It impacted painfully and her arm was forced to bend at an odd angle.

Vincent was kicking up some withering weeds with his boots when he heard a feminine scream. His head shot up. Lorna’s father was still unconscious, so what had happened? Rushing over and into the building, Vincent’s eyes scanned over the area. The weak air conditioning blew across the beads of sweat on his forehead tauntingly. Shelf, aisle, shelf, aisle, mess, aisle- a toppled shelf! Pacing over to the scene, Vincent saw a freshly bruised arm poking from a space in between the shelves. Panic embodied him and something choked him unconsciously in his throat. That was it, he was never letting her out of his sight again. The male’s calloused hands gripped the wood and began to lift, strain being placed on his shoulder muscles. Heaving it a few times, Vincent lifted it slightly, then shoved it into one of the glass refrigerators. It smashed into little tear drops and cried onto the checker flooring. A muffle moan echoed from under the many Heinz items. Tin after tin was thrown violently away and Vincent dug - it was like in them cartoons when you see a kid looking deep inside some toy chest and things are flying about. Lorna’s swollen face and battered body came into view. Red here. Purple there. Possible yellow.

She looked so un-deserving of this punishment. Vincent’s hand hooked under her shoulders and knees, hefting her up to his chest. The hairs on the top of her head tickled at his neck. In her hand she was carrying a white shopping bag, with the supplies. She did not let go of it.

“Vince…check the cash register for money…” she murmured weakly, keeping her blackened eyes closed. He did as requested and although it was a challenge juggling the woman in his hands, he managed to deposit ninety-seven dollars into his front jean pocket.

There was nobody around…yet there was money in the register? Something weird was going on. And Lorna’s injuries were not the result of a ‘faulty shelf’. Due to it’s weight someone would have had to push it. Anger frothed within Vincent.

He stopped walking, now looming above Lorna’s father. Still unconscious. But would it not be so easy to kill him off anyway? Ease all their troubles, especially for the fragile being in his hands. No…it was the wrong thing to do…right now, anyways. Better to leave him to wake-up-and-feel-the-headache.

Proceeding on to the truck (heavy boots crunching on the stony sand), Vincent placed himself in the drivers seat. He removed the bag from Lorna’s hand and placed it along with the others - but not before Lorna weakly received a bottle of water and aspirin from it. Vincent did not make any action to move Lorna from his lap, and she did not protest; merely clung to his shoulder with one hand and to the items with the other.

“Where?” Asked Vincent quietly, the sound filling all of Lorna’s head from behind closed eyes.

“Anywhere,” she breathed, “just drive.” The male did as instructed.

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A southern accent invaded his ears.

“Wake up!”

Opening his eyes wearily, Lorna’s father starred up blurrily to what looked like the stereo-typical hillbilly. Slightly distorted smile, crooked teeth and a pair of worn dungarees.

“Seems your daughter’s been minglin’ with my little brother. I take it you don’ agree on this either, eh? So what’s your name, mate?”

“Jeff.” There was something insane about this southerner that made Jeff smile - despite the his throbbing frontal lobes. He could prove to be helpful.