A/N: Prologue

Oh Oh Ohhh Oh Oh Ohhh I'm falling

So I'm taking my time on my ride

Oh Oh Ohhh I'm falling

So I'm taking my time on my ride

Taking my time on my ride

- Ride by twenty one pilots

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"What the freakin' hell, Bill!?"

I scream as I walk in on my now officially ex-boyfriend plowing his dick into the tarted-up bitch he swore up and down, right and left was just a close work colleague, a good but platonic friend.

Yeah, at least he didn't lie about one thing – they are close, intimately so.

This is what I get for trying to surprise him on his birthday apparently.

God, I'm such a stupidly trusting woman sometimes.

"Sookeh! It's not what it looks like!"

Bill exclaims alarmed – butchering the heck out of my name as always – pulling out of the harlot known as Lorena, and flipping over to the other side of our bed – OUR BED – in a surprisingly deft maneuver.

The look of abject terror on his face is almost priceless.

"SERIOUSLY?! You fuggin' piece of shit!" I yell again, tugging so hard at my engagement ring it turns my knuckle white, "Keep him, Lorena," I spit out confidently, despite the fact my choice has been made in the spur of the moment, "Engagement's off, Bill!"

I hurl the ring across the room, not even waiting to hear it clatter across the slatted wooden floors as I storm out.

My emotions are banging against my eyelids, pushing liquid traitorously into the corners.

I will NOT let that cheating asshole see me cry.

"SOOKEH, WAIT!"

I hear again as I tear down the carpeted staircase – taking the steps two at a time – before snatching my purse from the narrow console table and throwing open the front door.

I don't even bother to check and see if he's following me.

Wouldn't make a damn bit of difference if he was.

Good riddance to bad rubbish!

My middle finger's held up proudly in the air behind me as I stalk over to my car – the one I refused to let him buy for me – still not shooting even one glance backwards.

Him cheating on me was THE end-all-be-all deal-breaker.

Relationship over.

I know I'm leaving a good amount of my stuff at his house – clothes, toiletries; the usual for non-cohabitating couples – but he can effing have all of it. I'm never taking one step over that threshold ever again. I'm beyond done. If all I have to do to rid myself of any ties to this waste of space is replace a couple of paltry things, who gives two shits?

Not this woman.

I wrench open the car door just as Bill comes running outside, trying awkwardly to pull a shirt over his head as he charges towards my vehicle. I waste not two seconds before slipping in, closing the door, and igniting the engine with the press of a button. I thank God, due to my shaking hands and frayed nerves, that there's no need to fumble with a key.

New cars really are the best when it comes to quick getaways.

In my haste, I forget all about the LoJack Bill had installed in my car – to save on insurance, sweetheart.

Doubt it, the paranoid asshole.

The car quietly beeps in a steady rhythm as I speedily reverse out of the driveway – paying close attention to the back-up camera – before I move the automatic shift into drive and peel off into the onyx-colored night.

The tears come soon after.

The tears don't stop, pouring down my face like open flood waters.

I'm driving like a bat out of hell down the two-lane freeway toward my Gran's house when a car – travelling a speed infinitely higher than mine – whooshes past me. The shockwaves cause me to swerve in my lane, and jolt me out of my almost trance-like funk. I'm startled for a minute, wondering why someone's going so hot towards Monroe until headlights come close after me, and does much the same, whipping left around my four-door sedan at an almost ungodly speed.

Going the same direction as I am.

Street racers.

I remember my Gran's complained about them, especially their late-at-night antics, but I'd never experienced the whole thing until now. It's unsettling and jarring, setting my already lit anxieties ablaze. I white-knuckle the steering wheel as another turbo-charged suped-up vehicle throws mine towards the shoulder line. Wavering more than I'd care to, I correct the car's trajectory.

Hell, it's just a couple of hours past sunset – shouldn't they at least wait until midnight or something?

As a third zooms past me, I guess not.

Blurry-eyed, I slow my own practically chasing speed, hoping to get far far away from these adrenaline junkies so I can try to enjoy my drive in some semblance of peace – despite the fact my emotions are in tumult.

Headlights flash from quite a ways behind me – catching up rapidly – another pair coming towards me on the left, and I don't exactly know what I'm expected to do. It's not as if I can quickly pull over. I'm still going at a reasonable clip given the speed limit – but the car behind continues to flash its brights all the same, gaining ground every second I hesitate.

They're almost blinding to my overly sensitive blue eyes.

More than almost.

My vision spots and I almost involuntarily let go of the gas pedal, unable to properly see in front or around me. All I can think is that I need to slow the hell down before I drive off the road, or worse into advancing traffic. I don't even know anymore how close the car behind me is, the speckled blurs in my eyes are so bad.

I can only hope I've put enough distance between me and the oncoming traffic to give him the opportunity to pass.

But even though he tries, I haven't.

The passing vehicle clips my front left bumper as he cuts me off to miss the oncoming semi-truck, sending me into a spin I struggle hard to try and right. My car vaults towards a side-ditch, zig-zagging from my efforts to rejoin the tires with the road, hitting the shallow embankment almost square on.

As the vehicle starts to flip off the road, circling in the air not once but at least twice – the airbag exploding into my face and chest – I send a short prayer to God asking to survive the night right before everything goes pitch black.