1. Claire

I couldn't drive away fast enough. I was about to break—I could feel it coming. For years, I put up with him and his family. For years, they treated me like absolute shit. Then throw in Becca, and I just couldn't do it anymore.

My phone has been ringing nonstop since I ran out of that party like a bat out of hell. Andrew has called at least thirty times in the last ten minutes, and I guess it's finally time I hear him out.

"Baby, you have to slow down. You're going way too fast, and I'm scared you're going to get into an accident. I know you think you know what you saw, but trust me—it wasn't what you're thinking. For the love of God, please slow down."

I should have known he'd be following me. That's how it always goes: he hurts me, I try to communicate, he apologizes, he does it again, I leave... then he chases. It's been an ongoing cycle, and I just can't do it anymore.

"Andrew, please go away. I can't do this with you right now. I just need space."

I know he can hear me starting to wheeze. My asthma's been a bitch lately with all this stress, and I can feel a full-blown attack coming on.

"Claire, baby, please slow down and use your inhaler. You've got to calm down, baby, please. I put your inhaler in your purse this morning before I left for the wedding."

By now, I'm wheezing and coughing, so I reach for my purse—which makes me swerve the car.

"Fuck! Baby, pull the fuck over now! You're going to get hurt or hurt someone else, and I need you to get to your inhaler!"

Fuck me. My purse had dropped during my fast exit from the reception, and I picked up what I could... clearly, my inhaler didn't make the cut in that moment.

"Shit," I whisper, realizing it's not here. Well, I guess wheezing to death is the less painful option when your other one is having your heart crushed into a thousand tiny pieces over and over again.

"Shit? What, Claire? Is your inhaler not in there?"

I don't answer. Between trying to breathe and trying to get farther away from him, I've got my hands full.

"Fucking shit, Claire, answer me! Pull the fuck over! I have an extra inhaler in my car for you!"

Fuck it. Death by a thousand cuts it is.

I begin to slow down—until I hear her.

"Andrew," I huff, struggling to suck in air, "is Becca in the car with you?"

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"Hey Claire," Becca says, in that little innocent voice she loves to use whenever "Drewy"—as she calls him—is around. "I jumped in the car when I saw him going after you. I wanted to be able to explain. Drewy was just comforting me—I wasn't feeling well, so we walked to that back room, and I felt a little dizzy..."

"Stop, Becca. Just stop. You can have him. I'm done," I say.

I floor it. If I can just get to a hospital, I'll be fine and on my way.

"Claire, baby, please—I love you, baby, plea—"

That's all I heard before I felt the impact, and the car began to flip.

I guess I wasn't the only one running away from something today.

But I'm probably the only one who won't make it out alive.