She could see that he was angry at her in the set of his jaw and the way he gripped the wheel. It only grew as they got farther and farther down the road and when he missed their turn, she knew she had to act or she wouldn’t be coming back from this one. She tuned the radio, jumping stations, and the muscle in his jaw twitched. She found one of his stations and it stopped. She leaned back in her chair and sank down in the seat. She wouldn’t have long. She watched out the window, empty fields rolling along, no place to hide, or run, and no cars passing them on the road.
The sun was setting when she saw the sign for the rest stop. Now or never. She took her purse off the car floor and rummaged through it for her lip gloss. His hands didn’t shift on the wheel so she tucked the bag into her lap and counted the street lights. In a series of small movements she made herself as compact as possible. He wasn’t going to take the exit. It would have been easier, but nothing with him ever was. Then the exit was there and she undid her seatbelt. He looked over and opened his mouth to snap, but she had the door open and two breaths later she hit the pavement. She rolled a bit, knew enough to protect her head and keep rolling. She heard the screech of car wheels and picked herself up off the pavement. He would head back for her. He always did. She pelted down the exit. Something hurt. She ignored it. Her lungs worked and her legs moved and there was a lighted gas station. The light flared behind her and she jumped the rail, getting off the asphalt, glad she was wearing sneakers.
The engine revved behind her and she sprinted to the gas station and the possibility of other people and security cameras. He wouldn’t care about the cameras. But this had to work.