Oh, God. Why is he still staring at me like that?

How long has he been staring at me…

His hands are freezing cold. Why won’t he just let go.

I feel sick. I can’t look into his eyes. I feel like if I do, those ice blue eyes will pierce my soul.

That damn, white, crooked smile.

My hands are shaking in his. I’m sweating.

The lights are beginning to blur. He’s still talking. Asking me questions.

I need to get out of here.

I tug my hands away from his abruptly.

“I need to use the restroom.” I stammer out. I feel kind of bad leaving like this, but I physically cannot stay here any longer.

I rush out of the restaurant and into my car.

My chest heaves as I remember his face.

Perfect white smile. Soft, blonde, curly hair. Bright blue eyes. Freckles across his face.

My heart races with terror in my chest as I glance at my rearview mirror.

For a second, I think I see him in the backseat.

I scream.