NEVER LET GO

Adrian

"Holy shit!" I slammed on the brakes, my heart skipping a beat as I skidded to a stop just inches from the lady on the road. For a second, I just sat there, gripping the wheel, trying to catch my breath.

The street was quiet, no one else in sight—that… that was good. She was sprawled there, still, and for a moment I wondered if I had actually hit her.

I pulled myself together and jumped out of the car, hurrying over. She was young, maybe early twenties, but unconscious. I crouched down, unsure of what to do. I really hoped this was just a faint or a panic attack—something mild. Hospital bills weren’t cheap, and I didn’t have that kind of cash lying around.

"Hey," I said, patting her shoulder gently, trying to wake her. "Hey, are you okay?"

Nothing. My mind raced as I checked for a pulse. It was faint but steady, thank God. I wanted to leave her here to avoid getting into trouble, but I couldn’t—especially not with how dangerous the streets could be at night. I grabbed her underarms, lifting her up. I helped her into the back of the car, careful not to bang her head, and then slammed the door shut. I was about to go grab her backpack when something hit me.

‘What if she was faking it?’

I hesitated for a moment, then reached for the bag lying by the curb. I opened it, searching through the contents: a few clothes, some crumpled bills, and random stuff—no gun. My eyes lingered on the money for a second longer than they should’ve. Damn. She looked like she was on the run from something—or someone—but I couldn’t just take it. I zipped the bag up quickly and shoved it into the passenger seat beside me.

She was either a runaway or travelling pretty light. Worst case scenario, she was a thief.

I slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. The clock in the dash read just past ten—just when I’d planned on starting my night shift to earn some extra money.

As I turned the corner, I glanced at the rearview mirror. I saw her stir, her eyelids fluttering.

"Hey," I said, letting out a breath of relief. "You’re awake. Are you alright?"

She blinked, disoriented, her eyes wide with fear as she sat up. For a moment, I thought she was about to bolt out of the moving car.

I tried to keep my tone calm, and light. “Don’t worry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Thankfully, I didn’t run you over.”

She didn’t respond at first, just stared at me, her expression tense. I could tell she was weighing her options. Probably thinking that I was some kind of predator.

I tried again. "I’m Adrian. What’s your name?"

"Beatrice," she mumbled, her voice shaky. She glanced around, looking for something, probably for her bag. I followed her gaze to the passenger seat, and she seemed to relax a little when she spotted it. "Can I have it back?" she asked as though it wasn’t her property.

Suspicious.

"Sure," I said, handing it over. She clutched it tightly, holding it to her chest like it was the only thing protecting her. For a moment, I thought she might just ask me to pull over and let her go, but then her eyes darted to mine again through the mirror and I watched her hesitate to speak.

“I need… to go somewhere else,” she said quickly. “Please, I’ll pay you. Just… don’t take me back there.” Her hands were trembling as she clutched the bag tighter.

My brows creased. “Take you back where?” I asked, keeping one eye on the road. "Where do you need to go?"

Her face drained of colour, her lips trembling. "I... I don’t know.”

“I could drive you home then. It’ll be on the house since I almost ran you over,” I joked to lighten up the mood. But that hardly did any good.

Why did she seem so scared? Was she really some sort of thief on the run?

“I can’t go home!” She yelled out. “I can’t go back there, to him. He’s... he’s abusive." Her voice cracked, and before I could process it, she was crying, her whole body shaking with sobs.

I clenched my jaw, unsure of what to do. Maybe I should drop her off with the cops. But if what she said was true, she would be sent back to an abusive lover. The thought of that reminded me of the relationship my parents shared.

My grip on the steering wheel tightened.

I didn’t know if I could trust her enough to bring her to my place, didn’t know if this was all some elaborate act. But the fear in her words was undeniable—someone was going to hurt her if I sent her back.

I slowed the car down to think, then glanced over at her. “How old are you?”

She sniffed, wiping her face with the back of her hand, before answering in a near whisper. “Twenty-two.”

It was believable. Her face still held that softness of someone who was maybe barely out of their teens. But her body told a different story—mature. Maybe I was just overthinking it?

“No family members nearby? I could drive you.”

She shook her head, “I lived with my boyfriend.”

“Fine,” I said, still hesitant but something inside me gave in. “You can stay at my place for the night. But not for long, alright? I’m not running some kind of shelter here.”

Her face lit up for the first time, and she thanked me over and over like I’d just handed her a lifeline. Was staying with a stranger that much of a relief? Luckily, I wasn’t some sort of weirdo.

Though I couldn’t help but feel a bit uneasy about the situation, I figured she had no other place to go. And honestly? Taking in strays wasn’t like me.

Either way, I could only hope I hadn’t just made a huge mistake.

***

Somehow, her short stay at my place had gone peacefully with me waking up to breakfast every morning. Before I knew it, day three had arrived and this strange woman showed no signs of leaving!

The strange thing was, I didn’t mind how she just made herself at home. From the moment Beatrice showed up, she started doing…well, everything. Cleaning, cooking, even taking care of the laundry—which, by the way, I hadn’t touched in a while. She’d hum this quiet tune as she moved around, a sound that seemed to soften the whole apartment. And every morning, I’d wake up to her already at work in the kitchen, flipping pancakes or scrambling eggs. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had done that for me.

God, she was beautiful. I only really saw her the next morning after she’d moved in—standing by the sink with her auburn hair falling loose over her shoulders, her soft grey eyes bright even in the early light. I remember stopping in the doorway, just staring like an idiot. She was young, too. Kind. I couldn’t wrap my head around how anyone could hurt someone like her. Every time I thought about the bruises she’d shown up with, it made me feel sick. That’s part of why I hadn’t said a word about her leaving. There was something about her that felt…delicate like she needed someone to protect her.

But I was starting to feel the pinch. I couldn’t even keep myself going some weeks—how was I supposed to feed two people? Still, I kept putting off the conversation, kept letting her stay one more day, then another, and another. I guess a part of me just wasn’t ready to lose the company. I loved how she’d listen to me go on about my dreams, and all the things I wanted to do once I gathered enough money. I didn’t have much to offer her for entertainment—no TV. She had no phone—but she didn’t seem to mind. She’d just sit there whenever I got home, her eyes fixed on me, nodding or smiling as I ranted on.

I couldn’t tell her much about my family—I didn’t really have one—but I got the feeling she understood that she liked that aspect. The fact that we were both alone.

One week turned into two, and the more I saw of her, the more I found myself wishing I could make this permanent somehow. I started thinking up crazy plans—maybe I’d get an overnight job, something to scrape together enough to cover both of us. But who was I kidding? I would be exhausted and unable to spend time with her; she deserved a life, someone who could actually offer her something real. And yet, every time I thought about it, the thought of letting her go hit me harder than I expected.

Then one night, it all caught up to me. I was up late, drowning my thoughts in cheap whiskey, trying to push down all the questions about where I was headed, about what I was doing keeping her here. I must have passed out at some point because the next thing I knew, I opened my eyes to find her lying next to me, her auburn hair spread out on the pillow, her face close enough to feel her warm breath.

In my half-asleep daze, I reached over, trailing my fingers through her hair, feeling the softness between my fingers. She stirred, her grey eyes fluttering open, meeting mine. And in that moment, it was like something shifted inside me, something I hadn’t even realized I was holding back.

“Adrian,” she whispered, her voice so soft it almost broke me. She leaned in, closing the space between us, her soft lips pressing against mine. I knew I’d fallen for her. Fallen hard. I couldn’t bring myself to imagine a day without her anymore, and the thought of her walking out of my life was suddenly unbearable.

“Beatrice,” I breathed against her lips, “I’ll never let you go…” then my lips came down upon hers once again.