She pulled me hard.

Like she was trying to pull me out of the life I was living and into hers—only I didn’t really think about it that way at the time. Mostly I thought about how walking beside her felt right, even though something about her was wrong. Maybe her hair, which looked longer and like it hadn’t been combed for days. Little balls of fire burst inside of me and there was so much to say, but when I opened my mouth to speak, a thick ball of spit stuck in my throat. I tried to remember to be brave.

I reached out to hold her hand, which felt sticky, like a used candy wrapper. There was a quiet between us that I liked because I didn’t want to have to think about words and because it gave me an opportunity to count tires. Specifically, those on parked cars that were painted blue. She led me onto a bus and I sat by the window, this time counting parking meters, but things outside were moving too quickly and the thickness in my throat got bigger. She squeezed my hand once when we reached our stop. I still didn’t know where we were going, but it didn’t seem to matter because she was with me and I couldn’t imagine not following wherever she led.

“I will never leave you again.” She said it without looking at me, her words skimming the top of my head, and then we were back walking again. It had been raining on and off all day and each time her shoe plunked into a puddle, it sprayed a web of mud that clung to her socks. She pulled me along a little faster, maybe because I was falling behind or maybe for another reason.

And then suddenly we were there.

I knew because of the way she stopped. So abruptly that I accidentally crashed into her, sending the paper she was holding in her hand fluttering to the ground. I watched as raindrops landed on it, beading into pearls that then washed the letters away. She didn’t seem to care.

We stood in front of a very red house. A crimson shutter dangled from the side of one of the windows and when we walked up the front steps, I waited for her to ring the doorbell. Instead she fished around in her pocket, took out a screwdriver and what looked like a paper clip, and huddled over the doorknob. Within seconds I heard a click, and then the big red door creaked open.

“Where are we?” I whispered. It was dark. I wondered if anyone was home.

“Shhh.” She put her finger over her lips. “This way.”