Free The Alignment by Kay Camden

in the bed she turns over, hugging the pillow. I jerk the sheet over her, then the quilt, and pull the door closed. I take a quick shower because, apparently, I stink, then I fall onto the couch. Still high from my jog, I stare at the ceiling. My brain won’t quit. It’s working too hard trying to plan. I just don’t know how I could have been so careless, how I couldn’t have seen what it looked like to them. They think I’m seeing her. So now they aren’t just going to be after me. They will be after her too.
    I should tell them the truth, but they won’t likely believe me. They’ll think I’m trying to lead them off her. They won’t listen to the details if I try to explain. They believe too much in their foresight. They’ll think it’s finally happening.
    It would be so much easier to let them kill her. I’ll give it a week. If I don’t have a plan in a week, they can have her.

Chapter 7
    Liv
    A concert of chirping birds outside makes it impossible to go back to sleep. Not that I even want to. I’d rather lie here in this bliss as long as possible. An infinity has passed since I’ve felt this healthy, this vibrant. My whole body hums with such contentment that it’s hard to imagine being mad at him for drugging me. Especially since his drugs are so much better than mine.
    If I get up now, I can get ready and leave before I have to encounter him. It’s worth sacrificing this relaxation. I throw the covers aside.
    My legs are bare. I didn’t take off my pants last night. I spot them on the floor, but my reaching hand freezes in midair. I didn’t get in bed last night either. I fell asleep on the couch. I vaguely remember him moving me to the bedroom, but the hazy memory feels like a dream.
    He took off my pants. He’s out of his mind. I have good reason to storm in there right now and chew him out. Who does he think he is? But if I do that now, it will ruin my day. With so much recent turmoil, the temptation to savor this small pleasure is impossible to deny.
    I get up, and for the first time in months I feel well enough to brave some long overdue stretching. My muscles ache to move again, to return to their normal strength and agility. Feeling satisfied with this small amount of work, I put on some scrubs and finger-comb my hair. I pull it back in a low loose ponytail, put on my shoes, and grab my bag. Tiptoeing into the hall, I’m bewildered by my ability to put full weight on my leg, especially after my little workout.
    The sound of heavy, even breathing grows louder as I move toward the front door. I can’t avoid seeing him lying on the couch on his back, his feet hanging off the end, arms splayed. He looks as if he just fell backward on the couch and stayed that way all night. My temper flares. I bite my lip and head for the door, almost tripping over a lump in the path. I recognize my purple duffle bag so I unzip it slowly to keep the zipper from making too much noise. It’s packed full of my belongings from the house.
    I’ll deal with that later. I ease open the door and step outside, but as I take a deep breath, my mood quickly crashes and burns. I can’t leave! I have no idea how to get to my car without falling in a pit of snakes or stepping on a land mine. And I don’t even see my car. He was supposed to get my car! I drag myself back inside my prison and sit on the bed, numbed to the bone.
    All of this, from the moment our cars collided, is his fault. The people after me—his problem. Yet I’m the one suffering. He’s peacefully sleeping on his own couch. Nothing in his life has been disrupted, while mine has been shaken until the already broken pieces have shattered into rubble. It seemed impossible to repair before. Now, it’s hopeless.
    I force myself up and over to the window to pull the curtain open and let in some light. As soon as I see the bars on the windows I almost laugh out loud. This can’t get any worse. My threat of laughter chokes in my throat when I hear a raised