I watch as he throws her in the air for the twentieth time

Her giggles escape her mouth as I let out my own breath

I want to grab her and hold her as tight as I can

But I also know that she will be fine

That her dad loves her too

She is safe with him

All I need to do is

just breathe

And

Let

Go.

I see the headlights approach me as the rain pours down like needles on my skin. Please stop, please stop, I think to myself as the car begins to slow down. Thank God. The car pulls over and the passenger seat window is rolled down.

“Need a ride?” says the man in the driver’s seat. He has long blonde hair that seems to be half braided in the back. The wrinkles on his face suggest he is mid to late forties. He is super skinny with his Adam’s apple being about the only thing that sticks out on his body. No beer gut. That’s a good sign, I’d hate to be picked up by a drunk driver. I’m pretty sure he is just an old man still trying to be cool, so I take my chances and hop in the car.

“Thanks” I say as I try to shake all the water off of me and buckle up. “I’m Jessica” I give him a fake name of course; you can never be too careful. Especially when hitchhiking.

“Joshua” he says, and then adds, “where you headed?”

“Anywhere but here.” I mumble. When I see his confusion I add, “about 15 miles down the road. I just need to get to a motel for the night.”

“A motel huh? No suitcase?” So, he noticed. Most men wouldn’t pick up on something like that.

I decide to tell him my story as he begins to drive. “Yeah, I uh…didn’t have time to pack. I’m trying to get away from my husband. We uh, had a fight.” I say and point to the now blackened bruise on my cheek.

“Oh I see” he says as I see his face fill in the blanks. “You are a little young to be married though aren’t ya?” he adds; I suppose trying not to pry too much but still being curious. They are always curious though.

“Just got married last year. Was only 19 years old.” I lie. I am actually 28 years old. I have always had a baby face and nobody ever believes me when I tell them my real age anyways. Besides, it will be easier if he thinks I am just some young naïve girl.

We don’t talk much for the rest of the ride. Just some small talk about all this rain that we have been having and what he does for a living. Accountant. That would explain his need to be cool. I can only imagine how boring his life must be.

“Thanks for the ride” I say when we arrive to the hotel. “Um, this is kind of embarrassing. But, could you walk me to the room just to be safe?” I ask, hoping that he doesn’t get the wrong idea or anything. He agrees and we get the key from the motel manager and head towards my room.

I decide to make my move when we arrive at the door. I put the key into the lock and just as he is turning away I grab my knife from my belt. This will be so much fun. But when I bring the knife up to slash his throat, he eyes the knife and ducks. He then kicks me hard in the side and pushes me into the room and runs away. He is in his car and driving away by the time I regain my composure.

He got away. That’s okay, I’ll get the next one. Besides, now I have a nice bruise forming on my ribs to help add to my story.

I press my fingers to the keyboard, willing something eloquent to spring forth from my mind. Yet, I can't help but be distracted from what I see outside my window. Okay, forget eloquence, let me tell you what I see.

There is a squirell jumping from tree to tree as if he is anxious about something. At first I say to him, "Don't worry, I am not going to take your nuts." But then I look up above and see what is truly bothering him.

There is a hawk soaring above in the sky looking for his next prey. He is flying. Watching. Waiting.

Part of me is rooting for the squirrel to make it somewhere safe before the hawk makes his decent. Yet, there is another part of me that wants to watch the hawk eat the squirrel. Those pesky squirrels do get into our garden and eat our tomatoes a lot after all.

But no, there is more to it than that. I want to watch this squirrel get eaten. I want to watch the hawk reign supreme over this rodent.

Do we all, as humans, have this innate desire to see violence and power played out before our very eyes? Or am I secretly a pyschopath?

I will answer that after I watch this hawk devour the squirrel.