Michael

The smartphone screen flickered, spilling the poisonous light of a stalker's story into the car. A second later, I recognized that jacket. My heart started racing. "Bitch, again," I hissed, turning the steering wheel. The city turned into neon stripes. I flew through the streets, and the thought pounded in my head: I'm rushing to pull this idiot out of this hopeless mess again. She was climbing into hell, not turning on her brain, as if she had an alternate reality. She methodically, with masochistic persistence, destroyed life, testing the world for strength. The abandoned Mayak restaurant looked like a rotting corpse. Concrete ribs, broken window sockets, and silence. I prayed that the rustling was coming from my crazy woman, not a pack of misfits. I cursed as I picked my way through the rubble. The stairs groaned under the weight. For a second, I sweated: what if it wasn't her? But the flashlight found a hole. I jumped out onto the roof, and the wind slapped me in the face. Ahead, a thin figure was already climbing the rusty ladder to the lighthouse tower. "Your mother, get off! Immediately!" I yelled. She turned around and only sped up. Her cry, "I'm almost there!" was laced with animal terror. She wasn't enjoying herself; she was choking with fear, but she kept climbing higher. Why?! The ladder began to pull away from the wall with a grinding noise. I rushed toward the secondary ramp, cursing the height. I made it just in time: as the metal ripped from the concrete, I grabbed her by the collar with a death grip and threw her onto the landing. “Fuck...” I breathed out into the sky. My heart was pounding in my throat. Her body, stone from shock, pressed me against the shards. She was alive. "Do you have any instincts?! Even a shred of self-preservation?!" I shook her shoulders. She sat up, looking at me with guilty eyes: —I didn't ask...I wanted to do it myself. Just to see the city... I was blown away. —Enough! You would have cracked your head! And it wouldn't have been doctors who found you, but scumbags. You would have been lucky to just die! Tears glistened in her eyes. I cupped her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me. My voice became quieter: —Tell me...now. What's wrong with you? I'm running out of resources. I won't come next time. Just tell me: where does it hurt? How can I help you stop flirting with the morgue?