“I don’t care if the Earth opened up, swallowed you whole and shat you out in hell!” Namibia growled as she hurried around the living room, gathering her things before fast walking out the front door. The weathered screen door, still in desperate need of a paint job, creaked behind her as she sprinted down the porch steps two at a time. The crunch of loose gravel beneath her vintage cowgirl boots warned anyone within earshot to beware of the runaway woman train.
She opened her grandmother’s hand-me-down pickup truck like she had good sense, slung her things across the front seat, and closed its tricky driver’s side door without a thought, thanks to muscle memory.
As she put the key in the ignition, she used her other hand to wipe inconvenient tears, which blurred her vision.“Come on, Nellie Bell,” Namibia coaxed, using the nickname her grandmother had given the old pickup. Nellie Bell didn’t give a damn about making a quick getaway. Treat her roughly, your ass would be walking.
Namibia’s phone vibrated from within her purse. She shot a look at the house. “Fuck you, Jamal.”
Namibia checked the rearview mirror as she eased Nellie Bell out of the drive way until parallel with his house. She bit her bottom lip, took one more look at that old house, and rehashed his stupid words. “We are over the red line. We all should have fled the country months ago.”
Well, jackass, consider me fled.