The faucet dripped in tune with the flick of the stranger's fingers against the syringe while Romie stared at the grime-covered ceiling tiles, waiting for the moment she'd float into the clouds.

She wasn't proud of herself.

Life left her with scars, both emotional and physical. Most of them she wore on her face, an extensive web of scarring from an accident long ago. Sometimes she'd forget them until someone stopped in their tracks to stare. They always stared.

"Hurry up," Romie complained.

"Be patient..." the woman purred, her hot pink lipstick bleeding into the lines around her weathered mouth. "Deep breath."

And then Romie was off, her head nodding into short-lived bliss where she could forget her troubles.

When she finally sobered up, she blinked rapidly, taking in her surroundings: dirty green tiles with scuff marks, broken stall doors, flickering fluorescent lights, and the scent of mildew. Yes, she was still in the scuzzy truck stop bathroom, and her new companion was passed out next to her.

Romie propped a cigarette between her lips and snapped her fingers. Amber heat flowed from her chipped nails, igniting her tawny skin as she lit the end before taking a deep drag. She played with the small sphere of flames in her palm, but when the woman beside her began to stir, she closed her fist to put it out.

"That was some strong stuff," her companion groaned. "It hasn't hit me like that in years."

"We should probably get going."

"No one will barge in here if that's what you're worried about." The woman staggered to her feet to fluff her hair in the cracked mirror. "Where ya heading after this?"

"Not sure. Washington? Maybe California?"

"Well, if you're interested, I got a man named Luca who lives not too far from here. He'll let us stay at his house if we pay for whatever we use."

"Can't. I'm out of money."

The woman paused to glance at Romie's reflection. "Honey, you don't have to pay with money to get what you want. Your face might be messed up, but the rest of you is hot."

"I'm not a prostitute."

"Oh, you think you're above it?"

"I'm not judging you. I just don't like going to houses out in the desert. They're too isolated."

"Then you need to get yourself one of these." She opened her purse, flashing what sat inside.

"I don't like guns."

"Neither do I, but this wasteland is a man's world, baby-cakes." She blew her reflection a kiss. "So what do ya say?"

"You trust this guy?"

"Luca isn't violent if that's what you're worried about."

"I don't know..."

"Oh, come on, baby-cakes. You don't have to be scared. We'll look out for each other. I promise."

"Fine. I'll go."

Out in the sizzling sun, she watched her companion schmooze a truck driver into giving them a ride. She couldn't even remember the woman's name, yet there she was, heading to some house out in the desert where some guy named Luca supposedly lived. It wasn't like her to trust people. Everyone that was meant to protect her always let her down, and despite the voice in the back of her mind telling her not to, she hopped into the truck.

As the Big Rig merged onto the highway, the driver explained how he was on his way to deliver water to a nearby town. With the drought plaguing the entire country, it was becoming harder for inland communities to function, while others simply packed their bags and migrated to the coast. Those who stayed depended on truckers like him for help, and he smiled proudly, like a knight about to save damsels in distress.

"So, Sierra, is your friend a fugitive, or is there a reason she covers her face with a bandana?"

So that's her name! Romie remembered.

Sierra grinned at her. "Care to show this lovely gentleman what's behind door number three?"

"No."

"Ah, come on, show him."

"I said no."

The driver drummed the steering wheel. "Well, you certainly have me intrigued. What's under there? A pretty smile?"

"Just show him." Sierra yanked the bandana down, and the trucker accidentally swerved into oncoming traffic upon seeing her face.

"Eyes on the road," Romie barked at him, and next to her, Sierra cackled, her head falling backward. "How dare you."

"Aw. Did I hurt your feelings, baby-cakes?"

Moments like these reminded Romie why she wandered the wasteland alone. People were trouble. Thankfully, fists often set them straight. A crunch filled the truck's cabin as Romie retreated her hand, followed by Sierra screeching and cupping her bloody nose.

"You little-"

"Finish that sentence, and I'll do it again."

"I need the two of you to get out of my truck!" the driver demanded as the tires skidded onto the shoulder of the highway. "I knew it'd be trouble giving hookers a ride."

"I'm not a hooker," Romie growled and jumped out, nearly slamming the door on Sierra.

"Now, look what you've done! We have like, two more miles to go before we get to Luca's, and you cost us our ride."

"I'm not going anywhere with you. Not after that."

Romie turned around and quickly assessed her surroundings with a hand shielding her eyes. It was nothing but dry, sun-bleached earth for miles on either side of the highway.

She hated Nevada.

Only bad things ever happened in Nevada.

Sighing, she accepted her fate of having to trek to the next town, but at least she was dressed for the heat in jean shorts and a tank top.

"Romie, wait," Sierra called out, her boots shuffling across the gravel as she dabbed at her bloody nose. "You're not really leaving me, are you?"

"You'll get over it."

"Please, wait."

"What for?"

"Because Luca has thousands of dollars hidden under his bed!"

Coming to a complete stop, Romie peered over her shoulder and studied Sierra's leathery face. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Us girls gotta stick together, right?"

"Wrong."

"Alright, fine! I need someone to grab the money while I keep him distracted."

"And what's in it for me other than getting caught?"

"I'll split it with you. Fifty-fifty."

"Seventy-thirty." Romie lifted her chin.

"Sixty-forty," Sierra countered. "I'm taking a risk too."

Stealing wasn't something she was proud of, but sometimes Romie had to stoop low to survive. With her pockets empty, and hunger gurgling in her belly, she nodded. "Fine. I'll go."

By the time they reached Luca's home in the desert, the sky was a fade of purple with orange ripples setting the horizon on fire. The small ranch was so off the beaten path that she couldn't even hear the soft whoosh of Big Rigs speeding down the highway. Instead, her ears filled with the chirping of insects and the snap of dry weeds at her feet.

When the door swung open, loud music spilled out, along with cool air that caressed her sweaty forehead. The bare-chested man, with slick wet hair, seemed perplexed.

"Sierra, what are you doing here?"

"Aw, come on, Luca-baby." She stepped forward, pressing her palms to his damp pecks. "We've come a long way."

"Who's your friend?" His dark eyes explored Romie's bronze legs before continuing to her face.

"This is Romie. She can be your friend too."

"Why's your face covered?"

"Because she's shy." Sierra pouted.

"I didn't ask you. I asked her."

"I have scars." Deciding to get the curiosity over with, Romie straightened her shoulders and mentally prepared herself for the moment his expression would morph into horror. Except when she lowered the bandana, his face remained neutral as he stepped forward.

"What happened to you?" he said softly.

"I survived a fire as a child."

"Can we come in now?" Sierra whined. "I'm getting eaten alive by mosquitoes."

"Sure, but this isn't a brothel anymore, so if you came here looking for work, you won't find it."

"Since when?" Sierra huffed.

"Since eight months ago. I'm just having a game night with some of the old regulars. Still want to stay?"

"Well, I'm too tired to turn back now." Sierra slid past him, but when it was Romie's turn, he blocked her path.

"You're not letting me in?"

"Is this a problem?" He grazed the crook of her arm where a faint track mark was, and she pulled away, covering it.

"No."

"Is it going to become one?"

"I only do it recreationally."

"There's no doing it recreationally. Trust me." He turned, revealing the tattoos covering his entire back. "See the one on my neck? I got it when I completed a year of sobriety. That was three years ago, and I had a few slip-ups after, but now I'm going on eight months clean."

"Is that why you closed the brothel?"

"Can't stay clean if I keep shoving my hands in mud. Know what I mean?" He stepped aside, allowing her to pass.

The living room was dim, with a hazy cloud of smoke when she entered. Sierra was already sitting on a worn leather couch with a cigarette in hand while whispering into a man's ear. The part about the place no longer being a brothel had clearly gone in one ear and out the other as she rubbed his thigh. A pool table took up the center of the room, with a few long-haired bikers playing a game. Off to the side in the kitchen, more of them sat around playing poker.

As Romie glanced about, she couldn't help but notice how she and Sierra were the only women. Her shoulders sagged.

Only bad things happened in Nevada.

"You can help yourself to anything you'd like," Luca startled her. He'd slipped on a shirt and was towel-drying his hair.

"I don't have money."

"Why would you need money?"

"Sierra said we need to pay for whatever we use."

"Well, that's your first problem." He folded his arms. "I don't know how long you've been friends, but—"

"We're not friends. I just barely met her this morning."

"Well then, as someone who's known her for several years, my advice is not to believe a word she says. She's a junky. So she'll say anything to get her next fix."

Absorbing Luca's warning, her mind drifted to the money supposedly hidden under his bed. Was it a lie? Everyone lied. She did too. Maybe he was a liar also?

"Can I use your bathroom?"

"Sure. Use my private one. It's the last door on the right." But when she stepped toward the hallway, he latched onto her arm. "I can trust you not to steal anything, right?"

"Why would I?"

He cocked his brow. "Seriously? Look at who you arrived with."

"As I said, I met her this morning, and come tomorrow, I'll be onto the next town. Without her."

"Lone wolf?"

"Yeah, you can say that. Now can I go pee? It's been a long day."

"Sure." He released her arm, and his attention shifted to giving his Bull Terrier a thorough back-scratch. The look of contentment on the canine's face tugged a smile across Romie's scarred lips. People who were kind to animals were often kind to her. It was a good sign.

The moment Romie stepped into Luca's room, she expelled a long breath and relaxed her shoulders. Unlike the rest of the house, his room was tranquil with its shaggy carpet and countless pillows tossed on the indigenous-inspired quilt draping the bed. A reading alcove off to the side had black and white photographs above a brick fireplace. Most were landscapes and likely personal—considering the walls throughout the house were bare.

It was as if Luca's room reflected the real him, and the rest of the home was a memory of his former self.

Romie eyed the bed. She couldn't even remember the last time she slept on clean sheets. Except, she didn't have time to reminisce because Sierra had invited her to the house for a reason. So, she crouched onto her hands and knees to peek under the bed. However, there was no sign of a hidden door anywhere. What if Sierra was lying about the money?

"This was a mistake..." Romie muttered to herself, but upon standing, her ears twitched, and a shiver pricked her spine.

Something was wrong.

Going to the door, she pressed her ear against it and concentrated. Someone was whispering out there. Closing her eyes, she focused on the voices instead of the pulsing music.

"I know what I saw. I've been following her for days."

"You better not be lying," a deep voice replied.

"I'm not. I swear."

"Yeah, but you've lied before. And let's face it, you're not looking so hot these days. I can tell you've been on a bender."

"Malcolm-baby, I'm not lying. She can manipulate fire. I saw her light a cigarette by snapping her fingers, and a flame suddenly appeared in her palm."

"You sure she didn't use a lighter?" Luca's familiar voice asked.

"I'm positive. That girl is a superhuman freak show. It's probably how she burned her face."

"So she lit a cigarette. Big deal. It proves nothing."

"Luca-baby, deep down, you know I'm right. She has powers, and if we sell her to Collectors, they'll give us top dollar."

"It couldn't hurt to get in touch with my old connections," said the deep voice. "See what price we can get for her."

It was all Romie needed to hear to know she was in trouble. People like them were the reason she lived a life of running and looking over her shoulder for Collectors. Being in their clutches meant becoming a science experiment.

It meant death.

Swiveling on her heels, she began looking for an alternate escape, but the bedroom window had bars on it. Rushing to the bathroom, she searched the smooth, windowless walls.

"Think, Romie, think!" she said to herself.

In the mirror, she spotted the shower curtain's reflection and spun to face it. She yanked the patterned vinyl open to find a small glass square with a view of the outside. Her ears twitched again as loud music from the hallway flooded the room, along with Sierra's treacherous voice.

"Are you coming out? There's a cute guy I want you to meet."

"Yeah, just a sec," Romie replied and pushed on the window without making a sound.

"What's taking so long?"

"I um... I got my period."

"Oh. Well, do you need a tampon? I can pass you one."

"No, I've got one. Thanks."

Cool desert air grazed her neck as she finally pried the window all the way open, but judging by the space available, it was going to be a tight squeeze for her hips.

"Think, Romie, think," she whispered to herself. Soap! She could use it to create a slick surface to help glide herself out. Running the faucet, she foamed her hands and slathered the window casing.

Using the curtain rod for support, she hiked her legs through the window, but the bathroom door slammed open.

"Where do you think you're going!?" said a deep voice with a firm hand snatching her hair.

As Romie clawed at the knuckles keeping her in a vice, she gritted her teeth against the burn radiating from her scalp. Her eyes blurred with tears when a chunk of hair ripped away, but for a few precious seconds, she was free, so she continued wiggling her way through the window. Except the firm hands returned to hook under her armpits and hauled her backward. When she glared at her assailant, it was the same man Sierra had been whispering to on the couch.

"You're not going anywhere."

"Oh, yes, I am!" She clamped her hand onto his wrist, engulfing his arm in amber flames.

"You're going to kill him!" Sierra shrieked, so Romie spun to face her and flexed her fist to create a small fireball.

"Get out of my way, and I won't."

"The place is surrounded, and we have weapons. You can't kill us all," Sierra shouted.

"I can, and I will, but if you let me leave here unharmed, then I won't have to."

"You're not getting away with this. Freaks like you need to be caged!" Sierra snarled, but she stepped aside, and Romie released Malcolm's arm.

The hallway which had pulsed with music earlier was quiet, and the men who were once absorbed by their games were now shoulder to shoulder, forming a blockade in the living room. Romie was trapped. A flame expanded in her palm as she flexed her fist.

"All I want is to leave here unharmed."

"I'm sorry, but we can't let you go," one of them said. "You're worth too much."

"Then I guess we're doing this the hard way." With a flick of her wrist, she sent an orb of fire barreling towards them. Those who didn't dive for cover became charcoal.

"Light her up!" someone yelled.

Bullets began flying from their weapons, but she dodged into the bedroom and locked the door behind her. It wasn't enough to keep them at bay, but it would buy her a few seconds. She rushed to the bathroom to find Sierra on the floor, rocking back and forth while covering her ears. Malcolm was consoling her while clutching his wounded arm when he glanced up and flinched.

"Don't move." His hand quivered as he pulled his pistol out. "I will shoot you."

"And I will burn you again if you don't let me climb out of that window! So, what's it going to be, Malcolm-baby?" Romie mocked.

The bedroom door banged open, causing the walls to vibrate like the erratic beat of her heart. She was out of time as the men swarmed the tiny space like a stampede of elephants. Cornered with nowhere else to go, Romie extended her arms and took a deep breath as she sent waves of flames toward them.

This time, she didn't stop until they were all roasting. Then, she closed her eyes and pushed blindly through their engulfed bodies as they careened into one another, screaming.

Run. Just run, she told herself as she bolted from the bedroom.

When she emerged from the house, bullets whizzed past her ear from the remaining men standing guard outside. She skidded to a halt to stand her ground, and as they continued firing at her, she whirled her hands in a circular motion, creating a blazing sphere. When it was large enough, she sent a flare of heat their way with a force that threw them backward.

Run. Just run.

Somewhere behind her, an engine roared with its tires screeching across the gravel. Romie whipped around, her hands ready to send another fireball, but it was Luca. He stuck his head out of the window and shouted for her.

"Hurry up! Get in."

Glancing back and forth between him and the mini mob running after her, she lifted her palm and hurled another fireball toward them. It bowled a few of them down, leaving pillars of ash before crumbling and floating off into the midnight wind. With the rest of them on her heels, she jumped into the passenger seat while scooting his Bull Terrier aside.

"Drive!" she screamed, and he sped off.

"Can you not aim your hand at me, please?"

"I don't think so. Your friends just tried to kill me!"

"They're not my friends."

"Just keep driving." Romie flexed her fist, causing the flame in her palm to expand, but Luca clamped his hand over hers, creating a sizzle. A glacial sensation traveled up her arm, prompting her to inhale sharply. When he removed his hand, ice chips remained, and her eyes widened. "...how did you?"

"When I was five years old, I fell through a frozen pond and almost died. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"No." She shook her head.

"Somehow, our powers become active with near-death experiences, and from the moment you said you survived a fire, I had this feeling. I just knew. Unfortunately for you, Sierra figured it out too."

"Does she know about you?"

"Nobody knows."

"Why are you helping me?"

"Because we're the same, and there aren't many of us out there, so we ought to stick together. Don't you think?"

"I'm safer on my own."

"You sure? Because it's your carelessness that got you into this mess. Didn't anyone teach you not to expose your power in public? And let's not even start with how willy-nilly you are with those flames of yours."

"Excuse me?"

"You don't know how to control your power."

"Really? Because I definitely knew what I was doing back there."

"My home is on fire. That's not showing control." He shook his head, his hands squeezing the steering wheel as the desert whipped past them. "But you're young, so you still have time to learn."

"Oh, please, I'm twenty-two!"

"Exactly. I'm thirty-six, which means I've had more time to hone my power, and I want to help you. You don't have to be out here alone."

Romie sat back and stared at the side mirror. In the distance, Luca's home was consumed by orange flames stretching towards the glittered sky like fingers. Her abdomen tightened, and she swallowed back bile.

Bad things always happened in Nevada.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"A cabin in Idaho. We'll be safe there with an old friend of mine."

"And you trust this person?"

"I do. Do you trust me?"

Staring out of the window again, she exhaled and closed her eyes. It had been years since she trusted anyone, but Luca wasn't like those other people. He was like her.

And thanks to him, she got to be the one who got away.

"Yes. I do."

~The End~