3:30pm

46: "You can't shoot the bitch . . . she's Stephen's."

         <I still want your heart. Your heart for takeaway>

°•°•°•°
Far up ahead, a couple of feet from my bicycle, was a crossroad, and Stephen was heading straight for it, holding down on the accelerator of his motorcycle tightly, the sound of the engine getting louder, clearly in hopes of beating the time before the traffic sign turned red.

Whatever miracle that was going to happen, it had to happen now. Right this very second. If not, all the energy I'd spent pedaling after Stephen and all the shortcuts through different neighborhoods I'd taken would be a waste, and I couldn't have that. 

Ignoring the stitch that had started minutes ago at the right corner of my stomach, I cycled faster, sweat trickling down my temples in spite of the wind that constantly whipped at my hair and face.

Stephen was almost at the crossroad. It was impossible not to see that he was. Not with the way my eyes were fixed on his black jacket that flapped in the wind. If he passed on and I wasn't able to because of the traffic sign turning red by the time I got there . . .

"Come on, come on!" I puffed through clenched teeth, pumping my legs faster, refusing to acknowledge the cramp that'd begun in my thighs too.

But it didn't matter how fast I pedaled, how much energy I burned, it was clear I wasn't going to make it. The sign turned amber seconds ago, and I was still about fifteen feet from it. Stephen seemed to be only five.

"Please!" I breathed to nobody in particular, despair filling my mind at the thought of not catching up to him. "Please do something."

And then, right when I had almost lost hope and was ready to burst into tears out of frustration and exhaustion, my miracle came. Stephen was literally two feet, if my calculations were correct, away from the road when the sign went red. Any further move he'd have taken would've put him directly in the line of an oncoming truck. 

Unable to decelerate in time, he swiveled his bike to the left instead and braked swiftly, or else he'd have crashed into a lamp post at the curb before him.

The loud noise of the engine coming to a halt brought the most relief I'd ever felt in all my life to my body. The taut muscles in my arms and legs went slack at once, the cramps in my thighs and stomach loosening, although at snail's pace, as I slowed down the cycling. 

I felt faint. Lightheaded and nauseous too. I'd never cycled this hard and long. With one hand, I wiped the sweat that was starting a slow trickle down toward my eyes. 

Breathing hard, I stared pointedly at the traffic sign that'd turned red. So, yes, the sign had turned red, and truly I was grateful for that. But what about when it turned green again? What then was I going to do? From the looks of it Stephen was ready to speed off as soon as the sign went green. I didn't think I could go after him again. If I did, I'd be putting myself at the risk of a very serious muscle strain. And not just myself, I'd be putting the baby at risk too.

Once again, I was left with unreasonable options in a crucial decision I had to make: go on after Stephen or just let it go. Why did the odds always have to be against me? There was no way I was going to turn back, not after how long I'd come, and yet I couldn't even be given favorable options?

Desperate for what to do, I swept my gaze around my surroundings, glancing from the numerous stores that lined the both sides of the road to the columns of cars to my right and behind me, looking for a way out of my impossible situation. 

Maybe I could hitchhike? 

Or you could take a cab. There's one just over there, a more sensible thought lit up in my head.