Or perhaps, some sense of foreshadowing took place, and deep down I knew the girl I once was ceased to exist the second I accepted that ride. I grew more wary with every mile, and despite knowing that something wasn’t right, I kept quiet. That sixth sense everyone talks about tried to warn me, but I stupidly ignored it. I brushed it off as paranoia, convinced there was a reasonable answer for all the questions I couldn’t bring myself to ask. Like why we passed my street.
