Ariana
“That looked like one of Dad’s cars,” Lil yells over the music, twisting in her seat to look at the car behind us. Her long blonde ponytail hits me in the face, making my eyes water. I don’t let her drive anymore, but she’s a menace even when she’s not behind the wheel. Blinking back the tears, I keep my eyes on the road in front of me.
“How the fuck could you even tell?” I just blew its doors off at 140mph. Not a whole hell of a lot stands out at this speed. But maybe it had a ‘Property of Marco DeVille’ sticker on the window I didn’t see. She probably has all the license plates memorized like Dad does. They’re weird like that. They actually remember useful shit.
I think he should get them customized. D VIL1, D VIL2, D VIL3, and so on. People already know which cars are ours—we might as well have fun with it.
I should buy my own car and put something ridiculous on the plate. Too bad STFUATTDLAGG is too long to fit on one. I almost slapped a few bookish stickers on the back ofBruce but Lil pointed out it would take Dad all of 0.2 seconds to know it was us who stole him then. She’s right. Who in the hell would put cliterature stickers on a Maserati? The DeVille girls, that’s who.
“All the black cars with window tints that deep around here are DeVille cars.” She shrugs, turning back to the front. It’s true. No one else drives cars like us. I could pull up next to Dad, and he wouldn’t have a clue his own daughters were in this car. Lil pressed her face against every single pane of glass on the thing to test it once and couldn’t see me inside. Then I did the same with my ass just for funsies. In the right light, some of my ass prints are still visible. Washing them off felt sacrilegious.
Lil reaches over and cranks the music up even louder. We can’t hear each other sing over it, which I’m not mad about since Lil is beyond tone-deaf. I see the car we left in our dust try to catch us, but they give up after a minute. I’m going stupid fast. I never have to worry about getting a speeding ticket. No cop is going to pull over a car they think is being driven by Marco DeVille, regardless of how fast it’s going.
Honestly, they don’t pull over a car they think is being driven by Ariana DeVille, either, unless they’re new. That’s always kind of fun, seeing their faces when they realize who they pulled over. I’m pretty sure the last guy pissed himself. I usually only go this fast in places like the abandoned airstrip outside of town because as much as I love driving fast, I don’t like putting innocent lives in danger. I might be a little unhinged, but I’m not a total asshole.
Tonight, there are very few cars on the road, and I feel the need to drive it like I stole it. Which I did. ADHD might make it hard for me to focus a lot of the time, but driving has always been an exception.
I love driving. I love the feel of my fingers wrapped around the steering wheel. The way the gearshift fits in my hand. Pressing my feet to the pedals. The roar of the engine. The wind whippingaround me when we roll the windows down a little—or a lot, if we’re not in a stolen car.
After dancing in our seats and singing as loud as we can to a couple more songs, Lil points to the time on the radio with a long purple nail and reaches for the volume knob again, this time turning it down. “Shit, we gotta get back before the movie’s over.”
“I don’t wanna,” I pout, sticking my bottom lip way out and giving her big puppy dog eyes.
She grins and leans her head on my shoulder. “I know, but it’s time to let Bruce hibernate for a couple of weeks or so.”
An exaggerated huff leaves my lips. “Fine.” I turn back toward the hiding spot. When the Maserati’s once again tucked away in the cave, we wave goodbye and jump in the shitbox.
Sure, the process of taking our baby out for a drive is convoluted and a pain in the ass, but it’s worked so far. And it’s worth it because it makes us feel good.
We sneak back in through the broken exit door of the empty theater. I grab our bag out of the cabinet and start checking our phones for missed calls.
“This movie looks like it sucked.” Lil turns her back to me so I can fasten her necklace. I hand her mine and hold my hair up so she can do the same.
“It sounded pretty stupid when I read the synopsis online.” I don’t remember much about it now, just the vibes. Mom usually asks us about the movies we supposedly see, and if we ever get caught in this whole thing, it’s totally going to be because I blank about one. We always check our shit first, but Lil’s the one who remembers the important details, while I remember something random like the love interest wearing orange shoes in one scene.
Sometimes I’m surprised I haven’t fucked it up for us yet. But blanking about a movie I just watched would be on brand for me, so there’s still hope Mom would simply smile and move on withlife.
The movie’s winding down, and the five minutes we’ve spent watching it are sucking all the good feelings driving Bruce gave me right out of my soul. “Fuck this, you still have cigarettes in your purse?”
Lil laughs. “Duh.”
We don’t smoke often, but Lil likes to be prepared in case we get the hankering. Mom would ground us for life if she knew, even though we’re both twenty. She gives Dad so much shit when she catches him secretly smoking, and I don’t want her wrath tossed my way. I fully intend to throw Lil under that bus when it drives by. It was her idea to steal a couple of cigarettes from Dad when we were fifteen. I think… Most of the shit we do is her idea, but I’m always on board. Well, I don’t know if most of it’s her idea… maybe it’s mine… or a combined effort. Actually, I’d say it’s like 80/20 me.
Meh, whatever. Doesn’t matter. We’re always a team. Mom and Dad did not know what they were getting themselves into when they brought me home.
I walk toward the exit door again, with Lil lagging behind me as she digs for the cigarettes she has hidden in the lining of her purse. She’ll catch up. At 5’9”, her legs are longer than mine. A lot longer. I had big dreams of being tall and lean like the other DeVilles, but you can’t inherit genetics from people you don’t share DNA with. My stomach is squishy, and my boobs and ass didn’t stop growing when the rest of me did. I make up some of the height difference between me and the rest of my family when I wear heels, but I’m 5’0” in my sparkly flats. Mom says it’s so they can all hug me better by tucking me under their chins. I love when she comes up with bullshit to make me feel better.
Pushing the door open, I step outside and take a deep breath to get the overwhelming smell of theater popcorn out of my nose. The sky is clear, and while the lights from the Strip make it hard to see the stars, I still try as I take a few steps along the building.Right as I’m thinking it’s a pretty decent night except for the five minutes I spent watching a shitty movie, a palm roughly grabs my ass cheek through my jeans. Startled, I don’t react fast enough and something hits me across the side of my face, knocking me into the wall. My vision goes black for a second. Hands grab both my wrists, and a body shoves me up against the brick. I cry out as pain shoots through my back and head, tasting blood in my mouth.
“Pretty little slut, I’m going to fuck you right here while you scream,” he snarls into my face as he pushes his body against me harder, his erection pressing into my stomach. I cringe and fight to get my wrists free.
The door bangs open, and Lil yells, “Hey, asshole, get the fuck off my sister!”
This guy must not have expected there to be two of us, which is his bad because there’s always two of us. He swings his head toward Lil and pulls away from me just enough that I’m able to drive my knee into his ballsack.
“You cunt!” he cries out, releasing my wrists. My arm moves on instinct, my palm pushing his nose up into his eyeballs before he even has time to cover his junk. His hands come up to cover his face as I pull my gun out of my big ass purse. I shoot him in his stupid fucking knee, then aim for his crotch. He drops to the ground, screaming some colorful new nicknames I don’t think I’ll keep. I don’t know if I hit him in the dick or not, and I’m not about to actually check.
I grimace as I run my tongue over my busted lip. Blood trickles down the side of my face from where my forehead hit the wall, dripping onto my left sparkly flat. I kick the asshole in the gut for ruining my shoes.
