“You might even think that what’s in there explains me. Well, it won’t. Not really.” Her smile faded slowly, like something peeled back behind her eyes. “And what about your file?” I added. “I reckon you’re just as fucked as I am, if not worse. More padded cells and taser guns.”
Her hand draped over my shoulder, accompanied by a dangerous expression, “Oh, you have no fucking idea.” That raised more questions about her in my mind, but I wasn’t about to draw blood to get answers like she apparently was trying to do to me. Another beat of silence. Then she knocked back the last of the vodka, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and stood. Wobbled, just slightly, but caught herself. “This is boring now. I feel like doing something fun,” she said, tossing the empty bottle onto the table. I raised a brow.
“Like what?” She shrugged before turning from me. She stormed off from the table, slipping into the alley, as I shifted myself from the booth. What was I doing? I should’ve walked away. But instead, I followed. Willingly. Because I was starting to learn, it wasn’t about trust or sense with her. It was about gravity, and yet again I’d been sucked in.
Stepping outside the bar, I caught a flash of her hair, turning the corner of the building onto the main strip.
“Misfit?”
Typical. One drink turns into twelve, a conversation turns into a minefield, and now she’d vanished into thin air like a bad idea with good legs. I held a cigarette to my lips when I heard the distant squawk of a police radio. Then quickly accompanied by sirens. Blue and red lights flickered across the brick walls like a warning flare. I turned, eyes raised, and there she was, behind the wheel of a bloody cop car.
Fuck!
She was grinning like the devil on a joyride, one hand draped casually over the steering wheel, the other flicking the sirens off just as she pulled up to the curb. “Get in, loser,” she yelled, like this was some twisted high school movie. I stared at her, stunned into silence, until the sound of actual shouting reached my ears. Two cops tore around the far corner, shouting into their radios and sprinting full tilt.
Misfit leaned over, popped the passenger door open, and said with a wink, “Last chance, in or out?”
For half a second, I hesitated. Then I heard the words“He’s with her!”shouted from one of the officers, and my feet were moving before my brain could catch up. I threw myself into the passenger seat, slamming the door just as she floored the accelerator. The tyres squealed against the tarmac, and we shot off like a bullet down the side street, wind howling through the half-open window.
“What the fuck Misfit!” I said breathless, half laughing, half choking on adrenaline. She laughed. Like, really laughed. A wild, unfiltered sound.
“Don’t ever say I don’t ever take you anywhere fun!”
My heart was hammering. Blood roaring in my ears. “You actually stole a cop car!”
She didn’t even look at me. Just shrugged, her eyes locked on the road. “They left it there, unlocked, that’s practically an invitation.”
“What the fuck?! Are you insane?” My body shifted, looking out the back window of the car as the cops became smaller.
“A bold question from the one who jumped in with me.”
“I panicked, alright?”
“Maybe that’s part of it. But I think the real reason you’re sitting here is because you thrive on the chaos. Like me.” Glancing my way, grinning.
I had no comeback. So, I gave a dry laugh. It tasted like disbelief and vodka and something terrifyingly close to exhilaration. Because she was right.
Rounding a corner faster than she was meant to, sent my body sideways into the door of the car.
“Fuck Misfit, do you even know how to drive?”
Her head slowly turned to me to tell me everything, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“It’ll be fine! I just need to get onto a straight road.”
“I can’t believe you did this, not even knowing how to drive.”
“I am driving!”
“Barely!”
The engine growled under us as Misfit weaved the stolen cop car through the city’s dim-lit backstreets, tyres screaming as she turned onto the main strip. Drivers slamming on the brakes to avoid near misses.
“Oh relax! We’re making memories, you miserable pricks.” With one hand still lazily on the wheel, she dug into her jacket pocket and pulled out her phone.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” my words filled with laughter.
“Oh, I fucking will,” she grinned, already unlocking it. She flipped the camera to selfie mode and held it up with practised flair, angling it to catch us both in the frame, her eyes glowing with that wicked spark. “Say cheese pretty boy,” hitting record.
