He weaved in and out of cars so rapidly the contents of my bladder were about to take a leave of absence without my consent.
“I didn’t catch your answer,” he casually stated.
“I’m going to be dead if you don’t learn how to drive!” I yelled as he very narrowly missed rear-ending a minivan with stick figures on the back window. The engine clicked as he merged into the right lane before beginning to slow down. My shoulder collided with the passenger door as my body slid on the seat.
He laughed under his breath.
“It’s not funny!” I snapped, before laughing a little in spite of myself. I placed a hand over my racing heart, two minutes away from stopping altogether.
“Calm down,amada, I control the machine the machine doesn’t control me. Plus, that was really your fault.” His shoulder slightly lifted in a shrug.
“How the hell was that my fault!?”
“Language.” He shot me a look. “I felt so distraught when you said weren’t mine I momentarily lost control of my emotions and in return…the loss of this vehicle.
“I’m glad you came to your senses at the last minute and let me know it was your poor attempt at humor,” he said amicably. “I wouldn’t advise you do it, again. I’d hate to give you whiplash.”
Oh, my god. I gaped at him. “Please don’t be a psychopath,” I pleaded to some invisible third party.
“If I was, I don’t think saying please would suddenly make me better, but I can assure you all my therapists said I wasn’t.”
I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.
“I’m not a psychopath Elena. Not by textbook definition, anyway.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve loved and I’ve lost.”
His answer proved his point, and set a dark tone for the mood.
Unable to come up with something meaningful to say, I asked where we were going.
“Dior’s,” he answered, merging into another lane, a lot more cautiously than before, but still carelessly cutting off the woman now behind us. I tossed up a prayer for safety and gripped the side of my seat, placing one hand over the knots that had formed in my stomach. I didn’t know where Dior’s was, so I went back to being mute, staring out the window at the hazy orange sky and letting my thoughts distract me.
If this were weeks ago, I’d be prepping for a long night at the Petrol station. Eva would be prepping for the latest party.
We would leave the house together, her easily lying to our aunt about where she was going.
Her skimpy outfit would have been hidden beneath a long hoodie and sweatpants. Then, we’d part at the end of our cracked walkway, and that would be that––unless we were arguing, which was all we seemed to do in the end. I squeezed my eyes shut for a minute and took a small, quiet breath.
When I thought of Eva, I thought of my parents, and in return, thought of them all being gone. I had learned over time that the cruelest thing about death was its penchant for not allowing people to say goodbye.
. My heart hurt. It hurt to the extent that I wanted to rip the damn thing out of my chest and burn it to ashes. Instead, kept my hands folded in my lap, willing the burning behind my closed lids to stop.
This always seemed to happen when I least expected it. I’d have many moments when I felt fine like I was managing to cope, and then all the torment came creeping back in.
I could hear all the horrible things I said that I couldn’t take back .Everything I didn’t and may not ever get the chance to say circled inside my head.
My hand flew to my throat where I’d tucked my necklace beneath the A-line of my dress. It was one half of a jagged golden heart, Eva wore the other. Together, they were whole, and no matter how bad things got between us, we never took them off.
“It’s just around the next corner,” Mateo said, pulling my attention back to the present.
Swallowing, I nodded and looked over, studying his profile. He was sickeningly beautiful. Everything I’d learned or thought I knew about him was at complete odds with the stranger in the driver’s seat. He was supposed to be cold, ruthless, and cruel. He wasn’t supposed to smile so easily, speak to me with genuine sincerity and concern, or make me feel so at ease.
I was conflicted–––even after his driving incident. Being a little crazy didn’t make someone a terrible person–I would know.
The restaurant––Dior’s––was the nicest establishment I had ever been in.
