Indigo

I CAN’T TELL WHETHER I’M in or out of my element. There aren’t any flowers, or even a single blade of grass in a twenty-mile radius, and the air is so dry I can feel it in my lungs. But as the crowd thickens, and the early night is lit up by light poles marking what must be the racetrack, an unfamiliar buzz cracks in my veins.

Since there was literally nowhere else to change, and it was freezing, I had to change in the car. To top it all off, I’m pretty sure I flashed Jem a little. I turn to face him as people fill the stands in the near distance. His gaze drops to me, but is stolen away just as a blurred figure comes barrelling our way.

“J! DUDE, IS IT REALLY YOU?”

The man is unnaturally tall with sandy brown hair. He engulfs Jem in a hug that would knock the breath out of an average sized man, but Jem just looks a mixture of amused and mildly annoyed. “Cooper,” he says, “Hey, man.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually here.” The man­ — Cooper — who’s more boyish than intimidating separates himself from Jem as his eyes light up. “It’s been, what? Six months? Seven?”

Jem sighs. “I told you I was coming, Coop.”

“Yeah, but maybe you were just joking.” Cooper’s gaze settles on me and it turns questioning. “Is this the girl you wanted me to—”

“Indie,” Jem interrupts loudly, “this is Cooper. My friend from high school.”

“Best friend,” Cooper adds, “before he moved off to New York and forgot about me.”

Jem just shakes his head. “Okay, Cooper from high school, this is Indigo. My . . .” He chews the inside of his cheek for a second. “Friend.”

“Your friend?” Cooper raises a brow. An awfully wide grin takes over his face. “She’s not your friend, man. I’m your friend. She’s—”

“Coop,” Jem murmurs, cutting his friend off.  “I gotta go pull in the car, will you take Indie to the stands and watch over her for me?”

“Yeah, sure.” Cooper nods at me with a friendly smile. Then, his phone rings, and he walks off a little to answer it.

I’m about to protest and say something along the lines of I’m not a child but to be perfectly honest, some of the people in the crowd look like they could send me to the ER without even touching me. Even though Cooper seems kind, he could also probably take a grown man out in under a minute. And if Jem trusts him, I guess I do, too. A sinking feeling fills my chest as I watch Jem turn to leave.

“Wait,” I find myself saying. “You’re just . . . leaving?”

He pauses, and a small smile finds his lips. I want to kick myself. “Yes, Indie. Would you like to take my place?”

I fidget with the sleeves of my sweater. “No? Um, no. Just . . . good luck.”

There’s a soft pause, with Jem just staring at me. Finally, he says, “I’ll be back, you know.”

I lift a brow. “And you won’t get hurt?”

He nods. “And I won’t get hurt.”

“How can you be so sure?”

There’s a shorter pause this time as he mulls over the possibility. Then, he lifts his inked hand to the other, removing a single ring from his index finger. Then, he gestures for my hand. Tentatively, I lift it out, and he slips the silver ring onto my index finger. My skin cools as it adjusts to the feeling of the ring.

His hand lingers on mine for a second too long, or maybe I’m just imagining things, because a second later, he pulls away. Then, he winks, but there’s no light in his eyes. “Now I have to come back. To get that back from you.”

And before I can respond, he’s already walking back to the car, his hands tucked deep in his pockets. There’s a tight knot lodged in my throat, but when Cooper gestures for me to follow him, I swallow it down.

I don’t understand why I’m anxious, but I am. I don’t know much about street racing, but it’s got to be illegal for a reason. The sound of the crowd eventually drowns out as disturbing images fill my mind the whole way to the stands.

“Indigo?”

Snapping out of it, I look up to find Cooper staring at me expectantly, like he just asked me a question. I blink stupidly. “Uh, sorry, can you repeat that?”

A faint blush covers Cooper’s cheeks, and for someone who’s literally a giant, he’s strangely . . . cute. Unlike Jem, there’s no visible ink on his skin, and he’s wearing a light blue shirt and faded blue jeans. It’s the standard boy-next-door fit. You know, if the boy next door definitely has to duck at every doorframe and looks like he could crush you with his bare hands.

“I just said you must be special,” he says.

I frown. “Why do you say that?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, staring straight ahead. “J’s never brought anyone from New York to one of the races.”

My frown deepens. “Not even one of his friends?”

“Nope.” Cooper shakes his head. “I think he likes to keep the two parts of his life separate, y’ know? I’m just surprised you’re here, that’s all.”

“Oh,” I say, staring at the ground. I’m not sure what to make of the revelation. It only muddles my already swarming mind, so I let it simmer. Then, just to make sure this conversation isn’t one-sided, I ask, “Why are you here, if you’re not racing?”

He smiles. “I’m the organiser.”

“Oh,” I say again, “Okay.”

“Go ahead,” he says, “Ask.”

I’m about to ask, but I freeze, my lips lifting as I realize he read my mind. I clear my throat. “Um . . . how do you make sure you’re not . . . you know.” I give him the side-eye.

Cooper grins. “What?”

He clearly knows what I’m trying to hint at, but he wants me to say it out loud. Sighing, I say, “How do you make sure you’re not caught by the police?”

He shakes his head. “We’ve never been busted before. Enforcement is weak around this area since it’s pretty much the middle of nowhere. Seriously. The biggest problem is when we need water or gas. Or if there’s an injury. The nearest gas station is around seventy miles away.”

My heart picks up a beat. “An injury?”

The air turns precarious as Cooper offers me a foreboding look. “I’m not sure if this is the right time to tell you . . .”

I furrow my brows. “Tell me what?”

Cooper shakes his head again. “I can’t believe J didn’t tell you. Did he tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

I don’t mean to come across as so crass, but my anxiety is through the roof.  Discomfort marks his features, but something on my face must convince him to keep speaking. “Jem got hurt the last time he was here. And he didn’t come back for months.”

My chest caves in, and our conversation from the car ride replays in my mind.

And if something happens to me, and we can’t drive back, I’ll book you a flight.

Something might happen to you?

No. I got roughed up a bit because of a rookie.

I look up at Cooper. “How bad was it?”

“Indigo . . .”

“How bad?”

He murmurs something under his breath, then says, “He was in the hospital for a while—”

“Oh my god.” And suddenly, the sounds of the people around me come rushing in, all at once. It’s a cacophony of voices and laughter ringing in my head. Like a swarm of bees set loose. “He just said he got a little ‘roughed-up’.”

Cooper looks a little guilty. “Did Jem not tell you why he had to come back? He — he needs to win.”

I shake my head slowly, realizing how stupid I must seem. Jem never told me because . . . I never asked. I just agreed for my own selfish reasons, to escape, to spite Kade. And I assumed that Jem raced for . . . fun. As a hobby. I didn’t know there was prize money, and I didn’t think he actually needed it.  

“How much is the prize money?”

“15K.”

My eyes go wide. “What?”

That’s insane. That’s my life’s worth of savings.

“Why does he need the money?” I ask.

This time, Cooper doesn’t rush to answer. An uneasy look takes over his face. “I think you should get an answer from him.”

“What? No. It’ll be too late. What if he gets hurt during the race?” I’m not thinking straight. All I can picture are vile images of cars flipping over and blood. Lots of it. Over and over again. I’ve seen the pictures. I’ve done countless case studies on car accidents. And those were just normal cars . . . not ones that were going over two hundred miles an hour. “I have some savings,” I blurt, looking up at Cooper, “Maybe I can help him out—”

“No, Indigo,” Cooper says, “Whatever you do, don’t try to fix his problems, all right?”

But I’m not listening. “I need to talk to him.”

“That is . . .  not a good idea. He’s already on the track. So unless you want to get run over I really think you should—”

“This whole thing is not really a good idea,” I exclaim. In a normal scene, I would’ve gained a few stares, but the people around me are talking so loudly that my volume isnʼt abnormal. “How could you let him come back when he got hurt the last time he did this?”

Cooper winces. “I can’t tell him what to do.”

“You—” I sigh. “Never mind.”

I watch as the cars line up on the tracks, each of them different colours. I stop breathing when I reach the red car — Jem. Red flashes in my mind.  

I don’t think before I’m racing to the bottom of the stands, across the strip of sand bordering the track. I feel Cooper shout my name, hot on my heels. Suddenly, a loud bang is emitted, and the sound of the cars revving starts, and I draw to a harsh stop, my sneakers kicking up dust.

The smell of gunpowder rises in the air and as the countdown starts, Jem glances out his window, meeting my gaze. He frowns, and his gaze splits to something—Cooper—behind me. He must realize something, because his features turn to a soft, reassuring smile, and as the countdown ends, I’m pulled away by Cooper.

It’s too late.

The cars ravage the tar.

When we reach the stands again, people are too occupied with the race to bother about the lunatic girl — me — who went running across the ground. Cooper isn’t as mad at me as I thought he would be, and he tells me that someone called Monroe is in the lead right now.

Taking a deep breath, I try to calm my nerves by pretending everything’s all right. “The guy with the dramatic make out session back at the lot?”

There’s a small smile on Cooper’s lips when he nods. After this, we’re both glued to the scene. I don’t really care about Monroe. He was entertaining, but honestly, annoying. And right now, he’s the enemy. My eyes are fixed on the red — Jem. He’s third to the front.

“How many laps are there?”

“Five,” Cooper says.

I count back in my head. They’ve done two laps already. One lap in the time it took for me to get back to the stands, and one that I was able to watch. My heart sits in my throat. The turns are so sharp. Too sharp.

I turn to Cooper frantically. “Why are the turns so sharp?”

“It weeds the weaker drivers out.”

“But the ones that can’t take the turn are just going to block the track,” I say, “That’s going to make it hard for the rest of them!”

“I never said it was easy.”

They’re on the third lap, and Jem drops back into fourth position. An exasperated sound leaves my throat. “Why is he pulling back?” I wail. “What is he doing?”

I’m definitely coming off as annoying now, but I’m too anxious to care. If Cooper’s bothered, he doesn’t show it. Wordlessly, he grabs my shoulders, tilting me slightly to shift my line of sight. “Look.”

I do, and up ahead, the blue car that took Jem’s position has a speed that’s definitely illegal. He’s got to be going at over two hundred already. Monroe is still in first place, but by its speed alone, the blue car is definitely on the way to overtake Monroe. And win.

“I don’t understa—”

“Carry on watching.”

I frown, squinting. What is he getting at that I’m not? Then, I see it. It’s the black car in second position, behind Monroe. It’s taking the turns badly. The driver’s about to take himself out, which means . . .

I gasp. There’s a loud, bone-crunching crash as the black car crashes into the barrier. My ears ring from the sound, and I want to close my eyes, because it’s horrifying,  but for some reason, I can’t. I just watch as the car crash happens right in front of me.

And then, sure enough, the blue car in third position can’t slow down in time. There’s another deafening crash. The smell of smoke and tyres burning fill the air. The crowd goes feral, shrieking and roaring over the sound of the crash.

I lurch forward, but Cooper is quick this time, holding a long, heavy arm out to stop me.

“Those drivers are definitely hurt!” I yell over the ruckus. “We have to help them, I—”

“No, Indigo,” Cooper says, “The race is still on. This is how it works. If you go out there right now, you could get run over and make it so, so much worse than it is right now. So no, all right?”

“I can help,” I say weakly.

But Cooper is unyielding, and something about his stubbornness reminds me of Jem. I get it now — why they’re friends.  Closing my eyes, I focus on my breathing. “I thought you said nobody gets hurt!”

“I never said that.”

As the smoke clears, Jem’s red car cuts through the remaining smoke, past the wreckage that he already anticipated. I can almost feel his smugness from a mile away. Now that there’s only three cars on the tracks, I can focus on Jem’s better. I anchor myself to that feeling and sweep aside any other thoughts as I watch him.

And the way he drives is . . . mesmerising. He glides across the tar like it’s butter, when in actually fact, it’s drier than bone. And his turns . . . he takes them so smooth that it’s scary. It’s like the car moulds to his will, rather than the other way around. His speed, his accuracy . . . I know nothing about racing but — Jem is a very good driver.

“Where’d he learn to drive like that?”

Cooper laughs. “He’s been driving for a very, very long time. Since third grade, maybe?”

I do a double-take, but I can’t ask for Cooper to elaborate. The race is tight. It’s the fourth lap and Jem’s gaining on Monroe. Fast. Monroe must sense it, too, because his driving turns clumsy. Choppy. He obviously thought it’d be an easy win. I wonder if he knows Jem. I wonder what him and his friends would do if he didn’t win.

When Jem pulls up alongside Monroe as they reach the fifth lap, my heartbeat is hammering in my ears. Loud. The burning smell fills the air, and when the front of the blue car’s car catches alight, the crowd grows restless.

A glance back at the race and — Monroe’s desperate. He sidles up to Jem, almost too close. My heart drops.

“What is he doing?” I ask, fevered.

“Shit,” Cooper says.

My frown deepens. That can’t mean anything good. Cooper’s the organiser, Which means he’s seen enough of these races to be unbothered by them. And if the amount of surprise in his voice tells me anything, it’s that Jem is in trouble. A lot of trouble. Monroe gets close to him, then keeps veering right.

“He’s trying to push him off the tracks,” I murmur to myself.

“No,” Cooper says, “Not just off the tracks.”

I follow his gaze to the car pile of two, where the two smoking cars still lay, abandoned by their drivers. The fire is spreading across the bonnet of the blue car.

“No,” I whisper. “He won’t make it. It’s impossible.” I turn to Cooper. “Do something!”

He just shakes his head a little, his eyes bleary. “I can’t.”

Tears prick my eyes as I watch Jem speed toward a car wreck. He’s been pushed nearly off the tracks now, and there’s no way he’ll be able to make the turn. Every time Jem picks up his speed, Monroe picks it up too and swerves, pushing Jem further off.

They’re close to the wreck now, and I don’t think I can watch anymore. Still, I keep my eyes trained on the tracks. Instead of slowing down, Jem accelerates even more.

“This bastard,” Cooper murmurs.

He’s not talking about Monroe, I quickly realize. He’s talking about Jem. Because when Jem accelerates, Monroe does too. In the direction of the car wreck.

“Oh my god,” I yell, “They’re both going to die!”

If the crowd was loud before, they’re a hundred times worse now.

And then . . . everything goes quiet. For a split second, Jem lets go of the gas.

Monroe collides into the car wreck, and his car goes up in flames.

Jem swerves at the sharpest angle, missing the wreck by inches, and picks up speed past the finish line.

… Winning the race.

After that, there’s chaos. I know none of it. All I know is running down the stands, past the mobs of angry people, past the clouds of smoke. Cooper doesn’t hold me back or follow me this time, and I’m running and running and running. My sneakers aren’t really designed for the impact of the tar, but I ignore it and push forward. Unshed tears fall down my cheeks and the cold, dry air whips at my face.

Finally I reach the finish line. A few feet ahead is the red car. Jem finally climbs out of it, and more tears rush out of my eyes. I can’t get them to stop. When he notices me, a moment’s worth of confusion marks his features, before he brushes it aside and his grin—the one I’ve seen so often now—spreads on his lips as his face lights up.

I keep running until I collide with him, into his chest. He laughs as he pulls me in closer, but I’m sobbing now, and I don’t even know why. I’m shaking in his arms, and Jem notices a beat too late.

Frowning, he puts me at an arm’s distance to inspect my face, which is probably tear-streaked. “You’re crying?”

I shake my head, in a weak attempt to deny it.

“Hey,” he says, “What happened?”

Then, because he seems completely unharmed, I lose my mind. “What happened? What happened? Seriously? Are you insane?”

I shove at his chest, but it’s futile, because he gets a hold of my wrists easily. Gently. He smiles a little, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Indie, it’s okay—”

“No, it’s not okay, Jem. It’s not okay. You could’ve died.”

“I don’t think—”

“All those other drivers,” I say, pointing in the direction of the car wreck, “In that crash, they—”

“Have a few broken bones and a mild concussion at most.”

I just stare at him, but he’s being completely serious. “You—”

And then, without thinking, I cover my face and cry. More. Right there, on the tracks. I break down.

“Aw, hell,” Jem makes a sound at the back of his throat. “Don’t cry.” When I don’t listen, he sighs. “Indigo. Indie. Baby, please. Please don’t cry, all right?”

He edges closer to me, as another sob breaks through. He reaches out to me, then retracts. Then, again, he closes his hands around my wrists gently pulling them away from my face. I bite down and look away, trying to control my stupid, unnecessary tears. Jesus, why do I have to be so emotional?

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I shouldn’t have brought you. I’m sorry.”

Jem gently cups the sides of my face with his hands, his touch so light it might not even exist. I wonder how it’s possible, how someone can look like the devil but have the touch of an angel. Swallowing, I chance a second’s worth of eye contact with him. His grey eyes are soft. Comforting. And when he drags both his thumbs underneath my eyes, I take a deep breath. And another. And then everything becomes clearer. Sight, sounds.

I look up at him again, but his gaze doesn’t meet mine. It’s lower. On . . . my — my lips. And I swallow, opening them in the slightest as I exhale. His breathing quickens, sweet and warm, like the blood that spreads across my cheeks. He lowers his head — then, abruptly, he shakes off the thought and rips away from me — carelessly and all at once — like you’d rip a band aid off. He doesn’t meet my gaze. Deliberately.

“J!” Cooper yells, “You’re one crazy motherfucker.”

Jem laughs, but it’s dry and humourless. They exchange a few brief sentences where Cooper asks him if he’s okay, and he says he is. His friend side hugs him again, tapping his back rigorously.

“And no offense,” Cooper says, eyes flitting my way, “but your girl is crazy, too.”

Jem finally decides he’s had enough of avoiding my gaze and makes eye contact with me. His jaw clenches, and his features are blank. “Guess I like ‘em crazy.”

“Listen,” Cooper says, lowering his voice, “I hate to say this, man, but you need to take the money and get out of here. Monroe’s hurt pretty bad, and his guys are upset. They bet a lot on him today.”

And sure enough, when I look back at the stands, half of the crowd are dispersing, while the other half are sneaking heated glances our way. Jem tenses, then nods tightly.

“Oscar’s at the back,” Cooper says, “Get the bag and leave.”

Jem nods once, then spares me a glance before motioning to his friend. “Keep her with you.”

Cooper nods. I don’t protest when Jem disappears, waiting wordlessly at Cooper’s side for around ten minutes before a guy comes hurtling our way. “Coop? One of the guys are bad. He’s bleeding out.”

“Shit,” Cooper curses, his gaze landing on me. “I can’t.”

“Go,” I say, “I’ll be fine.”

He’s reluctant, so I give him a push, because seriously, someone’s out there bleeding out. “Go.”

“Stay right here,” he says, “When J gets back, you two get out of here, all right?”

I nod. “Okay.”

Cooper rushes off, and I’m left alone. Only for a few minutes, until a tall blonde — Monroe’s girlfriend — walks over to me. She’s wearing faux leather pants that cling to her thighs, and a loose white tank that doesn’t really hide her bright pink bra. And with heavy eyeliner, she looks something like Avril Lavigne.

“Hi,” she says. Her voice is sugary. Almost too sweet.

“Uh, hi,” I murmur.

Her eyes are insanely dilated, and I quickly realize why. She’s high off her mind. Alarm bells start in my head, and I’m trying to edge away, but she starts talking.

“I saw your little run for your man at the beginning,” she says, chewing gum. “It was cute.”

“Oh,” I say, an uneasy feeling settling in my stomach. “He’s not — he’s not my—”

Then she laughs. “Yeah,” she says, “I get it.”

I nod. Then, everything happens too quickly. She draws her hand back, and I don’t see it coming. She backhands me. Hard. Hard enough for me to stagger back, and for my cheek to sting. The inside of my mouth must be bleeding, because there’s a metallic taste on my tongue. I look up at her, more confused than mad.

“My boyfriend broke his leg because of yours, you stupid slut.”

Oh, so that’s why she slapped me? That doesnʼt even make any sense. I have to remind myself that she’s not in the right frame of mind, that it would be incredibly satisfying but also pretty inappropriate to hit her back, when —

“What’s going on here?”

Looking up, I find Jem, a duffel slung over his shoulder. When he finds me clutching on to my cheek, his glance skips between me and the unhinged witch, and then it turns livid. I really should’ve seen the second blow coming, but by the time I see the witch lift her booted leg. Aiming for my sternum. Jem reaches out, grabbing her ankle. She loses her footing and falls to the ground with a shriek.

I let out a sigh of relief, because that would’ve not only bruised, but landed me in the hospital for a week, minimum.

“That’s enough,” Jem says. I’ve never seen him like this. With so much malice in his features. And . . . something resembling pain in his eyes. He looks down at her while she glares up at him. “Don’t touch her.”

The blonde looks away, a disbelieving smile spreading on her lips. “Valentine.”

Jem ignores her, walking over to me and taking my hand in his, pulling me behind him.

“I don’t get it,” she says, “Why you look at me like that.” When Jem doesn’t reply, she continues. “You and me, we’re not so different, you know.”

Jem turns to face me, placing two fingers under my jaw as he angles my face up to him. His rings are cool on my skin. I ask, “What does she mean?”

“We’re leaving,” he says, reaching down to close his hand over mine. It’s warm. Rough. And somehow, it feels like home. “Now.”

Frowning when I realize he avoided my question, I follow him. We near Cooper as we walk. He’s on the phone with a first aid box in his other hand. Jem snatches the box from his hold, and Cooper looks at him, confused. Then, when his gaze lands on my face, it turns apologetic. He cuts the call.

“Shit,” he says, “What happened?”

“I thought I told you not to leave her alone,” Jem grits out.

“It hasn’t even been five minutes. I thought—”

“We’re leaving, Cooper.” And, to emphasise his point, he tugs me further past his friend.

Cooper sighs, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “J, you can’t take the first aid kit. C’mon, man, we need that shit.”

Jem ignores him, pulling me toward the car. “Should’ve thought about it when you left my girl alone when I specifically asked you not to.”

My girl.

Cooper sighs again. “Jem—”

But I don’t get to hear the rest, because we’re already out of his earshot. We reach the car, and Jem lets go of my hand to open the door. He chucks the bag in the back, then his steel gaze flits to me.

“Sit.”

I listen, because it’s almost ten o’ clock and I’m tired, and my mind is buzzing with millions of unanswered questions, and my cheek is stinging with the force of a thousand paper cuts. I’ll probably need to get it checked, which is great, really. And thanks to my condition, the bruise will be bad. They’re always bad.

Jem slides into the front seat, fiddling around with the box before he finds what he wants. I frown as I watch him pour rubbing alcohol all over his hands. Cheap sanitiser, I quickly realize. He squeezes a pea-sized amount of ointment onto his ring finger—the weakest finger— and with his other hand, motions for me to come closer. I wonder how he knows so much about treating wounds.

“Closer,” he huffs.

I blink. “I can do it—”

“Will you shut it and listen for once, Indigo?”

Averting my gaze, I give up, leaning over the console. I could swear his hand quivers a little as it nears my face. And either I’m completely numb, or I can’t feel the exact moment he touches my cheek. I feel the gel of the ointment, but his touch is a phantom.

His gaze settles on my face, I swallow, my breathing harsh and ragged. His breaths are quick, too, and when he realizes that it’s audible, he looks away, wiping his hands and chucking the first aid box to the back.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I didn’t know she would do something like that.”

“She was high,” I say, bluntly.

He stiffens. Wordlessly, he slides the key into the ignition. Then, he places his palm flat against the steering wheel as he rotates it. My gaze is fixed on his inked skin, the rings on his fingers glinting in the night as he sets the gears into reverse. And when his other hand flings across my headrest, as he looks over my shoulder, I can’t help but jump a little and shift in my seat. Blood rises to my faces, making my cheek sting more.

When we’re a straighter road, and I’ve calmed down, I decide it’s about time I ask. “Jem?”

“Hm.”

One syllable words. Not good. I exhale, looking out the window. “Why do you need the money?”

“Not now, Indie.”

“Jem.”

He brakes, and his arm shoots out to stop me from flying forward. His jaw tightens. “Put your seatbelt on. I don’t want you getting any more hurt.”

“Why?” I persist.

He sighs. “I can’t have that shit on my conscience, so can you please put on your seatbelt?”

“No. I mean: why are you willing to risk your life for some — some cash? I can—”

“You can what?” he yells. Taking a deep breath, he calms down quickly. But it’s not a good kind of calm. It’s eery and misplaced. “Do you happen to have 40K lying around?”

My heart drops. Because no — I don’t have that kind of money. It’ll take me years to get that kind of money. So in the end, I slowly shake my head no and sink back into my seat. Jem clenches his jaw and picks up speed.

“Seatbelt,” he huffs.

We don’t say a word to each other after that. An honest feat, considering it’s a five-hour drive. I click my seatbelt on. When I reach for his phone, I take a glance his way to see if he’ll protest. He knows I have it, but he keeps his gaze trained steady ahead. I tell myself not to cry again, and put one of his playlists on shuffle, with the volume almost all the way down.  

Drake’s Hold On, We’re Going Home softly plays in the background. I can normally fall asleep easily in a car, but my nerves don’t allow it this time, so I just focus on the blanket of thick black outside the window, and sometimes, the pale shadows the headlights cast on the tar.

When we reach my apartment, I get out without a word, slamming the door behind me. I expect him to speed off — it would make it way easier for me to hate him that way — but he doesn’t. He waits for me to go inside.

Exhaling, I turn to see if he’s looking my way, but his gaze is above the wheel. When I finally walk into the foyer, he starts the car, and pulls off.

***

a/n:

5.3k words on this chapter, who am i?

vote, share, make friends in the comments, any way you can help me out. seriously, i spent like 8 hours writing this !!

until the next chapter,

stay gold
yuen