Thursday Evening
folder
Romance › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
22
Views:
3,327
Reviews:
26
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Romance › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
22
Views:
3,327
Reviews:
26
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Car Rides
A/N~I don't know why, but the title reminds me of doggies... Anyway, I don't feel like editing this, mainly because I'm *suppposed* to be editing right now. And I'm tired.
Anyway, reviews are appreciated.
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He was quiet again. He’d be quiet for a while, until he would admit to me. Until he would say those three words:
“I fucked up.”
Never “I messed up” or “I screwed up.” Always, the vulgar term used.
He would make that confession, and then, cower. He was always out of arm’s reach when he said. He was always far away. Always. And wary, when I could finally coax him to come closer, so he could explain.
Once, in the beginning, he said that when he forgot to tape “24”. He had looked so pathetic, standing across the room, barely whispering, that I couldn’t stay mad. I assume that he acts that way because of how he used to live. But it still hurts me.
He was staring at the passing trees. It seemed so long ago that he was so giddy. He’s aged considerably in two hours. His head is leaning against the glass. I don’t bother trying to talk to him. I don’t know what to say. The only thing I want to say is that “I was right”. He was in his own little world right now. He would be thinking of how he “destroyed” everything. I knew what I said now mattered little, so I don’t bother saying anything.
Instead, I keep on driving. Maybe too aggressively, but there is something therapeutic about driving over the limit.
I wonder how long he’ll stay like this. In his self imposed solitude. It makes it harder when he’s like this. But it’s worth it, for all the moments when he’s not like this.
“I fucked up. You were right.” He says suddenly, sitting upright, no longer slouched against the window. His voice wavers, but it’s stronger than usual. At least, when he usually says that. I smile, then, I realize I’m going twenty over, and I slow down. Only ten over, now.
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He’s older than me. I’ve always known that. I’m fairly young. But age never seemed to matter much until now. It’s not like he’s too much older than me. Four years is not a lot. He shouldn’t be so much wiser by comparison. Or I shouldn’t have been so naïve.
I’m quiet now. Jon looks annoyed, and he’s speeding. The trees are only a blur, and the cars are moving by way too fast. Even minor law breaking worries me, now.
Her words echo. I had faith in Jon, and in people, now, but the words ring in my ears so loud I couldn’t hear what Jon said a while back, and I can’t hear what the radio is playing.
The taunts were the worst. Not because they had hurt me. No. They had hurt Jon. They had reminded him of my past.
I stare at the trees like I expect them to answer another question that keeps popping into my head. Could I lose him? I live in my head too much. Right now is a perfect example. I don’t let him in. I need to let him in. But I don’t know how to say what it is I want to say. I want to tell him that I should have listened.
“I fucked up. You were right.” I say, looking at him. Almost immediately, we are slowing down, not stopping, but cars start passing us, and I am much less anxious.
Anyway, reviews are appreciated.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He was quiet again. He’d be quiet for a while, until he would admit to me. Until he would say those three words:
“I fucked up.”
Never “I messed up” or “I screwed up.” Always, the vulgar term used.
He would make that confession, and then, cower. He was always out of arm’s reach when he said. He was always far away. Always. And wary, when I could finally coax him to come closer, so he could explain.
Once, in the beginning, he said that when he forgot to tape “24”. He had looked so pathetic, standing across the room, barely whispering, that I couldn’t stay mad. I assume that he acts that way because of how he used to live. But it still hurts me.
He was staring at the passing trees. It seemed so long ago that he was so giddy. He’s aged considerably in two hours. His head is leaning against the glass. I don’t bother trying to talk to him. I don’t know what to say. The only thing I want to say is that “I was right”. He was in his own little world right now. He would be thinking of how he “destroyed” everything. I knew what I said now mattered little, so I don’t bother saying anything.
Instead, I keep on driving. Maybe too aggressively, but there is something therapeutic about driving over the limit.
I wonder how long he’ll stay like this. In his self imposed solitude. It makes it harder when he’s like this. But it’s worth it, for all the moments when he’s not like this.
“I fucked up. You were right.” He says suddenly, sitting upright, no longer slouched against the window. His voice wavers, but it’s stronger than usual. At least, when he usually says that. I smile, then, I realize I’m going twenty over, and I slow down. Only ten over, now.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He’s older than me. I’ve always known that. I’m fairly young. But age never seemed to matter much until now. It’s not like he’s too much older than me. Four years is not a lot. He shouldn’t be so much wiser by comparison. Or I shouldn’t have been so naïve.
I’m quiet now. Jon looks annoyed, and he’s speeding. The trees are only a blur, and the cars are moving by way too fast. Even minor law breaking worries me, now.
Her words echo. I had faith in Jon, and in people, now, but the words ring in my ears so loud I couldn’t hear what Jon said a while back, and I can’t hear what the radio is playing.
The taunts were the worst. Not because they had hurt me. No. They had hurt Jon. They had reminded him of my past.
I stare at the trees like I expect them to answer another question that keeps popping into my head. Could I lose him? I live in my head too much. Right now is a perfect example. I don’t let him in. I need to let him in. But I don’t know how to say what it is I want to say. I want to tell him that I should have listened.
“I fucked up. You were right.” I say, looking at him. Almost immediately, we are slowing down, not stopping, but cars start passing us, and I am much less anxious.