The world beyond Connor's Corvette blurred into a flaming haze, the bright lights of downtown Chattanooga melting into the black of night as the car raced down the highway. The air was brisk, typical of a September night, and Madison likely would have been cold were it not for the spirits warming her from inside out. Once upon a time she thought she had a high tolerance; told Connor that she was tall and she could handle it, that she'd heard somewhere that dark haired people could drink more, anything, really, that made her sound cooler than she was. That night hadn't ended well, wrapping up with her swathed around the toilet in Connor's en-suite well into the morning and him passed out in the bathtub next to her as he stood guard over her, fearful she'd choke on her own vomit.
She hadn't. And maybe other people would have learned their lesson after that, but she hadn't. She drank well beyond her limit when it was an option, keeping pace with even Wyatt and Bret when she tried and most nights ended similarly, but she liked drinking and liked being drunk. It made her think less. Declawed her, even. People told her she smiled more.
Not that she ever remembered, though.
Tonight hadn't been one of those nights, fortunately, and she'd likely not find herself in front of a porcelain monument come night's end. It was one of the Carters' frequent house-parties celebrating something she was never sure of, maybe the start of senior year, maybe the milestone of Wyatt finally being able to see his toes again. Parties that Connor practically had to drag her to, parties that she knew she'd eventually enjoy once alcohol was in her system, parties where she'd cling to Connor until he'd be pulled away and parties where she'd pound shot after shot just to feel less lost in the sea of friends she knew nothing about.
But tonight hadn't been one of those nights. Tonight was enough to oil the joints, no more, not enough liquor to lose herself, just enough to make things a little easier. And she'd done just that, enough to make the effort to smile and laugh and cheer and talk and do the things that people liked about girls like Lavender and Milly. Enough to be less Madison.
The wind whipped around the loose strands of her up-do as she sunk deeper into the passenger seat, head resting on her shoulder as she tucked one leg under herself, having long since lost her heels to the floor. The soft crooning of some kind of hill-billy country music that Connor was so fond played faintly in the background and she couldn't help a smile as she looked toward him, her hand moving to rest on his thigh. They had a deal that whoever drove picked the music and because it was typically him, she'd grown accustomed to his tastes, even if it seemed like he listened to the same five songs on repeat. Every so often they'd pass under a streetlamp and his features would catch the light and remind her just how handsome he was.
It wasn't often that she felt content, all too frequently feeling as though there was a storm roaring inside of her, assaulting all her senses at once.
But tonight she was content, she was happy.
And she was a little less Madison.
Mystery of Love
The streetlights flashed by Connor Lorenzen's peripheral vision like a strange kind of strobe light, but that just enhanced his enjoyment of the drive. Of the journey. There were few things he enjoyed more than driving down a mostly-empty highway in the evening. It was an empowering feeling, and made him feel like the absolute king of the world.
The open road. It could get no better than that.
((CONNOR LORENZEN MEMORIES START))
Zac Brown Band's latest album was Welcome Home, and tonight it was the soundtrack for the journey home from the latest Carter bash. Much to Connor's private relief, Madison had behaved herself on this particular night, and had kept the drinking to a minimum. On a good night - when she was the designated driver, she was usually good, but when she wasn't?
It was otherworldly.
As he turned off the freeway onto another stretch of near-desolate road, Connor caught himself humming along to one of the songs, bobbing his head and mouthing some of the lyrics. It had been a really good night. Madison wasn't an absolute trainwreck, and he'd had a great time hanging around with some of his genuine friends. Bret and Wyatt held parties on a fairly regular basis, but tonight's party was a bit of an aberration, with more pomp and circumstance than usual - the school year had just begun, and the core group of the team were intent on celebrating every chance they got. At this point in the year, Connor was all for it. He'd be starting this season (as he had the year prior), but the team was primed to go on a bit of a run, and the chatter about scouts had already started, barely three games in. So why wouldn't they have a party? This particular celebration came after what could only be described as a thrashing of a nearby Nashville school, and every person who attended only enhanced the feeling that this was primed to be a special year for George Hunter High.
As the streetlights occasionally illuminated the interior of the car, Connor glanced over at his companion and couldn't help but smile. Madison Springer was a catch - that much was certain. If one were to strictly rate physical attractiveness on a numbered scale, she would unquestionably be in the 99th percentile of the school - likely of the whole district. That he'd managed to talk such a pretty girl into a relationship had been something of a point of pride for himself, though her personality was anything but that of a classic ten out of ten.
Madison was colourful.
That had been his parents reaction the first time that he'd brought her home for dinner. Sure, she'd made a pretty good impression on his folks (and God only knew they were difficult to impress at times), but his father had later told him in private that he approved, but hoped he was up for the fight. Connor hadn't figured out what that had meant until much later, but he certainly understood now. Being Madison's boyfriend was near to a full-time job. Looking after her on the wild nights, reassuring her on the insecure ones, and learning how to put out the fires that her strong personality had the tendency to ignite was not a duty that he took lightly, nor was it one that he thought many guys in the school would have allowed much time for.
But somehow, some way... he did.
As he pulled the Corvette to a stop near to the traffic light on the through-way, Connor looked over at Madison and felt a sense of pride. They'd been through the gamut, for sure, but she had her tender moments - moments where she'd stepped up for him like he would never have believed anyone else would. Right now, he wouldn't have wanted to sit next to anyone else.
Glancing back at the light, he could smell the diesel as the car idled, alone at the stop-light. Rolling through it wouldn't be an egregious crime on humanity, but one never knew where they had traffic cameras these days. Looking back at Madison as he waited, Connor smiled a tired smile.
"Hey babe, you have a fun night tonight?" He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, simultaneously reaching over and turning the music down a few clicks of the dial. "Wyatt even managed to behave himself tonight... y'all coexisted, I was impressed!"
Connor smiled. Wyatt had the tendency to be cruder than many, and while Madison herself was known to have a razor-thin filter, there were some lines that she refused to cross. A few weeks prior, she'd reamed the larger Carter out for his use of the r-word in reference to an opposing offensive line, and Connor had admittedly been a little concerned that the two wouldn't get in to it once more this evening.
But largely, everything had been fine.
The open road. It could get no better than that.
((CONNOR LORENZEN MEMORIES START))
Zac Brown Band's latest album was Welcome Home, and tonight it was the soundtrack for the journey home from the latest Carter bash. Much to Connor's private relief, Madison had behaved herself on this particular night, and had kept the drinking to a minimum. On a good night - when she was the designated driver, she was usually good, but when she wasn't?
It was otherworldly.
As he turned off the freeway onto another stretch of near-desolate road, Connor caught himself humming along to one of the songs, bobbing his head and mouthing some of the lyrics. It had been a really good night. Madison wasn't an absolute trainwreck, and he'd had a great time hanging around with some of his genuine friends. Bret and Wyatt held parties on a fairly regular basis, but tonight's party was a bit of an aberration, with more pomp and circumstance than usual - the school year had just begun, and the core group of the team were intent on celebrating every chance they got. At this point in the year, Connor was all for it. He'd be starting this season (as he had the year prior), but the team was primed to go on a bit of a run, and the chatter about scouts had already started, barely three games in. So why wouldn't they have a party? This particular celebration came after what could only be described as a thrashing of a nearby Nashville school, and every person who attended only enhanced the feeling that this was primed to be a special year for George Hunter High.
As the streetlights occasionally illuminated the interior of the car, Connor glanced over at his companion and couldn't help but smile. Madison Springer was a catch - that much was certain. If one were to strictly rate physical attractiveness on a numbered scale, she would unquestionably be in the 99th percentile of the school - likely of the whole district. That he'd managed to talk such a pretty girl into a relationship had been something of a point of pride for himself, though her personality was anything but that of a classic ten out of ten.
Madison was colourful.
That had been his parents reaction the first time that he'd brought her home for dinner. Sure, she'd made a pretty good impression on his folks (and God only knew they were difficult to impress at times), but his father had later told him in private that he approved, but hoped he was up for the fight. Connor hadn't figured out what that had meant until much later, but he certainly understood now. Being Madison's boyfriend was near to a full-time job. Looking after her on the wild nights, reassuring her on the insecure ones, and learning how to put out the fires that her strong personality had the tendency to ignite was not a duty that he took lightly, nor was it one that he thought many guys in the school would have allowed much time for.
But somehow, some way... he did.
As he pulled the Corvette to a stop near to the traffic light on the through-way, Connor looked over at Madison and felt a sense of pride. They'd been through the gamut, for sure, but she had her tender moments - moments where she'd stepped up for him like he would never have believed anyone else would. Right now, he wouldn't have wanted to sit next to anyone else.
Glancing back at the light, he could smell the diesel as the car idled, alone at the stop-light. Rolling through it wouldn't be an egregious crime on humanity, but one never knew where they had traffic cameras these days. Looking back at Madison as he waited, Connor smiled a tired smile.
"Hey babe, you have a fun night tonight?" He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, simultaneously reaching over and turning the music down a few clicks of the dial. "Wyatt even managed to behave himself tonight... y'all coexisted, I was impressed!"
Connor smiled. Wyatt had the tendency to be cruder than many, and while Madison herself was known to have a razor-thin filter, there were some lines that she refused to cross. A few weeks prior, she'd reamed the larger Carter out for his use of the r-word in reference to an opposing offensive line, and Connor had admittedly been a little concerned that the two wouldn't get in to it once more this evening.
But largely, everything had been fine.
Madison rolled her eyes, heaving a hearty sigh as she allowed her head to lull to her other shoulder briefly before turning back to Connor; a small, weary, but otherwise placid smile still cutting across her features. To say she got along with Wyatt Carter was a gross exaggeration, able to stomach him on the best of days and a misplaced comment away from taking a baseball bat to his twigs and berries on the worst of them. He was a 'roided up ape in people's clothing as far as she was concerned, with the woefully misplaced ability to speak, and dealing with him worked each and every one of her already fragile nerves, but, for whatever reason apart from Connor's terrible taste in company, he was her boyfriend's best friend and that meant she had to at least try to get along with him. And she did try. Maybe not especially hard and maybe not nearly enough when she wasn't with Connor, but she did.
"God, don't remind me," Her voice was soft, but livelier than normal despite the vodka in her system begging her to close her eyes and drift away, "Why would Bret let him wear pink? He literally looked like three hundred pounds of chewed up bubblegum."
She gripped Connor's thigh lightly, her thumb absently trailing the coarse denim of his jeans, quickly falling into cadence with the soft melody permeating the car. She scoffed to herself lightly, almost bemusedly, as if she herself couldn't believe what she was about to say.
"And he made me take a fucking shot with him while you were in the backyard. Just waltzed up with his hog-body and a shot and told me he made me his special 'Panty-Dropper' to 'help his boy out'. I've never wanted to knee someone so much in my entire life, Con, and I'm, like, ninety percent sure it was just a vodka shot."
She laughed an exasperated laugh, quickly taking his hand in her own as he freed it from the steering wheel, her thumb continuing its dance along the base of his index finger. His hands always felt like home to her; a comfort sought in large crowds or during episodes of stress, an anchoring island in a rough sea that brought her ashore when needed.
"I had fun, though." She said, fully aware of the typical ersatz pleasantries she frequently expressed after Carter parties that fooled neither him nor her. But it was true this time.
"Seriously."
This was the girl she wanted to be. Not that crazy bitch or Hurricane Madison or the mean sister and the hostile daughter.
Her smile softened, eyes following suit shortly thereafter.
"You gonna be able to wake up tomorrow for your dad?"
"God, don't remind me," Her voice was soft, but livelier than normal despite the vodka in her system begging her to close her eyes and drift away, "Why would Bret let him wear pink? He literally looked like three hundred pounds of chewed up bubblegum."
She gripped Connor's thigh lightly, her thumb absently trailing the coarse denim of his jeans, quickly falling into cadence with the soft melody permeating the car. She scoffed to herself lightly, almost bemusedly, as if she herself couldn't believe what she was about to say.
"And he made me take a fucking shot with him while you were in the backyard. Just waltzed up with his hog-body and a shot and told me he made me his special 'Panty-Dropper' to 'help his boy out'. I've never wanted to knee someone so much in my entire life, Con, and I'm, like, ninety percent sure it was just a vodka shot."
She laughed an exasperated laugh, quickly taking his hand in her own as he freed it from the steering wheel, her thumb continuing its dance along the base of his index finger. His hands always felt like home to her; a comfort sought in large crowds or during episodes of stress, an anchoring island in a rough sea that brought her ashore when needed.
"I had fun, though." She said, fully aware of the typical ersatz pleasantries she frequently expressed after Carter parties that fooled neither him nor her. But it was true this time.
"Seriously."
This was the girl she wanted to be. Not that crazy bitch or Hurricane Madison or the mean sister and the hostile daughter.
Her smile softened, eyes following suit shortly thereafter.
"You gonna be able to wake up tomorrow for your dad?"
As he listened to Madison regail him with the tales of her encounter with Wyatt Carter, the beginnings of a smile crept onto his face. He couldn't help it. Wyatt wasn't everyone's cup of coffee, and there were many people - Madison and his parents among them that questioned his friendship with the louder, more loutish of the two Carter brothers. Where Connor was measured and calm; polite and sincere, Wyatt was none of those things: a short-fused loudmouth with a propensity to say the wrong thing at the wrong time without regard for who might be within earshot.
Loyalty.
That was the answer he'd always given, the reasoning behind all of it. What kind of a person would he be if he chose his friends based upon whether or not their friendship was convenient to him or not? Image was imperative to Connor, but one place where he differed from the ideals of his parents was that he wasn't willing to cut people solely because they might not be the perfect vision of what a 'friend' should be.
Or a 'girlfriend', for that matter.
As the light flicked green, Connor took his hands - hand, rather, as Madison lightly liberated his right hand from the steering wheel and took it in hers, and gently drove the Corvette through the intersection. Giving her hand a soft squeeze as they continued on down the road, the hint of a smile turned to a full one as Madison recounted the full scope of her Wyatt Carter run-in. It truly was a miracle that she hadn't taken the shot glass and shoved it straight up his ass.
"I had fun, though. Seriously."
He nodded slowly as he focused for a moment on the road, but his amusement fell away and left only a genuine happiness within him. He knew that these parties weren't always her favourite endeavour, and often she'd only just tolerate having to go and socialize with people that ordinarily, she wouldn't have a whole lot of time for. But that she had genuinely had a good time tonight?
"I'm really glad to hear that, babe. Y'all even managed to make it through the bubble-gum trials intact." The road nearly absent of other cars, Connor took a moment to look at his girlfriend and shoot her a wink.
As far as the next morning, she was right. It was late, and he'd probably have to buy back the missed hours of sleep with a few additional cups of coffee, but the tradeoff was worth it. Parties like this, where both him and Madison had enjoyed themselves? They didn't come around all that often. As the road curved to the left, he gently steered the car along with his left hand, feeling the soft texture of her hand in his right. She had very soft hands, and he could still smell the vaguely fruity aroma of whatever scent she'd applied before they'd left. He couldn't quite place the specific fragrance, but it was plainly unpretentious and he liked it.
"Yeah, I shouldn't have too much trouble, I reckon. Dad'll want to get an early start, but it's nothing a few shots of espresso won't cure." His father had insisted that he make it home at a decent hour, as Connor was to be his father's guest at a business luncheon. Why he had to go to a business thing on a Sunday, he didn't know, but he didn't ask questions.
"How're you feeling, is your stomach doin' okay? I didn't see you eat a whole lot."
There was a small bit of concern mixed in, but only a tad. Since Connor had been the designated driver, Madison had charged herself with intercepting most of the drinks that had come his way, and had performed admirably in that function. Of course, she occasionally had a tendency to forget to counteract the drinks with a slice of pizza or a bottle of water, and the results invariably ended up in Connor's toilet at the end of the evening. Madison seemed happy - he hoped this night wouldn't end up with him holding her hair back.
Loyalty.
That was the answer he'd always given, the reasoning behind all of it. What kind of a person would he be if he chose his friends based upon whether or not their friendship was convenient to him or not? Image was imperative to Connor, but one place where he differed from the ideals of his parents was that he wasn't willing to cut people solely because they might not be the perfect vision of what a 'friend' should be.
Or a 'girlfriend', for that matter.
As the light flicked green, Connor took his hands - hand, rather, as Madison lightly liberated his right hand from the steering wheel and took it in hers, and gently drove the Corvette through the intersection. Giving her hand a soft squeeze as they continued on down the road, the hint of a smile turned to a full one as Madison recounted the full scope of her Wyatt Carter run-in. It truly was a miracle that she hadn't taken the shot glass and shoved it straight up his ass.
"I had fun, though. Seriously."
He nodded slowly as he focused for a moment on the road, but his amusement fell away and left only a genuine happiness within him. He knew that these parties weren't always her favourite endeavour, and often she'd only just tolerate having to go and socialize with people that ordinarily, she wouldn't have a whole lot of time for. But that she had genuinely had a good time tonight?
"I'm really glad to hear that, babe. Y'all even managed to make it through the bubble-gum trials intact." The road nearly absent of other cars, Connor took a moment to look at his girlfriend and shoot her a wink.
As far as the next morning, she was right. It was late, and he'd probably have to buy back the missed hours of sleep with a few additional cups of coffee, but the tradeoff was worth it. Parties like this, where both him and Madison had enjoyed themselves? They didn't come around all that often. As the road curved to the left, he gently steered the car along with his left hand, feeling the soft texture of her hand in his right. She had very soft hands, and he could still smell the vaguely fruity aroma of whatever scent she'd applied before they'd left. He couldn't quite place the specific fragrance, but it was plainly unpretentious and he liked it.
"Yeah, I shouldn't have too much trouble, I reckon. Dad'll want to get an early start, but it's nothing a few shots of espresso won't cure." His father had insisted that he make it home at a decent hour, as Connor was to be his father's guest at a business luncheon. Why he had to go to a business thing on a Sunday, he didn't know, but he didn't ask questions.
"How're you feeling, is your stomach doin' okay? I didn't see you eat a whole lot."
There was a small bit of concern mixed in, but only a tad. Since Connor had been the designated driver, Madison had charged herself with intercepting most of the drinks that had come his way, and had performed admirably in that function. Of course, she occasionally had a tendency to forget to counteract the drinks with a slice of pizza or a bottle of water, and the results invariably ended up in Connor's toilet at the end of the evening. Madison seemed happy - he hoped this night wouldn't end up with him holding her hair back.
Madison listened thoughtfully, her hooded gaze shifting from Connor to the empty stretch of road before them as she melted further into the leather of the Corvette, hand still gently gripping his, though her thumb had succumbed to her drowsiness and halted its dance along his hand. Connor had never been one for frills, a few lost hours of sleep were nothing in comparison to his sheer determination to please his parents and it was something she was equally proud of him for and jealous of. Whereas she'd likely make a fuss if placed in the same situation, Connor handled most things with grace and a certain refinement. He always seemed to know what was expected of him and what he needed to do and did it without complaint. His parents placed a lot of responsibility on his shoulders, as far as she could tell, and had sky-high expectations of him. It was a bizarre, almost disconcerting experience to look in as someone from the other side of the coin, as someone who's parents expected very little from them. Look after Cassidy here and there, make at least passing grades, try not to die. It was rare that she was expected to even wake up early for anything other than school and even when she was, if she found herself wanting a couple more hours of sleep or just plain didn't feel like going, she didn't and nary a complaint was received.
There were times she wished she had what he had, that maybe if she had people she needed to impress or someone to push her and didn't have the freedom that she had, she would've turned out better; that she would have been more responsible or driven, better suited for life outside of high school. As it was, she was in over her head, with no plans for the future and no real passion to speak of to take into the outside world.
Connor was different, though. He rose to the task and welcomed adversity when she'd crumble. He worked hard and chased what he wanted, while she didn't know the meaning of it. Connor would get a full ride somewhere, because that's just the kind of person he was and the kind of person he was expected to be. And he'd go off to whatever state that was while she waited in Chattanooga for him to get back and maybe he'd find someone better than her while she spent the rest of her life working at Thread Heads and on a different night, she'd probably bring that up and confront him.
But tonight was a good night and tonight wasn't the future and she didn't have to worry about it.
So instead, Madison took a deep breath and tightened her grip on his hand, once more letting her weary head lull to the side to face him as he questioned whether or not her stomach was doing okay.
"Mhm," She affirmed softly with a smile, her eyes growing heavier by the minute. "I had a slice of pizza to chase Wyatt's shitty shot."
Talking was proving an exhausting task as the warm haze of intoxication gripped her, but she was happy to be his co-pilot. And maybe it was sick, but she liked when he worried about her, sometimes playing up a cold or the like just a day longer or embellishing her symptoms to get the most she could from him.
"Hey," Her voice was barely above a whisper as her eyes searched for his in the darkness of the car, her thumb resuming its waltz as if to encourage his attention.
"I love you."
There were times she wished she had what he had, that maybe if she had people she needed to impress or someone to push her and didn't have the freedom that she had, she would've turned out better; that she would have been more responsible or driven, better suited for life outside of high school. As it was, she was in over her head, with no plans for the future and no real passion to speak of to take into the outside world.
Connor was different, though. He rose to the task and welcomed adversity when she'd crumble. He worked hard and chased what he wanted, while she didn't know the meaning of it. Connor would get a full ride somewhere, because that's just the kind of person he was and the kind of person he was expected to be. And he'd go off to whatever state that was while she waited in Chattanooga for him to get back and maybe he'd find someone better than her while she spent the rest of her life working at Thread Heads and on a different night, she'd probably bring that up and confront him.
But tonight was a good night and tonight wasn't the future and she didn't have to worry about it.
So instead, Madison took a deep breath and tightened her grip on his hand, once more letting her weary head lull to the side to face him as he questioned whether or not her stomach was doing okay.
"Mhm," She affirmed softly with a smile, her eyes growing heavier by the minute. "I had a slice of pizza to chase Wyatt's shitty shot."
Talking was proving an exhausting task as the warm haze of intoxication gripped her, but she was happy to be his co-pilot. And maybe it was sick, but she liked when he worried about her, sometimes playing up a cold or the like just a day longer or embellishing her symptoms to get the most she could from him.
"Hey," Her voice was barely above a whisper as her eyes searched for his in the darkness of the car, her thumb resuming its waltz as if to encourage his attention.
"I love you."
"Good, good. That probably saved your stomach, babe." Connor nodded as he shifted gears and brought the Corvette into an ideal cruising speed. This particular stretch of road was one of his favourite places to take the car out in the evening, as it was often devoid of traffic, and on occasion, he'd really punch the throttle just to hear the sensual purr of the engine as it flew him down the straightaway. His father would have tanned his hide had he known that he did that, but why have such a vehicle if you weren't going to take it out and see what it was made of once in a while?
He was certain that his father did it himself from time-to-time, but likely under the cover of other errands or chores. Steven Lorenzen was a man who wore a very practiced image, but underneath all of it, he knew that there had to be at least some frivolity. The very existence of so many cars in the Lorenzen family garage was a testament to that. Connor imagined that his father probably felt a tinge of jealousy for all of the times that he was able to take the fancy cars out and impress his friends, his girlfriends, whomever. His father made waves in a very different world, one that didn't allow for so much casual excess.
The street lights continued to strobe through the window as the Corvette made its way down the paved thoroughfare, giving the interior of the car an almost hypnotic quality, the two occupants occasionally bathed in a pale yellowish glow. It was relaxing; it was comforting. This was what life was supposed to be like, cruising along and taking things as they came, preparing for what you could and adapting to what you couldn't. Connor already considered himself a professional at that. His parents had taught him damned well.
"Hey, I love you."
Oh.
Madison's words were whispered and he would almost have pegged them as musings of a barely-conscious mind, except for the fact that her fingers started intertwining themselves in his own once more, this time with a more forceful path. Connor swallowed, feeling a lump settle into the pit of his throat and as the alternating lights continued to gently strobe the interior of the cabin, his stomach started to twist into a knot as well. Outwardly, he didn't make any reaction to her declaration, but his brain started to hyper-focus upon the road and turned in toward itself.
It wasn't that Madison Springer was a bad person - far from it, in fact. The girl was misunderstood by many, but she had a heart that he admired that she didn't quite know how to accurately express to the rest of the world. He'd seen that side of her privately, and he wished that she felt comfortable enough in her own skin to share it with the rest of the world. It was just... those words were sacred to Connor. He had always chastised people who threw the phrase around without meaning it, and had hated people who used love as a weapon. People were more than capable of getting what they wanted without preying upon the emotions of others. Connor himself had certainly worked hard to get where he was, but he'd used his natural charm and easygoing nature to help open doors that just weren't available to people. He never played with emotions, that was off-side to him. So to say those words... this was a big deal. This was her opening her heart up to him, and expecting reciprocation in return.
He turned and smiled that warm smile at her, his eyes trying not to betray the unfamiliar anxiety that had slipped its way into his chest.
"I know, babe."
He turned his eyes back upon the road, still wearing that same smile on his face, pleased with himself. She got to express herself, and she had acknowledge it - in her intoxicated state she would assume that he'd said it back, and he'd be A-OK. He'd nailed it; yet another example of his skill and proficiency in adapting to unusual situations.
He reached over and turned the music up a few notches, so that it was quiet but audible. The country station was in its variety block, and so the melodic island strings of Jimmy Buffet gently filled the car.
This had been a nice night.
He was certain that his father did it himself from time-to-time, but likely under the cover of other errands or chores. Steven Lorenzen was a man who wore a very practiced image, but underneath all of it, he knew that there had to be at least some frivolity. The very existence of so many cars in the Lorenzen family garage was a testament to that. Connor imagined that his father probably felt a tinge of jealousy for all of the times that he was able to take the fancy cars out and impress his friends, his girlfriends, whomever. His father made waves in a very different world, one that didn't allow for so much casual excess.
The street lights continued to strobe through the window as the Corvette made its way down the paved thoroughfare, giving the interior of the car an almost hypnotic quality, the two occupants occasionally bathed in a pale yellowish glow. It was relaxing; it was comforting. This was what life was supposed to be like, cruising along and taking things as they came, preparing for what you could and adapting to what you couldn't. Connor already considered himself a professional at that. His parents had taught him damned well.
"Hey, I love you."
Oh.
Madison's words were whispered and he would almost have pegged them as musings of a barely-conscious mind, except for the fact that her fingers started intertwining themselves in his own once more, this time with a more forceful path. Connor swallowed, feeling a lump settle into the pit of his throat and as the alternating lights continued to gently strobe the interior of the cabin, his stomach started to twist into a knot as well. Outwardly, he didn't make any reaction to her declaration, but his brain started to hyper-focus upon the road and turned in toward itself.
It wasn't that Madison Springer was a bad person - far from it, in fact. The girl was misunderstood by many, but she had a heart that he admired that she didn't quite know how to accurately express to the rest of the world. He'd seen that side of her privately, and he wished that she felt comfortable enough in her own skin to share it with the rest of the world. It was just... those words were sacred to Connor. He had always chastised people who threw the phrase around without meaning it, and had hated people who used love as a weapon. People were more than capable of getting what they wanted without preying upon the emotions of others. Connor himself had certainly worked hard to get where he was, but he'd used his natural charm and easygoing nature to help open doors that just weren't available to people. He never played with emotions, that was off-side to him. So to say those words... this was a big deal. This was her opening her heart up to him, and expecting reciprocation in return.
He turned and smiled that warm smile at her, his eyes trying not to betray the unfamiliar anxiety that had slipped its way into his chest.
"I know, babe."
He turned his eyes back upon the road, still wearing that same smile on his face, pleased with himself. She got to express herself, and she had acknowledge it - in her intoxicated state she would assume that he'd said it back, and he'd be A-OK. He'd nailed it; yet another example of his skill and proficiency in adapting to unusual situations.
He reached over and turned the music up a few notches, so that it was quiet but audible. The country station was in its variety block, and so the melodic island strings of Jimmy Buffet gently filled the car.
This had been a nice night.
Her eyebrows furrowed, thin hand darting out to turn the radio back down once more.
"Say it," It wasn't a demand, so much as a plead.
"Say it," It wasn't a demand, so much as a plead.
The knot in his stomach returned; tightened. Connor's foot instinctively lowered the gas pedal, increasing the speed of the vehicle. He still wore that smile. "Say what?"
The climate in the car changed immediately, a chill quiet sweeping throughout to replace the warm euphoria of intoxication. Madison stared at Connor through the blanket of night, perhaps expecting him to say something else, to respond in kind to her, to make her feel less stupid and to relieve her of her hurt, but nothing broke through the horrible expectant silence. She fought to find words herself, she wanted to press him more, to persuade him to feel the same way she felt, to convince him she was worth it; but gone was the drunken heedlessness she'd need to lower herself to that point, robbed from her by the proverbial smack to the face. A hot flush painted her features red and she wasn't sure if she was upset or angry or embarrassed or all of them all at the same unholy time.
She wanted to cry, not from the anger or the embarrassment, but to show Connor that she cared, that she wanted him to say it and that it was important to her. She wished she could give him a list of reasons to love her but, truthfully, she didn't have one.
So instead, she pulled her hand from his, clutching it to her chest as if burned by anything other than his words or lack thereof, and tore her gaze from him.
"Nevermind," Was all she could muster as she fought the anger bubbling inside of her. She wanted to scream at him, to ask him why she wasn't good enough even though she already knew the answer. She wanted to hear him verbalize the words and bring them to life, to make them real and not some sad fantasy she'd made up.
She could feel herself shutting down; spiralling as she though of every wrong that he'd ever committed against her and everything she didn't like about him to convince herself that she hated him and that anything else was just a flight of fancy or words on the wind. And the more she sat in the hanging silence thinking, the angrier she got, both at herself and at him and she knew she had to separate herself.
"Just pull over, Conner. I'll walk the rest of the way home."
She wanted to cry, not from the anger or the embarrassment, but to show Connor that she cared, that she wanted him to say it and that it was important to her. She wished she could give him a list of reasons to love her but, truthfully, she didn't have one.
So instead, she pulled her hand from his, clutching it to her chest as if burned by anything other than his words or lack thereof, and tore her gaze from him.
"Nevermind," Was all she could muster as she fought the anger bubbling inside of her. She wanted to scream at him, to ask him why she wasn't good enough even though she already knew the answer. She wanted to hear him verbalize the words and bring them to life, to make them real and not some sad fantasy she'd made up.
She could feel herself shutting down; spiralling as she though of every wrong that he'd ever committed against her and everything she didn't like about him to convince herself that she hated him and that anything else was just a flight of fancy or words on the wind. And the more she sat in the hanging silence thinking, the angrier she got, both at herself and at him and she knew she had to separate herself.
"Just pull over, Conner. I'll walk the rest of the way home."
Madison's hand was gone suddenly, and she mumbled something that Connor couldn't quite make out over the music. A lump started to form in his throat. The smile fell partially away, replaced by something that was half smile, half grimace. No matter. It was the alcohol talking. That was typical. It didn't matter how much Madison would try, she always ended up having a bit too much to drink, and would inevitably get sleepy and doze o-
"Just pull over, Connor. I'll walk the rest of the way home."
What.
Walking home from here? That was preposterous, and Connor gave his head a small shake, then took his attention from the road to look at his girlfriend sitting beside him. Her face was flushed - though again, that was no surprise after a few rounds of adult beverages, but... the expression told a very different story. It was a story taken directly from a passage that he'd read before; a book that he was none-too-fond of and that he tried to keep firmly on the shelf.
But right now, Madison had that book out and was practically screaming each and every word from off the page.
Was it the dodge? Usually Madison got so drunk that it wasn't an issue, he mumbled something back or glossed over it, and everything was fine. She'd pass out, wake up the next morning, and they'd follow their usual routine. So for her to take umbrage with it this time was unusual.
"What's that?" Connor feigned having half-heard her, and forced the smile back upon his face. He kept the speed of the vehicle constant. He had no intention of stopping and leaving his half-drunk girlfriend at the side of a road in what was essentially the outskirts of Chattanooga. That would be incredibly irresponsible, and that wasn't him.
So he made it into a joke.
"Now I could have sworn you asked me to let you walk from here. Y'all must be a little more buzzed than we figured." Accompanying the jest was a sweet smile that was painfully inauthentic.
It wasn't that he didn't love Madison Springer. He just didn't know that he did.
The lump still remained within his throat, and the car drove on.
"Just pull over, Connor. I'll walk the rest of the way home."
What.
Walking home from here? That was preposterous, and Connor gave his head a small shake, then took his attention from the road to look at his girlfriend sitting beside him. Her face was flushed - though again, that was no surprise after a few rounds of adult beverages, but... the expression told a very different story. It was a story taken directly from a passage that he'd read before; a book that he was none-too-fond of and that he tried to keep firmly on the shelf.
But right now, Madison had that book out and was practically screaming each and every word from off the page.
Was it the dodge? Usually Madison got so drunk that it wasn't an issue, he mumbled something back or glossed over it, and everything was fine. She'd pass out, wake up the next morning, and they'd follow their usual routine. So for her to take umbrage with it this time was unusual.
"What's that?" Connor feigned having half-heard her, and forced the smile back upon his face. He kept the speed of the vehicle constant. He had no intention of stopping and leaving his half-drunk girlfriend at the side of a road in what was essentially the outskirts of Chattanooga. That would be incredibly irresponsible, and that wasn't him.
So he made it into a joke.
"Now I could have sworn you asked me to let you walk from here. Y'all must be a little more buzzed than we figured." Accompanying the jest was a sweet smile that was painfully inauthentic.
It wasn't that he didn't love Madison Springer. He just didn't know that he did.
The lump still remained within his throat, and the car drove on.
Madison forced her gaze to the night beyond the window of the Corvette, training it on a distant sky scraper that seemed to not move from its place in the horizon despite the speed the car was traveling. She begged the anger boiling inside her not to rise to the surface, to lay dormant just long enough for her to get back home, to not ruin what had been a good night. But everything Connor said and everything Connor did was salt in the wound. She felt trapped, like a fly in a room; beating against a closed window.
Instinctively, she brought her thumb to her mouth, biting at the already chipped polish adorning it.
The car was overwhelmingly quiet following his admonishment of her sobriety, a thick layer of discomfort draping over them and threatening to engulf her. Her breathing was loud in her ears and she could feel him adjusting in his seat next to her, but she didn't dare look back to him, content to leave him a blur in her periphery. Any other day, in any other situation, she'd appreciate his humor and his ability to pull a conversation out of the coals, but here and now, everything he said stung, because everything was prefaced with a 'but'. I won't leave you on the side of the road, but I don't love you. You're drunk and I'll take care of you, but I'll never love you. I like you and maybe I'd love you, but look at who you are and how you act.
"Please just pull over, Connor. I want out." She said to downtown Chattanooga and the sky beyond it, thumb still perched on her lip. Her voice was measured and quiet, but shook softly as she fought to level herself., "I'm not drunk, I'm barely even buzzed, but I don't wanna be here so just let me out. Please."
Instinctively, she brought her thumb to her mouth, biting at the already chipped polish adorning it.
The car was overwhelmingly quiet following his admonishment of her sobriety, a thick layer of discomfort draping over them and threatening to engulf her. Her breathing was loud in her ears and she could feel him adjusting in his seat next to her, but she didn't dare look back to him, content to leave him a blur in her periphery. Any other day, in any other situation, she'd appreciate his humor and his ability to pull a conversation out of the coals, but here and now, everything he said stung, because everything was prefaced with a 'but'. I won't leave you on the side of the road, but I don't love you. You're drunk and I'll take care of you, but I'll never love you. I like you and maybe I'd love you, but look at who you are and how you act.
"Please just pull over, Connor. I want out." She said to downtown Chattanooga and the sky beyond it, thumb still perched on her lip. Her voice was measured and quiet, but shook softly as she fought to level herself., "I'm not drunk, I'm barely even buzzed, but I don't wanna be here so just let me out. Please."
Connor blinked in surprise as he tried to register the words that were coming out of Madison Springer's mouth.
I want out.
His hands on the steering wheel tensed as he maintained his speed, the Corvette still hurtling down the straightaway at close to 80 miles per hour. Madison wasn't angry, but she was getting pouty, and he had a slight concern that his glossing over of this little conversation hadn't been as effective as the last time she'd tried to broach the subject. It usually happened when she was blackout drunk, and talking her down from a deeply emotional conversation wasn't tough, but this time seemed different.
Dammit, she'd actually behaved this time.
I don't wanna be here so just let me out. Please."
His palms started to sweat a little bit.
"We're almost there, babe. Don't worry. Only a few more minutes before we get to the neighbourhood." What was she intoning by wanting out? Obviously she wasn't the type to decide to go for a midnight jog, and it was not the hour to be traipsing around the outskirts of town.
Was she talking about their relationship? Was Madison going full-biblical because he hadn't reciprocated her platitudes? There was no possible way that this girl was actually in love with him. It was probably just the idea of him, the status, the image. Connor couldn't imagine that he'd been all that good to her to be worthy of that kind of admiration. He was used to admiration - being a school football star certainly had its perks, but he hadn't done anything special. He'd just been himself, and tried not to be a jackass throughout their relationship.
Was that something worthy of a woman's love?
The lights sped by, and Connor visualized the turn in to the neighbourhood that he knew would approach within the next five or ten minutes. Slightly, his foot pressed down on the accelerator and the car kept on towards its destination, the tension within the car starting to become palpable.
I want out.
His hands on the steering wheel tensed as he maintained his speed, the Corvette still hurtling down the straightaway at close to 80 miles per hour. Madison wasn't angry, but she was getting pouty, and he had a slight concern that his glossing over of this little conversation hadn't been as effective as the last time she'd tried to broach the subject. It usually happened when she was blackout drunk, and talking her down from a deeply emotional conversation wasn't tough, but this time seemed different.
Dammit, she'd actually behaved this time.
I don't wanna be here so just let me out. Please."
His palms started to sweat a little bit.
"We're almost there, babe. Don't worry. Only a few more minutes before we get to the neighbourhood." What was she intoning by wanting out? Obviously she wasn't the type to decide to go for a midnight jog, and it was not the hour to be traipsing around the outskirts of town.
Was she talking about their relationship? Was Madison going full-biblical because he hadn't reciprocated her platitudes? There was no possible way that this girl was actually in love with him. It was probably just the idea of him, the status, the image. Connor couldn't imagine that he'd been all that good to her to be worthy of that kind of admiration. He was used to admiration - being a school football star certainly had its perks, but he hadn't done anything special. He'd just been himself, and tried not to be a jackass throughout their relationship.
Was that something worthy of a woman's love?
The lights sped by, and Connor visualized the turn in to the neighbourhood that he knew would approach within the next five or ten minutes. Slightly, his foot pressed down on the accelerator and the car kept on towards its destination, the tension within the car starting to become palpable.
It was all Madison could take.
She'd tried.
Really tried not to be a slave to her emotions and their whims, to free herself from the vice grip they had on her, to step away from the situation and assess it. She hadn't been in therapy very long when she was growing up, a couple weeks or months at the most when she was at her worst, and while most of the talking had been directed toward her with Madison herself offering little in the way of compliance, she'd listened and it was one of the first things they'd tried to browbeat into her. Think about why you're upset and communicate that and take a couple deep breaths and throw all your shit on the table and let everyone else decide how to deal with it.
And it sounded good on paper.
And she'd tried, even if it was in the only way she knew how.
And maybe it was an illogical, or rash and reckless request.
And maybe if she was a more patient person or if the thought of telling Connor why it hurt so much that he couldn't reciprocate and letting him see that vulnerability didn't terrify her for reasons she couldn't explain, she'd have handled the situation better.
But she'd tried.
And maybe that's why she felt she had carte blanche.
“I don't care,” She spat back at him, “I don't care how fucking close we are, Connor. I want out. Now. I don't wanna be in your stupid car anymore and I don't wanna see your fucking face right now.”
Her eyes darted from their focused fixation on the outside world toward his position in the car, glaring into the darkness with hopes that all her anger and resentment would cut through the night and find him. Her hurt erupted from her faster than her brain could keep up, wanting to pull every small instance of presumed slights from the Rolodex in her mind, every time he'd not called her to say goodnight or all the times he flirted with other girls.
Everything that wasn't him refusing to say he loved her.
Everything that wasn't the rejection of not being able to make someone love you after three years of dating.
“I don't know why you even want to be with me if you hate me so much, Connor? Like, what's the point? Why don't you just fucking call it?!”
You can do better.
She could feel herself white-knuckling the handle of the door, maybe to stop herself from swinging at him or to stop frantic arms from articulating just how upset she was. Her whole body shook and she could hear it in her voice, no matter how steady and angry she wanted to sound, so she just got louder in hopes of masking it.
“I'm sure all your asshole friends want you to break up with me, too! 'Cause I'm such a fucking bitch, right? And crazy! I'm just a crazy bitch, Connor, don't you listen to anything anyone says?”
The longer she yelled at him, the more irreparable she felt the damage would be, but she didn't know how to end it and she didn't want to give him a chance to answer, or a chance to prove her right and put the nail in the coffin she'd built.
Her face hot with anger, she yanked the door behind her open, relishing the cool gust from the highway as it ripped throughout the car, whipping her hair against her face as she yelled into the darkness.
“Now pull the fuck over!”
She'd tried.
Really tried not to be a slave to her emotions and their whims, to free herself from the vice grip they had on her, to step away from the situation and assess it. She hadn't been in therapy very long when she was growing up, a couple weeks or months at the most when she was at her worst, and while most of the talking had been directed toward her with Madison herself offering little in the way of compliance, she'd listened and it was one of the first things they'd tried to browbeat into her. Think about why you're upset and communicate that and take a couple deep breaths and throw all your shit on the table and let everyone else decide how to deal with it.
And it sounded good on paper.
And she'd tried, even if it was in the only way she knew how.
And maybe it was an illogical, or rash and reckless request.
And maybe if she was a more patient person or if the thought of telling Connor why it hurt so much that he couldn't reciprocate and letting him see that vulnerability didn't terrify her for reasons she couldn't explain, she'd have handled the situation better.
But she'd tried.
And maybe that's why she felt she had carte blanche.
“I don't care,” She spat back at him, “I don't care how fucking close we are, Connor. I want out. Now. I don't wanna be in your stupid car anymore and I don't wanna see your fucking face right now.”
Her eyes darted from their focused fixation on the outside world toward his position in the car, glaring into the darkness with hopes that all her anger and resentment would cut through the night and find him. Her hurt erupted from her faster than her brain could keep up, wanting to pull every small instance of presumed slights from the Rolodex in her mind, every time he'd not called her to say goodnight or all the times he flirted with other girls.
Everything that wasn't him refusing to say he loved her.
Everything that wasn't the rejection of not being able to make someone love you after three years of dating.
“I don't know why you even want to be with me if you hate me so much, Connor? Like, what's the point? Why don't you just fucking call it?!”
You can do better.
She could feel herself white-knuckling the handle of the door, maybe to stop herself from swinging at him or to stop frantic arms from articulating just how upset she was. Her whole body shook and she could hear it in her voice, no matter how steady and angry she wanted to sound, so she just got louder in hopes of masking it.
“I'm sure all your asshole friends want you to break up with me, too! 'Cause I'm such a fucking bitch, right? And crazy! I'm just a crazy bitch, Connor, don't you listen to anything anyone says?”
The longer she yelled at him, the more irreparable she felt the damage would be, but she didn't know how to end it and she didn't want to give him a chance to answer, or a chance to prove her right and put the nail in the coffin she'd built.
Her face hot with anger, she yanked the door behind her open, relishing the cool gust from the highway as it ripped throughout the car, whipping her hair against her face as she yelled into the darkness.
“Now pull the fuck over!”
There were so many things that he needed to say; the situation had needlessly escalated and while he couldn't admit it - even to himself, it was his fault. His body had slightly tensed as the shock of her words slapped him in the face, and his hands tightened on the steering wheel as the Corvette zipped down the road. They had fought before; anyone dating Madison Springer was liable to expect that to be true, but this seemed unusually personal. Somehow, Connor had touched a sensitive wire, and was enduring the full voltage that leapt from within. He'd tried to take a moment to compose himself, to take a breath and figure out what to say. He was good at that - saying the right thing, even after immediately having misspoken.
But right now, that ability had vanished. All of the words barely registered, because Madison had taken an (illogical, in his mind) fight and cranked the dial all the way up to one-thousand.
She had opened the car door.
While the car was still moving.
Hundreds of damning scenarios immediately flooded his head as the wind whistled through the car, scattering both Connor and Madison's hair around their heads. She could fall out, she could jump out, or he could lose control... every situation ended the same - it would be the end of the Connor Lorenzen dream for both him and his family.
And that just wouldn't do.
Reacting with the first instinct that came into his mind, he slammed his foot down on the brake, sending the car violently forward as the brakes kicked in. He could hear the screech of tires on the road, he could smell the burning rubber as the brakes (thankfully) did their job and stopped the Corvette in its tracks.
Chest now sore from the newfound seatbelt bruise, he took a few deep breaths to try and bring his mind back to the situation at hand. Madison had been screaming at him, she wanted out, but why?
Oh. Well, yes, he knew why. But did that give her the right to act like a crazy person? It did not.
His hands quivered as they gripped into the leather steering wheel, the hum of the Corvette's engine as it idled the only sound either of them could hear. Connor could still smell the burnt rubber on the pavement. That smell wouldn't go away anytime soon. As the sharp sulphuric scent entered his nostrils again, he felt the anger begin to well up within his chest. Taking another breath, he tried to shove the anger back down, as he had so many times before.
He failed.
"Are you out of your goddamn mind?" Connor turned to look at Madison and snarled at her with shocking ferocity. "I know you have your moments, Madison, but this is just fucking stupid. Do you have," he paused, and punctuated his next words with an uncharacteristic increase in volume, "any idea what could have happened if you opened the door going that fast?"
The scenarios continued in his mind, and outwardly, so did the beginnings of his tirade. His hands left the wheel and stabbed an accusatory finger at his girlfriend.
"You're really that unhappy, Madison? You really think I hate you that much?" He glanced out the window, the headlights still illuminating the road in front of them. No cars were visible in any direction for miles. When his eyes returned to her, they were still filled with fire.
"Would someone who hated you have stood up for you all those times that people talked trash? Y'all have no idea how many times I've shut that shit down! But no, I'm the fucking bad guy! I'm the shit-head. Well, Madison, people wouldn't call you a crazy bitch," there was a palatable amount of venom in his next words, "if you didn't act like such a crazy fucking bitch."
His lips trembled in anger. He was outraged, though a small part of his mind knew that he should probably be a little mad at himself. Coupled with the embarrassment that he had lost control and knew it, the anger only got worse. His finger then pointed at the open door, his voice as chilly as the air that had flooded the car.
"You want out? The door's already open. Get the fuck out, then."
But right now, that ability had vanished. All of the words barely registered, because Madison had taken an (illogical, in his mind) fight and cranked the dial all the way up to one-thousand.
She had opened the car door.
While the car was still moving.
Hundreds of damning scenarios immediately flooded his head as the wind whistled through the car, scattering both Connor and Madison's hair around their heads. She could fall out, she could jump out, or he could lose control... every situation ended the same - it would be the end of the Connor Lorenzen dream for both him and his family.
And that just wouldn't do.
Reacting with the first instinct that came into his mind, he slammed his foot down on the brake, sending the car violently forward as the brakes kicked in. He could hear the screech of tires on the road, he could smell the burning rubber as the brakes (thankfully) did their job and stopped the Corvette in its tracks.
Chest now sore from the newfound seatbelt bruise, he took a few deep breaths to try and bring his mind back to the situation at hand. Madison had been screaming at him, she wanted out, but why?
Oh. Well, yes, he knew why. But did that give her the right to act like a crazy person? It did not.
His hands quivered as they gripped into the leather steering wheel, the hum of the Corvette's engine as it idled the only sound either of them could hear. Connor could still smell the burnt rubber on the pavement. That smell wouldn't go away anytime soon. As the sharp sulphuric scent entered his nostrils again, he felt the anger begin to well up within his chest. Taking another breath, he tried to shove the anger back down, as he had so many times before.
He failed.
"Are you out of your goddamn mind?" Connor turned to look at Madison and snarled at her with shocking ferocity. "I know you have your moments, Madison, but this is just fucking stupid. Do you have," he paused, and punctuated his next words with an uncharacteristic increase in volume, "any idea what could have happened if you opened the door going that fast?"
The scenarios continued in his mind, and outwardly, so did the beginnings of his tirade. His hands left the wheel and stabbed an accusatory finger at his girlfriend.
"You're really that unhappy, Madison? You really think I hate you that much?" He glanced out the window, the headlights still illuminating the road in front of them. No cars were visible in any direction for miles. When his eyes returned to her, they were still filled with fire.
"Would someone who hated you have stood up for you all those times that people talked trash? Y'all have no idea how many times I've shut that shit down! But no, I'm the fucking bad guy! I'm the shit-head. Well, Madison, people wouldn't call you a crazy bitch," there was a palatable amount of venom in his next words, "if you didn't act like such a crazy fucking bitch."
His lips trembled in anger. He was outraged, though a small part of his mind knew that he should probably be a little mad at himself. Coupled with the embarrassment that he had lost control and knew it, the anger only got worse. His finger then pointed at the open door, his voice as chilly as the air that had flooded the car.
"You want out? The door's already open. Get the fuck out, then."
Madison's body lurched forward roughly as the car screeched to a halt, her seat-belt the only thing stopping the momentum from taking her body to the dashboard the same way it propelled the still open passenger door back in on itself with a thundering crack. Just as quickly as the car had roared from a hundred to zero, so did her tirade, swallowed by an audible, sharp gasp. Her fire was cooled for only a moment as she struggled to register what had happened and collect herself, but that split second was all Connor needed to pick up her spilled vitriol and turn it back on her.
And she listened.
She listened with an uncharacteristic silence as he tore into her, the hum of the stalling engine providing the only backing to an otherwise still street and made his yelling seem all the louder in comparison.
But where his screaming could shake the leaves from the trees; hers could wake the dead. And the longer his assault lasted, the angrier she got and the worse it hurt. She got what she thought she wanted. She got the fight that she'd been so desperate for, got him to react to her and if he wasn't going to love her, he was going to hate her. Anything was better than purgatory.
But this was how he felt, everything that had been dormant for who knows how long was finally bubbling to a head and spilling over and it hurt. It hurt to hear it, hurt that it wasn't just an uneasiness in her gut. Hurt that it was real and hurt that people talked about her and were in his ear. Hurt by the way he put emphasis on 'that much', as if to say he hated her, but only a little.
And she was mad. Mad at him for breaking and mad at herself for pushing him.
She watched with a toxic glare as he spoke, watched angry bits of spit fly from off his perfectly white teeth, watched his perfectly football roughed hands dip and dive, gripping the steering wheel one moment and casting a perfunctory finger her way the next.
She wanted to hit him; to do something just to release her from the tightness forming in her chest.
He told her to go and she wanted to, but not because he told her to. It wasn't his choice. He hadn't been the one to kick her out, she'd wanted that long before and she felt like he needed to know that, but through the stifling anger and the heat of the moment, all she could utter was a simple, low 'fuck you' before grabbing her heels from the floor beneath her and exiting, her statement sealed with a slam of the door behind her.
She didn't look back as she started to the front of the car, unable to feel the sharp bits of gravel on her bare feet through the white hot haze of anger and liquor. She hated him, more than she hated anyone before and she hated that she loved him more than anyone and she hated that she felt like she needed him. And she hated that she did.
With a guttural, primal scream, she tightened her grip on the straps of her heels and brought the pair down on the hood of his car, relishing the feeling as several cat scratches of silver peaked out from beneath the cherry red of the paint. And once more, she shrieked, finally turning her attention back to her boyfriend in his car,
“FUCK. YOU.”
I hope you fucking crash.
And she listened.
She listened with an uncharacteristic silence as he tore into her, the hum of the stalling engine providing the only backing to an otherwise still street and made his yelling seem all the louder in comparison.
But where his screaming could shake the leaves from the trees; hers could wake the dead. And the longer his assault lasted, the angrier she got and the worse it hurt. She got what she thought she wanted. She got the fight that she'd been so desperate for, got him to react to her and if he wasn't going to love her, he was going to hate her. Anything was better than purgatory.
But this was how he felt, everything that had been dormant for who knows how long was finally bubbling to a head and spilling over and it hurt. It hurt to hear it, hurt that it wasn't just an uneasiness in her gut. Hurt that it was real and hurt that people talked about her and were in his ear. Hurt by the way he put emphasis on 'that much', as if to say he hated her, but only a little.
And she was mad. Mad at him for breaking and mad at herself for pushing him.
She watched with a toxic glare as he spoke, watched angry bits of spit fly from off his perfectly white teeth, watched his perfectly football roughed hands dip and dive, gripping the steering wheel one moment and casting a perfunctory finger her way the next.
She wanted to hit him; to do something just to release her from the tightness forming in her chest.
He told her to go and she wanted to, but not because he told her to. It wasn't his choice. He hadn't been the one to kick her out, she'd wanted that long before and she felt like he needed to know that, but through the stifling anger and the heat of the moment, all she could utter was a simple, low 'fuck you' before grabbing her heels from the floor beneath her and exiting, her statement sealed with a slam of the door behind her.
She didn't look back as she started to the front of the car, unable to feel the sharp bits of gravel on her bare feet through the white hot haze of anger and liquor. She hated him, more than she hated anyone before and she hated that she loved him more than anyone and she hated that she felt like she needed him. And she hated that she did.
With a guttural, primal scream, she tightened her grip on the straps of her heels and brought the pair down on the hood of his car, relishing the feeling as several cat scratches of silver peaked out from beneath the cherry red of the paint. And once more, she shrieked, finally turning her attention back to her boyfriend in his car,
“FUCK. YOU.”
I hope you fucking crash.