001. 99.9% Sure That I Am Going To Die Today.
My name is Moi Summers. I'm twenty-one years old and I'm about 99.9% sure that I am going to die today.
"Please..." My face is smushed against the backseat window on the driver's side, tears gushing from my squeezed shut eyes, wallet in left hand extending behind me just waiting for him to take it, the cold barrel of a gun shoved against my scalp. "God, please..." I'd never given much thought to how I'd die, the thought of death terrifies me, but if I had actually thought about it I'd think little old lady going peacefully in her sleep.
He exhales forcefully, shakily. "Shut up." His voice is slightly louder than a whisper.
And I try to muffle the sob sitting in my throat but it's too much, every emotion that I've ever felt in my life is suddenly weighing down on me all at once, and I have to weep.
"Shut up! Fuck! Shut the fuck up!"
But that just makes me cry more. Uncontrollable, gut-wrenching, body racking sobs.
"Stop it! Stop! Stop it!"
I can't stop. I want to stop. The barrel is shaking, his voice is shaking, I can't stop from shaking, there's nothing to soothe me. Nothing but the sound of faraway traffic, his yelling for me to stop, I open my eyes and there's nothing but purple sky, glittering stars, the promise that the end is near.
Oh. God. I never got the chance to get right with God, if he shoots me I am going to Hell.
"I said...!" He swings me around the barrel between my eyes. "Shut up!" Cocks the gun. "Please, just..." Uncocks the gun. "Stop crying and shut up!"
And I stop crying. Because it's Justin.
002. Finally He Pulls The Gun Away.
No, we don't know each other, but this is Justin. He was here earlier, a lonely figure standing tall, he seemed lost in himself, standing on the sidewalk outside of the shop. I was hesitant to ask for a cigarette, there was something about him that I was afraid to disturb, but the edge from a ten hour shift was eating at my nerves.
He was polite enough, his smile was gorgeous, but I knew he was out of my league. Still, my eyes watched his lips move as he told me his name, a sort of fever coursing through my body.
When I went back in after my break even Emb agreed that he was hot. But now dark circles bruise the skin around his eyes and he looks awfully pale.
Finally he pulls the gun away, snatches the wallet from my hand, and steps back. "I'm sorry." And runs off.
003. I Hate That Son Of A Bitch.
"I told you to stop parking in that stupid alley parking lot wanna-be. Now look at you. You're shaking. You're lucky that all he did was point it at you."
I let Emb wrap me in the afghan she made me for Christmas happy to still be alive to hear her chide at me, and hold the mug of chamomile tea closer to my chest.
"From now on Fed's taking you to work." Not so happy to still be alive to hear this ridiculous proposition.
"Emb..."
"That way he can pick you up."
"Emb, no."
"What do you mean ‘Emb, no?' You almost died."
And no one's more aware of that fact than me, but I'm not four, I don't need her boyfriend escorting me to work like it's the first day of pre-school.
I shrug. "Shit happens."
"Not to you. I have the ultrasound tomorrow but Fed can be here at three thirty. I'm going to call him."
She leaves me sitting in the middle of the couch, afghan still around shoulder, unsipped tea still in hand, upset at her for treating me like a child. I begin to cry slow labored tears.
Crying, I've always hated crying, and now it's all I can bring myself to do. Control. I've lost control. I hate that son of a bitch, Justin; I hate my lack of control.
004. Nightmare In Slow Motion.
Fed is uber punctual. It's so goddamn annoying. It's Thursday, day three, tomorrow I don't work, thank God. I close the blinds, grab my hightops, and head out to his ‘78 Malibu, give him a half smile as I slide into the passenger seat, feet on the dashboard-I'll put on my hightops when we get there. From the corner of my eye I swear on everything, Justin stands across the street. Tall, seemingly lost in himself, smoking a fucking cigarette.
"Oh. My. God." My words blending into the July breeze as Fed pulls away from the curb, starting down the street.
In slow motion... this is a nightmare in slow motion; my bangs flutter, my face against the breeze, watching him fade in slow motion.
He took my wallet, my I.D. He knows where I live.
Chapter End Notes:
pls... tell me wat u think =)
Story Tags: Be the first to add a tag to this story
