Page 84 of The Last Special Thing

‘Cause all I want to do is impress you.”

The street sign indicated they were three blocks away.

Passion carried his voice as he sang louder, desperately.

“Which is why I know you’ll leave.”

She swiveled her head to him. She’d leave him? What the fuck does that mean?

He broke eye contact as she caught a shiny black cat darting in the headlights.

“FUCK, AMELIA, LOOK OUT!”

Amelia swerved, missing the pet. Gripping the wheel tighter, she tried to straighten the wheel. Every movement was heightened. As she overcorrected the wheel, her foot panicked on the gas pedal.

A high-screeching sound pierced the night as the car skidded along the asphalt.

The car slammed into the light post. Her body lurched forward, then smacked against the leather seat as the seatbelt tightened, restraining her.

Her loudly beating heart was the only assurance she had of her mortality.

Panting, her eyes slid to Art. Terror was etched on his face. He blinked it away and neutralized his reaction, an even better actor than she was.

Oh, I’m sorrrrry blared from the car speakers.

Amelia slammed the heel of her hand on the volume button, silencing the music. Her chest rose and fell. Each breath brought with it the soreness from where the seatbelt had saved her.

“Princess, I am-” Art started.

“Shut the fuck up.” Her voice was even.

She had to think. One of them had to be capable of thinking.

With another breath, she closed her eyes and counted. When she opened them again, she made the move. Out of the car, she cased the vehicle.

Her headlight was shattered, with pieces scattered across the ground. Running her thumb over the light, she felt the scratches on her perfect graduation present.

She pressed her fingers to her temple and reviewed her options.

It was risky to drive the rest of the way- a missing light would draw attention. It was worse to leave it. A broken car on the side of the road? Someone would notice and report it to the police if they hadn’t already. She scanned the darkened apartments towering above the crime scene. There was no right decision, only the best choice of the wrong ones.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she muttered.

Art put a hand on her shoulder, and she rolled away from his touch. She needed to focus, not let him distract her. “We need to go.”

He ran his hand through his hair, tangled with sweat. For a moment, he opened his mouth in protest, then closed it.

When they were back in the car, Amelia reversed and straightened it. The one remaining headlight partially lit the road to the apartment.

The next time either of them spoke, they were in his room. Her body was tense, reverberating from both the high of the drug and of the wreck.

“Do you care if I do one more bump?” Art’s voice was low. “I need to feel something else.” He looked at her, as if expecting understanding.

She shook her head in disbelief. He must have taken the movement to mean no, as in she didn’t care.

Pulling out the ziplock, he scooped a bump of cocaine with his house key and inhaled the drug. The weight in her chest was heavy, as she struggled to understand what had happened and where the night was going.

His head rolled back, and his chest fell. A smile gently pulled at his mouth. A single tear fell from his eye. She knew the face. He had successfully escaped reality.