we are fast-car-fast-crash: squealing tires, burning metal, the stench of gasoline, and through it all a vague thread of tragedy. when his lips meet my skin they leave skid marks and peels of rubber. i always swore i wouldn’t be a wreck – i always swore i would drive safe. but if there’s one thing this boy has taught me, it’s how quickly you lose control of the wheel.
i stop his mouth with my fingers – his eyes, twin headlights, say that my hand is not what he wants to taste. he has no reverence, no cruise control, only drive down backroads doing ninety. when i wonder why i am here all i remember is the leather of a steering wheel against my palm and the feeling that i was guiding my own course. that feeling has evaporated like fumes of gasoline.
i force breath into my lungs – it has to be said, someone has to test whether or not the brakes still work. you know how everyone’s always saying to seize the moment? he nods once; with my palms on his back, i can almost feel his engine idling, power lying dormant in a pause like he’s at a stop sign. essentially, he is.
someone has to say it, someone has to tip the scales, someone has to play traffic cop, and if it’s not him it’s me. i think it’s the other way around. the moment has seized us. does that make it real?
i’m staring into those headlights and i’m hypnotized – he could always make me blind to the consequences of where i choose to place my focus. it depends. what is real to you? his fingers trace patterns on my skin like wheels on pavement – i am his joyride tonight and every night. am i real?
his eyes like light, light, light: as real as any glowing thing. glowing like fire, like combustion. destruction, a carbomb.
then it is real.
quickly, before his lips lull me into silence: and does that make it right?
he looks at me a split second longer, eyes blinking like headlights flashing (and flashers mean take caution). what is right? he waits for an answer; when i don’t give him one, he shifts back into gear and drives.
as the needle on the speedometer rises, it occurs to me that this will only end in crash and burn and an ambulance that is too late. and that is the answer to his question.
that is right.
- 10:13 joyrides // abby, day 244 // prompt for anon