Hero here. Yes, it appears that I have, again, decided to work on something else rather then post the next part of Lucain & Wihara. It appears a habit of mine, to, after posting a couple of a certain piece, jumping out the window to run away with a new story. But I really promise to post more Lucain & Wihara, and maybe to continue this too.
Please crack it; by the way, I don't live in England, so the view may be distorted slightly.
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“I never want to see you again!” Terri screamed at Vince, trying to claw his face off in the back seat.
“Careful back there!” I yelled. After all, I’d almost hit that old woman at that bus stop. If they continued to distract me, I had a feeling we’d all end up as cadavers on a mortician’s slab.
“Look, stop the car. Stop the car!” Terri said, her voice thick with crying and snot. I obeyed, pulling up by the side of the road. She walked out, and slammed the door behind her.
“Oi! Careful, Dad’ll kill me if there’s a scratch,” I called after her. She walked away, black heels clacking on the tarmac, not looking back but to give us the middle finger.
Inconsiderate bitch, I thought. After all, I was their designated driver; the least they could do was show some respect.
I looked behind me.
“Alright, then, Vince?” I asked. He did look somewhat... battered, little droplets of blood dripping from his right cheek onto his otherwise pristine white t-shirt, and onto the black leather of the seat; I’d have to clean that later. He shook his head.
“I’ll just drop you off at your house, ‘K?”
He just nodded. I turned my head back to the road. It was close to midnight, not raining, though it was about to. I was only allowed Dad’s car, his precious Audi, because I assured him that I was a designated driver, I wasn’t taking a cellphone, and that it wasn’t raining.
We reached some traffic lights, their red glare reflected off the black tarmac. I looked out the window, wondering if Terri was alright.
“Lottie, turn on the radio,” Vince murmured. I flicked it on; the French channel spilled out. French, I shuddered, and wondered what possessed Dad to turn on the French radio. I turned to my channel. Some heart-felt singer’s bleating and his acoustic guitar filled the car.
The lights turned green. I pressed the accelerator, shifted gear.
“Lottie, I lost her this time,” Vince said, and started to cry. I glanced at him in the mirror.
“Look, Vince, you break up all the time. Remember last month, when you swore that you’d never see each other again?” He sniffed his tears back.
There was a silence as a white limo (owned by bank CEO's daughter, Jessica Albany) passed us, containing a bunch of absolutely blitzed seventeen year-olds, some of whom we knew, others mere acquaintances. We reached another red light; one of the completely-pickled acquaintances, a skinny girl with mousy hair, a lock of which dyed blue, motioned for me to open the window.
Once I did so, she yelled, “Great party, wasn’t it?” I just nodded, looking back at Vince. His pale blue eyes were closed in sleep.
“Not so much for Vince Drake,” I replied. The girl winced.
“Yeah. I couldn’t believe it when he actually snogged that college girl, you know, Tanya’s sister’s friend,” she said.
“Well. He did drink half the keg,” I said, wondering if there even was any excuse for all the stuff Vince had done.
First, he’d chugged down half the keg, to the chants of his ‘mates’, those twats who think they’re so much better than everyone else because they wear all the cool clothes, have all the cool albums, cars, everything.
Then he became a complete scum-bag for the rest of the evening. He’d gone and kissed that nineteen year-old from the university. He’d broken the DJ’s nose, and even told Olivia, the hostess, that her boyfriend was cheating on her (which he was, but still), and even started to badger Terri to smoke the joint being passed around by one of the lunatics he called his mates.
I wasn’t even sure why I was driving him home. No, I do know, I thought, sighing, driving forward as the light turned green. If I didn’t, he’d go with one of those ‘mates’ of his, and who knows what next? Drugs. Maybe a call-girl. Drunk driving.
Anyway, I’d agreed to drive Terri and Vince home. Terri... I’d forgotten about her.
I pulled over to the sidewalk with a screech of the tires. Vince snapped awake.
“Vince, give me your mobile,” I said. He fumbled around in his pockets, and eventually, passed the slim red phone to me.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his eyes still bleary.
“We have to find Terri. She has her phone, she’ll answer.”
“If she doesn’t?” he whispered.
“Then we call the police,” I said. As soon as I did, I started to fret. What if some junkie had mugged her, killed her? What if she was never found? And, if that happened, was I a murderer, for letting her go?
The dial-tone was still going. Why isn’t she picking up? I thought, starting to hyperventilate.
“Vince, I told you to go where the sun-” Terri’s familiar, angered voice began.
“Terri, it’s me, I’m just using Vince’s phone. Look, we have to get you back in the car, alright?” I said, angling my head to look at the road sign, to find it within the overgrown hedges, eventually finding the yellow clashing with the dark green. “We’re at Edmont’s Street, the second pair of traffic lights. Please, come back.”
“Alright. For you, Lottie.”
She hung up on me. I threw the phone back to Vince.
“She’ll be back soon.” And with that, we sat in silence, listening to the new song, the acoustic guitar in an even more soulful key, the new singer singing about hope.
“Living alone, tell yourself that you talk about,” I sang along with the singer, my voice far more whiny and whispery than hers.
I could see Terri. Her blond curls are hanging down; her hairspray must have worn out, and her mascara is trickling down her face. She didn’t look like the Terri I know, the cat-like girl with her fresh makeup, her cute hairstyle, her expression of aggravation. She just looked like a little girl playing around with her mother’s makeup box.
She got in, and put her arm around Vince. I started to drive again as he began to mumble his remorse, as they both cried and apologized.
They always get back together. Whatever he does, whatever she does, they make up after their argument. They’re practically made for each other.
I smiled, something in my heart tweaking. I can remember when I used to be Vince’s girlfriend, before Dad had to go to Australia for a year. We’d agreed to break up, after arguments and tears, and I introduced a friend of a friend to him, Terri. I remember coming back, feeling jealous of her. But now... I don’t. Really. I don't.
In the back seat, they’re falling asleep. I don’t feel regret; just sometimes I wonder what would have happened if it had been me there, snoozing, Vince’s head in the crook of my neck.
But it doesn’t matter. For now, all I’m just the designated driver, holding true to my promise.
