Young Writers Society

A/N: So this is basically me experimenting with a spur-ov-the-mo' idea, a new POV and trying to write in first-person. So rip it apart!  I'm sorry I know it's long and awful. ~P

~*Part the first.*~

95 km/h.

The wind strikes through the sand like a pair of wheels, cutting through the lisping desert trails as cleanly as a sharpened knife. It howls, it whispers and it burns against the windshield. Specks of dust fly headfirst into my window, but there's nothing but adrenaline coursing through my veins and my heart clatters against my ribs like beating wings. I roll the window down, relishing the wind as it whips against my face. Shapes dance before my eyes like the words I have never managed to comprehend. Tonight, I am not drunk on dyslexia. I am drunk on pure ecstasy.

'The night flickers by your window,' I sing loudly. 'You duck beneath the sill, playing limbo.' I tap my fingers against the steering wheel. Its leather surface sweats beneath my skin, but I only grip onto it tighter. My knuckles glimmer in the dim lights of the highway, perspiration clinging to them like tiny gems. I hear Thew groan from beside me, and I know that the speed is making him sick. It's funny, so I break into laughter. Raucous, carefree, drunken laughter. Pressing down on the accelerator, I turn the wheel, causing the car to swerve like a ... like a gazelle. The speedometer spins just as crazily. It's amazing, being so free.

105 km/h. The thin, orange line shudders. Never halting. Never stopping. Like atoms, molecules, electromagnetic waves that course through matter--anti-matter, the world swerves around me; I swerve with the world.

'Please don't, Matt,' Thew whispers hoarsely. 'You never listen to me. You didn't listen to me when I told you to lay it easy on the drink, or when I told you that getting into the car was a bad idea.' His hand is on mine now; I’m clutching the steering wheel. My knuckles are turning white, and I can feel my jaw tightening. Thew makes me angry, angry with all his rigidity and his conscience. Why can't he stop being a Gothel for once?

'Mind your own damn business,' I hiss, spittle flying from my mouth as I swivel in my seat, turning until his face is mere inches from mine. He winces at my hostile tone of voice and I smirk. Why would you be surprised, anyway? I want to ask. I'm always hostile to you. Always--always. The words jumble themselves inside my head. I'm thinking blearily but I don't care. I glare at Thew fiercely, trying to remove his hand from the wheel, but his nails are digging into my skin. Damn you and your equal strength, I curse in my head. Damn you and your stubbornness. Damn, damn, damn.

I stick my head out the window--not a good idea. The desert flings sand into my eyes and I blink, tears running hot and sticky--like caramel--down my face. I swear even more voraciously than before, drawing my head in before the wind gets any other ideas. So much for trying to drown Thew's voice out. He's got my wrist clad in an iron grip, and it's obvious from the look on his face that he's going to say whatever it is he's got on his mind.

'Your business is my business,' he says firmly, dark brows scrunching up in that oh-so-familiar expression, eyes drilling straight into mine. I can see the vein throbbing in his temple, the twitching of his right ear because he's mad. All the quirks I’ve known for as long as I can remember, that I’d grown to live with even before Thew had entered my life, but it disturbs me to see them on his face.

'You know what sucks?' I say, still wrestling with his hand as I drive--or try to, anyway. I can’t talk and drive at the same time, I realize angrily. Scowling, I push my foot down on the brakes and the car screeches to a halt, right in the middle of the road. Thew lets go of my hand as I kick the door open, stamping out into the night. The tarmac crunches beneath my sneakers, and the rolling plains stretch out into the distance; sand-sculpted rocks set against the hollowed-out heavens. It's barren land, unpainted and untainted by human influence.

And God, it's so darn beautiful. I stand there, gazing at the sight, drinking it in, but not for long.

Thew's followed me out of the car; I can hear his footsteps thud-thudding against the ground. The car door slams shut and a couple of seconds later he's standing beside me. Neither of us looks at each other, but I can sense him seething. A swift glance, sideways, confirms this: His fists are curled up. Jaw tightened. Eyes glinting straight ahead, he avoids my gaze, almost as determinedly as I avoid his.

Why the heck are you so pissed off? I think. I sigh, trying to clear my mind of garbled up words, images that string themselves in a cacophony of words and noises and murky colours. Yellows and browns. My head's throbbing, knives clashing against my skull.

'Hurts, doesn't it?' Thew's voice pierces harshly through the silence. 'I told you--'

'Don't,' I grit my teeth, 'say a word. You've been at it all day. Can't you give a guy some space for once?' I run a hand through my hair until it stands on end, and kick at at the ground. Dust flies everywhere, and Thew stamps into it, glaring at me as if bullets could whiz from his irises any second now. But I'm used to it. Hell, I'm as used to it as I'm used to him. From where he stands, right now, there isn't an inch's difference in our heights. He talks like me. He walks like me.

And the fact does nothing to help my mood.

'You listen,' Thew says, jabbing at my chest with your finger. 'You're supposed to listen to me. Part of the programme, remember? Helping lives--shifting situations! If you hate me so much why did you agree to it? Why did you give your DNA samples and allow me to be extracted from your brain? Why--'

'Shut up!' I yell, loudly, air billowing and wafting around me like a furnace. 'Can't you stop talking for just a minute? It's like everything I do is wrong--plain wrong!' I turn on my heel, walking away from you and hoisting myself ungracefully on the trunk of the car. I know, in this tiny, vacant part of my brain that I'm being stupid and unreasonable, but I'm high and I don't really give a damn.

This part of the highway is absolutely silent, with not a car in sight. And who would be out here, I reason with myself, at three in the morning? Sighing, I rub the back of my hand against my chin, the sparse hairs I like to call a beard and lift my eyes to the sky, blinking blearily as the exhaustion hits me. Even then, I can appreciate the beauty of being out here. Stars strung like paper-cranes across the sky, pastel colours moulding into the clouds. Blues and blacks. A picture worth painting, I think, leaning against the back of the car. I close my eyes. Things always become clearer when I think about Art. The world makes sense, and I can forget that Thew exists as well. I lose myself in the way the colours swing and slide over one another, and the stars are like--

'A constellation bridge?'

My eyes snap open at once as he pushes himself onto the trunk. The back of the car droops down slightly because of the weight, and I swear I hear it groan. I bite the inside of my cheek, knowing that he'll be off in a spiel any moment now, but surprisingly enough, he doesn't say a word.

We sit, in not-exactly-uncomfortable silence, and I take the opportunity of sliding a cigarette from my pocket and lighting it. Thew's eyes flicker to mine, and I see them darken with distaste, but even then he maintains his silence. My mouth tugs itself upwards in a half-smile, and I make sure to take a long drag before puffing the smoke in his direction. He coughs and splutters before turning his ever-present glare on me. I watch, amused, as Thew opens his mouth, only to close it and shake his head firmly, turning your gaze to the sky.

'Silent treatment, eh?' I remark mockingly, keeping my tone light. 'That's better than you jabbering on all day.'

'I merely fulfill my purpose, Matt,' Thew responds curtly, like an eighteenth-century Mr Dogsy--or whatever his name was--keeping his eyes focused on the empty highway. 'It's sad to see, however, that you're so incapable of fulfilling yours.'

I laugh humourlessly, pushing my hair back as it falls over my eyes. 'And what would that purpose be?' I ask.

'To live as a human being, and to die as one.'

Scoffing, I use my elbows to prop myself up again, and straighten my back so I'm no longer leaning against the car. I can see Thew's face clearly now, even as he stares stark ahead. Moonlight pooling in on his pale skin, freckles dotting the area below his left eye. Cheekbones so sharp they could cut you open.

I scrunch my nose up with distaste. It stinks, the fact that whenever I peer into a mirror I see the same face looking into mine.

'You know what I was saying, back in the car?' I say, drumming my fingers against the deck. I wait for Thew to reply, but he only shrugs his shoulders. I raise my eyebrows slightly, and continue. 'I was talking about how it sucks, that whenever I look at you, I'm having to see my face. It sucks knowing that there's part of me within you. And it sucks, especially when you act like you have control over me when you damn well don't!' I'm ranting now, blabbering as my head pounds--blood pounds--anger pounds at my skull.

'It's not my fault,' Thew says quietly, but the anger's palpable in his voice, obvious in the way his shoulders are beginning to shake. He exhales, before rubbing at his face with his hands. Conversation between the two of us has always been rigid--forced, even, like cardboard against cardboard. Tasteless and drab, because we never get along.

'I'm sorry,' Thew says finally, voice muffled slightly. 'But do you honestly think I want this either? What do you think it feels like, knowing that I'm nothing but a shadow, nothing but a--but a stupid experiment?' For the first time since I've known him, I can hear bitterness in his voice, and I'm surprised.

'Thew--' I begin to say, but he cuts me short.

'No, Matt,' he says, 'I don't want to listen to what you've got to say this time 'round. Sometimes I wish I was my own conscience, and that I didn't have to take care of you or whatever.' His eyes are blazing, with anger and this other emotion that I can't pin-point, but I know it's there and it's burning at his insides. 'I feel so trapped,' he says, pounding down on the Nerva's neon-blue surface. 'I feel. So. Darn. Trapped.' He accentuates every word with a pound. My eyes flicker from Thew's face to the car, afraid the paint might chip off. But strangely enough, I'm not thinking about the car as much as I'm thinking about the dark-haired, angst-ridden dude in front of me. A sudden pang of pity jabs at my heart and rather then choosing to ignore it, I say, 'Alright.'

Thew looks up at me. 'Alright, what?'

'You can be your own conscience.' It's like someone else is speaking for me, and I hear my own voice like it's coming from far away. 'Laws of science, right? How hard can they be to defy?'

Thew's face breaks out in a smile, and I wonder vaguely if I could ever smile like that if I tried.

'C'mon.' I swing myself over the trunk, tossing my stub of a cigarette to the ground. 'Let's get ourselves outta this furnace.'

This time, I slide into the passenger seat, propping my feet against the dashboard and placing my head on my arms. My head's aching, really badly now.

'You drive,' I say, as Thew seats himself behind the steering wheel; he buckles his seat-belt and checks the rearview mirror before putting the key in ignition.

'Where to?' he says, and I realized that I'd never told Thew exactly where we were going, ever since I herded him out of that bar in Houston and clambered into the car.

'Marcelles,' I say now, closing my eyes and yawning. 'We should get there in ten hours 'f you drive fast enough.' Thew sniffs disbelievingly but chooses not to argue as he puts the car in gear. I feel compelled to say something to him, but all that comes out is, 'You know you're not that bad, Thew.'

'And you've got a very high tolerance to alcohol,' he says dryly. I laugh.

We zoom down the highway; I count the stars until the lights flicker out of my eyes and I give in to the drowsiness.

65 km/h.

~*End of Part One*~