Chapter 4 #2
Tonight could be just as exciting. Senses are heightened.
A top note of death surrounds me, layered with cheap cotton and a distinct bottom note of pissed in pants.
Plastic lines the passenger’s seat. I refuse to allow Mr. Carlisle and his bloodline to soil more of my vehicle.
He is sitting at attention beside me, adorning a classic powder blue bucket hat to help hide the discoloration of his slightly drooping face, an exquisite shade of bluish purple.
The hat is compliments of a sleeping homeless man I spotted in a back alleyway across from the warehouse.
He was loudly snoring while resting against a rusted old dumpster.
A wired grocery cart full of bottles, tarps, and other interesting items waited out in the open next to him.
The powder blue peeking through the many miscellaneous items immediately caught my eye and I knew then.
Mr. Carlisle needed it. After slipping Mr. Carlisle into my car, I casually glanced around before crossing the abandoned street.
It took no time at all swiping the hat, undetected, then walking back to where I was parked, with the homeless gentleman none the wiser, hat in hand and sanitizer waiting in the glove compartment for my use.
Yes, I stole from a homeless man, it’s fine.
Bringing Mr. Carlisle around like it’s a night on the town is not something I intend to make a habit of.
But something deep down inside of me, as I was closing the trinket box, told me it was the right thing to do.
Just as I am about to reach over to pat his knee, a blonde pokes her head out from between cars, catching my attention.
Then, it occurs to me I was about to touch his pissy pants without proper PPE.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Did I learn nothing from that night a year ago? Fuck me.
Watching the blonde carefully, she saunters across the street as my car rolls forward at a snail’s pace.
I let her pass. It doesn’t feel right. Her presence doesn’t cause my skin to itch like an annoying rash invading.
Possibly because I feel grateful for her saving me from catching some disease compliments of Mr. Carlisle.
I ponder it, for only a moment. It’s too hard to say.
Gratitude isn’t an emotion I care about enough to acknowledge.
Reaching up, I slide my fingers under the frame of my glasses and pinch the bridge of my nose. This is puzzling, indeed.
Releasing my nose, the glasses slide back into place and Mr. Carlisle attempts to get my attention. Waving him off, I look off into the direction of the high-rise. “You fool. Look!” Cranking my head toward the new annoyance sat next to me, I am shocked by his tone with me.
“How fucking dare you,” I snap back. But from the corner of my eye, I catch what he sees and focus my attention on her. It heightens the itch coursing through my body as my gaze fully appreciates her. With an eye twitching, I watch as this disheveled thing hops out in front of me at the crosswalk.
Unable to wait or control myself, I push the pedal down, and my tires grip the road, propelling us forward. Giving my horn a honk, I give this disheveled girl one chance to move, but she doesn’t take it.
My Rolls speeds up, eyes focused, and I decide to turn off my headlights to make it more fun before placing both hands tightly around the warm leather wheel.
Mr. Carlisle releases a, “Woo-hooo.” Fucking nerd.
This is his first rodeo with me. The audible excitement is completely unnecessary and childish.
As my car is inches from colliding, and collecting ten points, I honk one last time.
Her head turns as she reaches the halfway point of the white striped painted crosswalk, but it’s too late.
Braking is useless. I would hit her anyway, so we may as well make it worth it.
A manic laugh erupts from Mr. Carlisle as we connect with the limber body, mouthing “Shit” in slow motion.
I don’t even brake as her hip collides with the Rolls emblem sticking out on the front of the hood, just above the front grille.
As soon as it senses the pressure of her body, it automatically slides down into its protective home.
Her ass is next to make an impact, bouncing off the hood, all in slow motion.
My body shutters hearing the aluminum buckle beneath her.
Instead of braking now that she has potentially harmed my baby, on top of the douche canoe decorating the side, I give the engine more juice. I’m pissed.
Dirty white shoes flail in the air before her body rotates to its side. Her back faces me with a semi-exposed spine on display, tempting me further. I am lost, still unable to stop. Everything feels like it’s moving slowly as I am able to witness each and every movement she makes before me.
The windshield is next to be assaulted. A loud oomph follows as her back suffers the brunt of the impact, knocking the wind out of her. “This is fun. What else can we get her to do?” Mr. Carlisle asks inquisitively.
It’s only fair to give him the answers to which he desires, considering his current circumstances, of course.
Revving the engine once more, we speed forward even faster, propelling this tousled damsel over the roof.
Hearing her body thrash above us is soothing.
Warmth fills my body, my bones, my soul, and the itch is very much feeling scratched.
And this is when I hit the brakes, momentarily.
With eyes focused on the rearview, I watch as her lifeless body tumbles to the ground behind us.
She lands on her side, rolls a couple times, then stops on her stomach.
Long black hair covers her face with both arms sprawled out and legs spread.
There is no chance she survived that ordeal.
As I am about to accelerate and flee, I glance forward, taking in the damage, and notice the dent on the hood is significant.
The girl is tiny. How is this even possible?
That bitch. I brake fully, feet away from where her body lays.
Putting the car in park, I hastily swing the car door open.
This baby is a Rolls-Royce Spectre in a beautiful black.
The doors open backward, so when stepping out, my body leans over the front frame of the car for closer inspection.
The streetlights fill the pit of the indentation.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? You dented my car!” I shout back behind me.
Moans and muffled cries come from behind me.
Which is alarming. My mind is absolutely perplexed.
“Me?” She coughs dramatically before continuing.
“You! You hit me. You!” I don’t turn back to acknowledge her.
I believe it is rather obvious what I did.
“And now you’re mad at me for denting it with my broken body?
I fucking flew through the air. I was hurled over that deadly weapon like a limp noodle.
And now you’re implying this is my fault. Are you fucking high?”
Why is she alive? This is about to get really fucking annoying. “I don’t think it worked. What does this do to your points?” Mr. Carlisle, amused, sarcastically pokes.
Begrudgingly, I jolt my hand into the car, flipping him off while hissing between my teeth. “Shut the fuck up.”