They Went For A Ride

They Went For A Ride

By Shaire Blythe

February 12, 2016

My character was hijacked, and I let it happen.

She was strutting along the side of dark roads, straying from her home, when a black top-notch car pulled up, curbside.
A guy rolled down his window, sweetly asking if she needed a ride.
She refused at first, and kept on, her high heels clicking on the pavement.
But he was persistent.
For the first time, she stopped and took a good look at the guy.
Charmed were his eyes and even the manner in which his words trickled from his lips.
Night owls hooted in the autumn trees rustling behind her.
She briefly glanced over her shoulder, chewing at the corner of her mouth.
With her heart knocking against her ribcage, she joined him in the car.

It took her some time to ease back into the leather seat, but his words progressively became comforting.
Every word he said, she clung to, as if they were the very last ones she would ever hear.
His gestures matched, with no hesitations, gracefully maneuvering through the space.
The duration of the ride seemed timeless.
Both lost track, with no destination in mind.
But wherever they ended up, they decided to go together.

She noted when his foot started to ease off the gas petal.
She didn't speak up to cause tension, 'cause the ride was not supposed to end. 
Not yet.
His presence continued to create shy smiles on her face, and he expressed that hers did the same.
When she began to fiddle with her fingers in her lap, he said all was okay.
But she felt the change in the air, regardless of his gentle words and occasional caresses of her face.

His speed slowed some more.
She reached for the door and pulled the handle, but not without him noticing.
He told her to go if she must. He would be okay.
But she saw the water brimming on the edges of his eyes.
She let the handle go, stroking his hand on the wheel.

He continued to drive slow into the everlasting night.
He was not picking up speed.
She chewed on her bottom lip, tasting metallic.
His sight bounced from the cracked sidewalks to the erect buildings that they approached, through the fogged windshield that had once been crystal clear.
For miles, he didn't speak to her.

Her hand gradually fell from his steering the wheel.
He didn't budge.
He kept driving, looking ahead.

She remained next to him, in the passenger seat, for quite some time, unable to find the courage to jump out of a slow moving car. 
She was stuck, remembering how fast and fearlessly they had taken off together.
But not anymore.

I watched my character straighten up in the seat and undo her clammy hands, remembering who she was and what she deserved--a worth that the guy had once seen, but forgot, or simply didn't care for anymore.
Words were no longer enough.
Actions spoke much louder in the confinements of their shared space.
She was dying and he was watching her wither right in front of him, and he wasn't trying to save my character.

So I took it back.

She reached for the handle again and opened the door.
She didn't look to see what he was doing behind his steering wheel.
She leapt out and hit the asphalt rolling, but made no sound of discomfort.
The car was heard, trudging on down the road.
My character pushed herself off the ground, tiny rocks in her palms and knees, and not fully unscathed from cuts and bruises.
Her breath was ragged, trying to find stabilization, but she was only thankful to be able to know that she could still breathe standing on her own.

She glanced up at the road, watching the back headlights become dimmer.
Maybe one day the car would return to the streets she walked upon, or maybe it wouldn't.
Either way, my character could no longer wait for him in his passenger side.

She removed her high heels, dangling them in her light grasp.
She strolled in the middle of the road, staring ahead into midnight's hour.
At some time, the sun would rise.