Just Drive [old version]

[ chapter seven ]

Chapter Seven - Red Gatorade

                I never understood what the teenage girl infatuation with boys’ morning voices was. Or maybe it was just Austin. He had a pretty snore; it was gentle and soft, like a baby’s snore. He didn’t look bad when he was sleeping either. I can completely understand why Edward liked to watch Bella sleep, but Austin in a hypnopompic state was a completely different story. The soft rise and falls of his chest ceased to happen and gave way to spastic contractions, which were perfectly accompanied by airy crashes of breath.

                And he still looked pretty.

                Over the years, I’ve grown accustomed to turning my ear for the characteristic whistling noises that signaled the beginning of what has been dubbed “The Bella Swan Choke.” We even have a YouTube video of it.

                I’ve been out of practice though. Somehow, I remember the warning signs to be louder. Maybe it was because his choking was so loud that everything associated with it just seemed to be louder, but in reality, everything except the choke itself was a small gesture easily drowned out by the radio, so to say I was shocked when I started to hear Voldemort-like sounds coming from my right.

                My arms jerked spastically, causing the car to swerve from lane to lane. Thanfully, there weren’t any other cars on this particular strip of road. “Goddamnit, Austin. You nearly killed us,” I muttered once I got the car back under control.

                He muttered something groggily, but it was utterly incomprehensible.

                Out of habit, I reached over and patted his head, or at least I patted what I could reach.

                He seemed to act out of habit too. Clumsily, he turned over on his left and nuzzled his nose into the crook of my arm. He let out another loud snort before muttering something incomprehensible again.

                I tried to move my arm, but he just adjusted accordingly. I couldn’t find it in myself to disturb him any further, especially since he’ll be awake soon.

                Except he didn’t wake up soon. He continued to float around in that half-conscious state while muttering incoherent phrases sporadically. Half an hour later, my right arm was completely numb—no thanks to his sleepy death grip—and I could start to feel the drops of drool starting to trickle down my arm.

                Eventually, I got tired of holding my arm up just for Austin, but each time I tried to move my arm away, Austin just held on tighter and tighter.

                “Let go,” I muttered with one final yank.

                It didn’t work. His long fingers wrapped around my forearm with even more force, but he never dug his nails into my flesh, as if he was doing his very best not to hurt me. He choked on a few more words. I was just about ready to give up when I heard my name. I waited a little longer in hopes of hearing something else, but everything else he said was a jumble of drool and choking sounds.

                Thankfully, there was a rest stop just a few minutes away. Pulling into an empty spot, I parked the car and pulled my arm away from Austin’s face. He immediately jerked awake with one last, resounding choke.

                “No!” he burst out when I retracted my arm. A moment later, he realized he was in my car and he sheepishly smiled. “B-bad dream,” he explained.

                I nodded and proceeded to inspect my arm. The entire front forearm was covered with drool and plum-colored indentations from where his fingers laid. “Thanks for the drool.”