Into the Night

{New} Ch. 7 Hitchhiking and Other Bad Ideas

Surprisingly, the second day in Fairfax wasn't much better than the first.

"You really didn't think this out did you?" Calla asked between huffs.

The long demolition of her ex's sports car, left his arms limp noodles. It hurt to breathe, burned.  And he could swear that smoke smell would stay with him forever.

From the wreck he was reborn. And his sarcastic tendencies were left untouched. If anything they grew stronger.

"You really didn't think this out. Did you?"

"I'm gonna slap the twink right off your face," she said in a singsong voice, "Stop now while you're still cute."

"....." A minute passed where the only sound was their footsteps kicking up gravel. An exhausted smile remained on his face and from that came a delirious laugh. "....."

"You really didn't think this out did you?"

"Ugh!"

Lily ripped the sequin beret off her head and threw it at him. It didn't hit him that hard, but it still stung his shoulders.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Stomach pains drummed through him. The last time he ate was that morning and it was only a cup of green jello and a bowl of unsweetened oatmeal. Those calories were burnt off an hour ago and his body had already began to eat away at what little fat he had.

Other than the hunger and exhaustion, there were flecks of paranoia sprinkled throughout his mind. His attention remained focused on the darkness, into the woods. In any spot he could convince himself a creature lurked, really.

He knew they shouldn't exist.

That they couldn't exist.

He just couldn't convince himself of that.

"Hey Aunt Lills. Do you remember that time you took me to the middle of nowhere, made me help you destroy our only mode of transportation, then we had to walk eight miles in the middle of the night the day after I literally died?"

Silence pervaded the area, but only because she didn't have another beret to throw.

"Good times."

"If you weren't holding my thigh highs, I'd throw them at you."

For the past hour he held them. They were killing her, apparently, so they were slung over his shoulders. While the pair trudged down the waning moon lit road, they bounced against his sweaty back.

"For the billionth time." Lily sighed. "I apologize. How was I supposed to know that Uber wouldn't send someone to the middle of nowhere to pick us up?"

Lily threw up her hands.

"I'm not some Rhode Island psychic. My hair is healthy and when I talk, people don't immediately want to punch me in the throat."

Calla questioned the validity of that statement. He never watched the show or met a psychic. However he did know that walking down a road he almost died on the night before was neither mentally or physically healthy. That type of insight didn't require a psychic.

"Because that doesn't sound safe for an Uber driver."

"Who the hell cares about the driver?"

"You sound like a Craigslist killer," he mumbled.

"Excuse me?"

He swallowed his insult and chose his next words carefully.

"Who cares about the drivers? How about the people who run a business that relies on their drivers not being targeted by serial killers? Though, screw Uber. The CEO of the company endorsed Trump. You should try Verge instead."