Royal Disaster

the disastrous first meet

Arthur Bennett was a six foot tall ogre. And by ogre, I mean, he was rude, impolite, and complete shit to me. I wasn't exaggerating this time. All throughout the ride, he grumbled and complained and moaned in the passenger seat, ignoring the good ol' Californian scenery and choosing to mope about his problems.

I was tired of it and I was ready to shove him out the door and onto the freeway.

"Can you shut this racket off," he snapped, cutting a glare my way.

I had to press my lips together in order not to snap something back. It was a feat for me since I rarely held anything back, but I promised, in a sense, my dear old, delusional, and misguided parents that I would. Plus, if I did bite something back, I would stoop down to his level. I was already at that level physically, I didn't want to be there mentally, too.

So I peacefully reached over to turn off the radio, praying to God for help and patience. That was about the seventh time he'd snapped at me in the past hour. But it was about the millionth thing he'd complained about in general since he got in the car. I was really questioning this man's sanity and contemplating if the consequences were worth attempting to shut him up.

"Why the hell is this car so small?" he growled, fidgeting in the seat.

If I wasn't so tired of hearing his voice, I would've laughed. Since he was about six foot tall, he didn't really fit in my mom's teal, compact Toyota Corolla. In fact, he barely fit and that was only because his legs were practically folded underneath him and he had his shoulders hunched in the most comfortable position he could find, which wasn't saying much since there was something poking at him with every readjustment he'd made. It probably would've helped to have maybe push the chair back to give him a little more legroom, but that would have only been possible if his suitcases weren't the size of cabinets and if he didn't bring so many.

"Is the air conditioner on?" After another attempt of getting comfortable, he reached over to tap at the dials between us. I didn't think he knew what he was doing though because he ended up turning the radio back on and opening the sunroof. Annoyed by the music, he shouted, "Stupid piece of shit!"

This time it was my turn to cut a glare at him. "Hey! Don't insult the only thing getting you and your stuff to where you're gonna be staying!" I took a hand off the steering wheel, rubbing the dashboard lovingly. "He didn't mean that, baby." He's just a high maintenance, unappreciative dick.

I didn't say the last part out loud, deciding to close the sunroof and leave the radio on. When he tried to turn it off, I slapped his hand away, telling him off in a monotone voice, "You don't know how to work anything, so until you do, don't touch anything."

At that, he sneered, rolling his eyes before turning away with crossed arms. I glanced at him for a second and I near gaped. Before I could really take it all in, I had to remember that I was on the freeway. Spinning back to face forward, I murmured under my breath, "Unbelievable."

Luckily, he didn't hear me, continuing grumbling like a little baby.

The rest of the drive was silent. I didn't know whether it was because we couldn't hear each other over the music or because he was tired of complaining, but whichever reason it was, I wasn't gonna complain. Instead, I kept myself busy, humming under my breath whenever a familiar or catchy song popped up.

We arrived home and I was disgruntled to realize that I didn't have the music anymore to drown out his complaints. But to my surprise, he didn't utter a word. I waited, though, in case it were a false alarm. Patiently and cautiously, I shut off the engine, got out of the car, helped him grab his suitcases, and entered the house. And still, nothing.