Take Me Home | ✔

Chapter Seven

/unedited chapter!/ 

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[ seven ] - inviso-mobile

            ↠  friday night - precisely a week before graduation   

"My butt is falling asleep," Elliot groaned. 

I couldn't help but agree with my own rear end, looking over at Elliot as the lowering sun splashed golden light on his Ray Bans. We both grab chips from our own Doritos bags, our sunglasses on and my feet propped up on the dashboard.

We've been driving for at least six hours with a little less than a potty break, and though I've tried to persuade Elliot off the driver's seat and to hand me the steering wheel, he refused. 

"What do you have against female drivers, hmm?" I asked him once we arrived in a mountainous city named Boone. 

"I hold nothing against drivers with female parts. I just, feel like this car is precious to me," he meekly replied. 

"Oh." 

"Trust me, I'm sure you're a fine driver and all. But this car is like my baby," and to top it all off, he reached out and rubbed the dashboard with one hand, closing his eyes for a minute. 

When he turned, he sees my frightened expression and laughs. "Hopefully, you don't think I'm some weird psycho." 

"Oh I dunno. . . between naming your GPS and that whole . . . rubbing . . .stunt, I'd have to disagree," I calmy deadpanned, crossing and uncrossing my legs to get the feeling within them again. Sitting in a cramped car with boyish scents protruding from the vehicle and two month old hot-pockets left in the backseat for six hours can really take a toll on your feet. 

He laughed once more. A light, yet deep voiced laugh that fills me with something other than what I've been feeling for the past day, replacing the grief and stress with something I couldn't identify. 

"We should probably look for someplace to stay, it's getting late," Elliot said to me, his eyes peering at the digital clock. There was some truth to his words: it was almost ten-thirty, what with our acquired rest stops, and Elliot was already rubbing his eyes and squinting to see in the darkness of the winding mountain roads. 

Before I had a chance to answer - or protest - he asked me, "Can you reach into my bag back there and hand me my glasses?" 

"Oh, uh, sure." I twist around farther than my seat belt allows me and feel around in the dark of the backseats for a duffel bag. I zip it open and turn on the overhead light to uncover a glasses case. Before I reached back to hand it to him, I saw a camera hidden underneath folds of clothing. I couldn't help it. My fingers were already pulling it out before I had a chance to apologize for snooping. 

I hand him the glasses and watch as he pulls them on with one hand on the wheel. "Thanks," he said. "I normally don't have any problems during the day, but I can't drive at night without them." 

"No problem." I lifted the camera in my hands and see that it was a polaroid camera. "You're a photographer?" 

His eyebrows scrunch up in confusion until he turned to see the camera on my lap. He started to chuckle, then said, "No, I have no interest in photography. That's my little sister's. She told me to grab a few shots of the beach before I left." He sees my interest in it, and I can't pretend to hide it. Before seconds passed from uncovering the little thing, I'm already pressing the few buttons and clicking the photo button, making a sudden flash emit from the camera.