Lovespoken (Theo James)

Chapter 2

Nightfall has long since enveloped the night sky, along with my awareness. My eyes droop, my vision unsteady. A quick glance to the right informs me it is three in the morning. I had left around two o'clock which means I have been driving for about thirteen hours.

The thought makes me more tired knowing I am not even halfway there. I groan, stifling a yawn.

Checking the gas I notice I am less than a quarter of a way to empty. I yawn and pull into the nearest gas station. Because it is so late, the place is deserted. Moments like this always force the scariest of horror movies to pop into my minds, ones where the person gets murdered while they are pumping gas.

My truck comes to a halt. I shut the engine off with a load pop. I take the keys tiredly out of the ignition and stuff them in my pocket. You can never be so sure whether someone is going to jump in your car and drive off with it. As I'm sticking the pump into the side of my truck, a slick black car pulls into the parking lot. All windows are tinted. I'm not very good with cars, but with one glance is is obvious it is expensive, and whoever is driving it must be loaded.

The driver pulls up to the same station as me except on the other side. The engine shuts off without a sound. It's hard to get a good view of the man since the gas stand is obscuring my view. But the shoes he is wearing are black and shiny, obviously some beyond expensive.

I try to crane my neck to get a better look but all I see is the back of a head as he turns towards his car to slide the pump into the hole.

"May I help you?" A deep British voice says. It takes me a second to realize it had been the man who talked. His back is still facing me, though, somehow he knows I am staring.

"No, sorry," I say quietly. Even though I have yet to see his face, he intimidates me. His stance is confident. His shoulders broad. His arm muscles protruding from his tight cotton gray shirt. And here I am, a wimp of a girl, no arm muscle what so ever. Not to mention he is almost twice my size.

He turns around to face me. My knees go weak. His jawline is chiseled, his face perfectly tan. Scruff covers his chin. My gray eyes find his smooth brown ones and I am lost.

Whether it's intimacy or intimidation, I am not sure.

"Looks like I can help you," he smiles.

Oh god even his smile is perfect.

It takes me a second to realize what he said, "Help me with what?"

His expensive shoes click as he makes his way around the station and toward me. My breath catches in my throat, almost closing entirely. Except when he reaches me he doesn't stop, instead he goes past me and grabs the pump which is in my car and adjusts it.

"You had it in wrong," he explains, "Last thing we need is for you to be stranded here any longer," he whispers inching closer and closer to me.

But maybe it is my imagination. Because when I finally break out of my trance his credit card is swiping through the machine.

"What do you think you're doing?" I ask, coming to my senses.

"What does it look like, love?" He mocks.

"I can't let you pay for my gas." A full tank in my car is over $40.

A smirk plays on his lips as the receipt inches out of the dispenser. "Too late."

Next thing I know the receipt is in my hand and this mysterious stranger is on the other side of the station. He pays for his own gas without another word.

I should say thank you. But by the time the words find their way out of my mouth, his door slams shut.

I sigh and get into my own car, punishing myself internally for not being polite to such a generous attractive man.

Now I will never see him again.

Driving becomes harder as I keep going. Getting gas really woke me up. Maybe it was the fresh air, but I know it really was because of the beautiful stranger.

The whole time I'm driving I can't get the image of him out of my mind. His beautiful smile, his remarkable eyes, though I only looked at them for a second, they will forever be imprinted in my mind.

Eventually the image of him is not enough to keep my eyes open. I refuse to pull over. I have to keep going. There is no one else on the road except for a car that is a distance back. Therefore my reckless driving will not harm anyone. 

I am on an open road. For miles all I can see are open fields, well at least I assume. The darkness makes everything fade into the same oblivion.

My eyelids feel heavy. Almost like someone's fingers are pushing them closed. My vision blurs to the point where the dashed yellow line becomes curved. Maybe if I slow down it'll make this easier. I stare straight ahead, never keeping my eyes on one thing for too long. Except that doesn't help either.

The car that was once far behind is now tailgating me. My eyes lids flutter, but when they close I find it impossible to open them again. I feel my car swerve to the left into the other lane. The ride jostles me but I'm too tired to do anything about it. There's a crash and a squeal of tires before I decide to let the fatigue draw me into its depths.