Don't Talk About Mickey

03 - Driver

I sat on the toilet lid with my cell phone in my hands, contemplating on whether or not to call Sam. He would be the only one to help me out in this situation, if that were even possible. There was a possibility I was going to be scolded, lectured, and ignored, but at that point I didn't really give a damn.

Sam was my best friend/paid driver, who was probably waiting for my call any minute. He was the only soul who knew about my plans, but he'd probably be the last person to support them...besides my parents.

A chuckle escaped my lips as I hunched over, thinking how I hadn't prepared for this at all just when I thought I had. Mickey was right about my being naïve. Sam was right about this being a terrible idea.

My thumbs worked their magic on the keypad and I just hoped I wouldn't regret it.

Please come get me. Sunset Valley Complex. Apartment 401, I think.

As I pressed send, a knock came to the bathroom door. "You okay in there?"

I checked my phone to see if I'd gotten anything back yet, but it hadn't been enough time for Sam to send anything. "Yeah. I'm fine," I called out before pushing the toilet handle for a fake flush.

After a few moments, silence indicated that he wasn't going to knock again. I stood up and took another glance at my phone, noticing four text messages pop up in a row.

I'm on my way.

Are you okay? Did anything happen?

Carly?

Please answer me.

I fumbled to send a quick message telling him that I was unharmed, just so he wouldn't come here, bursting through the door like a maniac. I wasn't so sure that the cops were really outside, but if they just happened to be out there, I thought Sam's appearance would make it look like a different scenario.

After washing my hands for a few minutes to drag out the time, I left the bathroom to find Mickey already lying on the couch with a pillow and blanket.

"You can have the bed," he said, gazing at me through the dark. The television provided the only light in the room. It flickered like an offbeat strobe light against his skin. He looked different—almost devilish—from the way he had earlier.

"I'm not staying," I mumbled, but not low enough to remain unheard.

Before Mickey could even react, two simple knocks drove his attention to the door. We both stared at it for a second before he looked back at me with a vengeful glare.

It couldn't be Sam, could it? Just few minutes were a really short time to be here that quick. My mind immediately went to exactly what Mickey was thinking.

The cops.

"Who is it?" he yelled without taking his eyes from me.

"Um, I'm looking for a girl named Carly?" the muffled voice shouted back.

Relief flooded through me at the familiarity of Sams voice. But how did he get here so fast?

I ran towards the door in excitement, but quickly felt Mickey's hand wrap around my thigh and pull me back. "What do you think you're doing?"

Ignoring him, I yanked my leg away and hurried to the door. Four locks and a doorknob turn later, I met Sam's cold, blue stare. He was angry with me, but he wasn't going to say it. Since my mother employed him, he mostly kept his feelings to himself.