My Kind of Perfect

8th ツ

8th ツ

"John!" I shouted to catch his attention.

"What?" He was startled at my screech, and so was the rest of the crowd—who all looked at me in astounded query.

"Are you guys fighting?"

"Will you divorce tomorrow?"

"We heard that John Brooks was dating another girl a month ago. Is he cheating on you? Was there a truth behind the rumor?"

After my momentary lost of sanity, the question showered us one after another. I realized that maybe it was not such a grand idea to shout to him out of nowhere, especially when this kind of people surrounded you.

"Lower your voice down," John hushed me the next minute.

"The license," I hissed back to him in a much lower voice, as asked. What was utterly important right now was the existence of that dangerous marriage license that might give me enough more trouble in no time.

John stood on the tip of his toes, looking over the crowd. Maybe by now he realized that Dorothy was long gone. And she got our marriage license.

Quickly, now aware of the situation, John told the people around us, "I can't wait to take away my bride. We'll be holding a press conference a week soon. I hope we can see you all there."

In another breath, John quickly dragged me out of the hotel as he was saying something on the phone. The moment we got out of the building, I saw that his car was already waiting for us.

It was nice and sleek.

I was quite aware that I had a fair share of knowledge about cars. But still, I couldn't help but stare in amazement at the black shiny car that was in front of us. I had forgotten what it was called, but I was sure that I saw this one while browsing for a car years ago. This belonged to the category of the ones I avoided to look at. The price itself might kill me if not the fear I had for fast driving.

John hurriedly pushed me inside. I was still trying to remember the said speed of the car, but John resolved to just show me instead. We were driving like crazy in the streets of Creeksburg. We got past through every other vehicle on the street. I mean, he was, like, the only person I knew who could drive so freely in a crammed street like this. It was as if he created an invisible fifth lane solely for himself.

I held on tightly to my seat throughout the ride, and prayed that this madness would end soon. Feeling my heart revolting in my chest, I tried my hardest to contain myself. This situation called for nothing but bravery on my part. But then, suddenly, as much as I didn't expect it, I felt the car stop on its track. The loud screech of the breaks echoed around.

Were we dead?

"Are you okay, Kayla?" John asked, pulling me out of my newly formed illusion that we hit something, flew up in the air like in action movies, and by now—dead.

"J...o..." I tried saying, but the words wouldn't get out of my mouth.

"Hey, are you okay? Look at me!"

I slowly opened my eyes and realized we were not yet dead. That in fact, we only came to a stop. Upon seeing that everything seemed like what real world sounded like—as far as I could remember—I felt tears started forming at the corner of my eyes. I hurriedly wiped them off, only to realize that I was shaking badly and cold sweats were forming on my forehead.

"I'm sorry. I forgot you were afraid of fast driving," he said apologetically.

I looked away, and held on tightly to the seatbelt. "Don't... mind me. Go ahead, there's... nothing... wrong," I stammered. Clearly, there was something wrong with me. As much as I tried, I'd never gotten over this.