To her credit, Dana was doing a good job of pretending, like I was trying to pretend, that I was this good samaritan called Clyde, rather than some ex con thug called Michael. A few times, she nearly slipped up, almost dropping my real name on our way to her place, but caught herself at the last minute.
Dana was a firm believer in the silent treatment, like it was some awful punishment, not talking, though, I never really understood why girls thought we suffered when they didn't speak to us.
Except I did, when it was Dana.
It's how you knew when she was pissed off at someone, when she wouldn't speak. Unfortunately, she'd said barely a word to me since we got into my car, after I'd helped a very wobbly Bonnie in to the back seat. That's how I knew I was up shit creek.
"Seatbelt," she snapped, sitting stubbornly in the driver's seat. The car sat idle, and would all night, until I'd done what she told me.
"I trust you," I told her, making no move to buckle up, testing my limits, how far I could push her.
It was a game I'd played for as long as I'd known her. I'd learned long ago that there was a lot I could get away with, she wasn't a parent, she was just a kid herself, trying to do right by two rowdy teenagers. Dana would let me off the hook, or stick up for me if there was some do gooder teacher, or some neighbor involved, and I'd always taken advantage of that.
One thing Dana had never stood for, though, never put up with, was anytime I deliberately put myself at risk, even if it was just driving without a seat belt on.
"Clyde," Bonnie, barely conscious in the back seat, complained, "stop being an asshole."
Dana looked at me pointedly, waiting with a patience unique to only her. I rolled my eyes and gave in, and Dana finally put the car into gear, pulled out of the park and onto the quiet, dark road.
"You know I don't condone you fighting," she remarked, after several painfully silent minutes. "It's a small town here. People talk-"
"Why do you care?" I cut her off, turning to look at her, really look at her. It was something I'd always wondered about her, why she should care so much about what other people thought of her.
Dana was the closest thing to an angel this world was ever going to see. She was too good for here, too good for me, for Jordan and for Janet. Sweet, selfless, beautiful, kind hearted Dana who lived her life based around how other people perceived her, what they thought she should be doing, trying so hard for the approval of someone who didn't give a fuck about her.
That was her one and only flaw; that she cared too much.
I brought it up so often, and it always left her wondering, searching for the answer inside her, one she could never seem to find, no matter how hard she looked.
"I don't know why I care," she admitted after a moment's quiet consideration, frustrated, as she always seemed, anytime I asked her, when she came to no conclusion.
I stayed quiet, leaving her to her own thoughts. Bonnie had her head leaning against the window in the seat behind me. Her eyes were closed, her chest rising and falling rhythmically, the deep, steady breathing of sleep.
"I'm still annoyed with you, about it," Dana continued, with less of an edge to her voice, "but, if you had to beat the crap out of anyone, I'm glad it was them."
"I told you," I regarded her with a scowl, wondering if I should feel offended that she'd never asked me for the kind of favour I was only too happy to give out to her, "if you ever need me to deal with anyone, you only have to give me an address."
YOU ARE READING
Bonnie and Clyde
Teen Fiction'Monsters are real, as much as we want to deny their existence, and sometimes, when you close your eyes and wait for them to go away, they're still there when you open them again.' What would you do if you came home and found that your whole family...
