Wind Blown ✔️

8. Marine loves jazz more than anything

Marine had finally stopped with her stream of ideas and instead was singing horribly off-key along with her jazz music. The song changed to another that sounded identical but not to Marine, she waved her arms around excitedly, "Yes, yes, yes. I love this song!" She almost shouted, continuing her singing.

I shook my head, "I'd like it more if it weren't jazz," I replied, she furrowed her eyebrows at that.

"Eric, it's a jazz song. Saying that you'd like it more if it weren't jazz makes no sense," She retorted, I felt heat rise to my cheeks as I tried desperately to think of a comeback.

I felt my cheeks burn as she chuckled at me, "What happened, Eric. Usually, you're super witty," she giggled.

I ignored her and pressed my finger on the car stereo's power button, the music ceased instantly and Marine glowered at me.

"I hate jazz, with a passion," I added, attempting to wind her up and as far as I could tell succeeding.

Her body tensed, "That's because you have terrible taste in music."

I bit back a laugh, "No I don't, I think it's clear who has the worse music taste out of us," I replied curtly.

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened, "What would you rather listen to, Jason Derulo?" She shot, her glare icy.

I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from doubling over in hysterics, "Anything over this jazz," I managed to reply, sounding somewhat serious.

She turned her head toward me, inhaling deeply in preparation for a screaming match but I collapsed in a fit of laughter. Marine seemed confused for a minute but immediately disguised it with a scowl, she turned her eyes back to the road, mumbling curse words under her breath.

"If you don't want to listen to my jazz you can walk," she stated plainly, anger still evident in her voice.

I chuckled and placed a hand on her forearm, attempting to calm her down and pressed the power button on the stereo again. Soon Marine's tiny car was filled with the familiar hum of her jazz music, I turned to look at her and was pleased to see the small smile decorating her features.

"Maggie used to love jazz," Marine murmured nonchalantly.

I turned to her, my interest piqued. I was deciding between being blunt and attempting to fish Maggie's past out of her, I choose being blunt, "What happened to her?"

Marine tensed the small smile that had danced across her features moments ago vanishing. I was about to tell her that is was okay, that I should just drop it but she began talking, "She overdosed."

I swallowed hard, my mind running a million miles an hour trying to process this new information. The Maggie that I'd heard so much about, the sweet, young, childish Maggie had overdosed.

"She was really depressed," Marine began, I could hear her fighting the tears in her voice, "She starting hanging out with bad people, drinking a lot," she stopped for a second, pulling the car over and squeezing her eyes shut.

I placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and as if on queue, her entire body began shaking as choked sobs escaped her throat.

I moved closer to her, looping my arm around her shoulders. She pressed her head into the crook of my neck, her salty tears dampening my collar, "I left her," she choked between sobs, "I left her when she needed me the most."

She cried for what seemed like forever, I'd never been in this situation before so I'd no idea what to do. Her sobs echoed through the small car and every single one shook me to the core, I felt so useless as she cried on my shoulder and I could do nothing to help her.

She stopped sobbing after a moment, wrapping an arm around my torso and pressing her face even further into my shoulder until she pulled away, wiping her eyes and regaining her composure. She let out a shaky breath and wrapped her slender fingers around the steering wheel.

After a moment she pulled the car back onto the road, her breathing was still shaky but she seemed lighter now. As if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, although she did seem embarrassed by her outburst. This was almost the first time she'd seemed at all embarrassed around me, and it was uncomfortable for the both of us.

I reached for the volume knob on the car stereo, turning the jazz music that had quietly played throughout the ordeal up further.

She looked at me questioningly, one eyebrow raised.

I smiled softly, "It's not that bad, I guess."