Darkness

13. The Ride Along

13. The Ride Along

// Spencer //

♦♦♦

By the time I finally get my dad off of the phone I'm emotionally exhausted, ready to flop onto the bed and pass out on top of the covers.

I half expect Justin to be gone by the time I hang up, but he hovers, his outstretched hand demanding the device back into his safe possessions.

I almost sigh at the thought of having to give up the life line, but comply nonetheless, making sure to turn the phone off before handing it back over to my captor, who sticks it back into the back pocket of his jeans.

"Get dressed," he barks, when I expect him to leave me for the night. "You have five minutes. We're going out," he adds. Then he turns and heads for the door. And just like that I'm left to scramble for what little items of clothing I have left.

By the time I have my dirty sneakers tied to each of my feet and my hair pulled into a pony tail, using an old hair tie I found in the pocket of my dirty, discarded jeans, I've already spend six minutes, so I high tail it to the stairs, hoping to hell that I won't have to pay for my tardiness.

Justin's mood is sour, when I join him at the bottom of the staircase.

"You're late," he barks, taking notice of my attire. "And underdressed."

I cast a glance down my body, taking in the black cotton tee and blue skinny jeans that I woke up to this morning and my dirty rundown sneakers.

Straightening my back and fully intending to tell Justin off for his comment, because in all fairness he's the one who had the clothes delivered, but when I raise my head to meet his gaze full on he's gone.

Dumbfounded I turn in circles in the hallway, trying to decipher where he went.

Moments later I hear the rain of heavy fast footsteps pounding down the staircase, before Justin reappears at my side.

He's clutching a piece of dark grey fabric in his hands.

I eye it curiously, but before I can ask him about it he is tossing it at me and turning towards the door to the garage. The fabric collides with my forehead, before it falls. I barely manage to catch it before it lands on the floor.

Unfolding it I realize that it's a sweatshirt. It's much too big for me, but I tug it on anyways, catching a whiff of pinewood and citrus.

Wrapped in his scent I follow him into the garage.

He's already seated on the driver's side of his car, the passenger swung open for me and the engine spinning like a cat in heat.

The moment I'm tugged inside the car, reaching down to buckle my seatbelt, he's pulling out of the garage and turning onto the quiet suburban street.

The pace at which he steers the car is much too fast to blend in with our surroundings, but from the way his knuckles tense around the steering wheel as he lazily turns onto a side street, I'm guessing he doesn't mind much.

"Where are we going?"

"Not your fucking business," he barks back, his sour mood still very much present.

I could come up with a million different retorts, like the fact that he dragged me out of bed for this ride along, but I bite them all back, resolving to keep on his good side, or as much on his good side as one can be, during tonight.

So, I curl up against the passenger door, burying my nose in the neckline of his hoodie and telling myself that I'm not finding comfort in the traces of his scent still detectable in the fabric.