Bonnie and Clyde

Chapter Forty- Eight: Dappled

We'd taken turns driving over the course of two days, stopping only when absolutely necessary. The urgency to be as far from the place as possible was irrational, a force of habit than necessity, but it was there, nevertheless. So, we drove, and we didn't stop, and we didn't look back.

Driving through the city was the quickest way to our destination, and taking the quiet roads around it would add another half a day to our journey. But we both we both hated the the thought of going through the city being a part of it's  fast paced living, it's over population, even just because of our own, personal memories of it.

Whatever our reasons, they were our own, but the sentiment was mutual, and we silently agreed to take the long way around. And the journey wasn't entirely unpleasant, just long.

It had been a short farewell, but not a goodbye, because goodbye meant forever, farewell just meant until next time.

And there would be a next time, Dana assured us, as soon as we were settled, she would be there to make sure we were looking after one another properly.

For now, the back of Michael's car wasn't the worst place to sleep. It was a little cramped, sure, but it gave me the perfect excuse to be closer to him, share his warmth while the nights were still cold, the frost covered ground shimmering when the darkness of the clouds parted to reveal the silver of the moon.

I might have admitted it, although I didn't, because he never called me on it, but it was more than just being cold. I liked the assurance of him, craved the smooth terrain of his skin under my fingers, warm and alive. It was those nights that I would look for any reason just to be close enough to touch, our voices secret murmurs in the darkness.

As small and confined as the car has been, it was so much more than we'd had. Because it was all our own; our own shelter, our own safety, our own comfort that we found in one another.

Our first full day on the road, after leaving Dana's, while we were both still fresh, energised and eager, we'd talking about the future, out new home, what we would make of it.

We had taken a break from driving, and were sitting at a bench in a lush green park somewhere along the way. Mikey had carved his regular tag into the brittle wood, the same one I'd seen him graffiti the diner table with, our first initials inside a rough, irregular heart. Now, he'd changed it, exchanged the C in favour of an M.

Time had been cruel, had worked the bench into a somewhat splintered ruin. The paint had long since faded and peeled away from the wood, and decay had slowly set in, seeping it's poisonous tendrils throughout the entire bench.

We'd talked about work, about living a normal, slow life, the kind we both craved, now. We'd talked about the house we might make into a home, adopting a cat or a puppy.

"As long as we get him from a shelter," Mikey had added, and had shot me a glare as I'd smirked.

"What?" He'd demanded, indignant, "there's enough unloved animals getting around without spending a fortune on a pedigree from a puppy farm."

"You're such a softie," I'd teased him, but he'd made no attempt to acknowledge it, and instead turned back to his tag.

It was early afternoon, and although there was still a chill in the air, a bitter reminder of the cold and the rain, the sun had sat tentatively among the dotted clouds, hinting at a mild spring in the foreseeable future.

Michael had finished his tag, and the two of us had sat quietly, just to enjoy the forgotten sensation of sun, of calm, and, if not happiness, then, at least contentment.