Agreements With Mr Rich Boy | ✓

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"And your dad?"

Again, his grip tightened, knuckles turning white but then, they released in the next moment as if the thoughts running chaotically through his mind had no emotional strain attached to them.

"He's dead. Drunk driver."

And there I was, practically wishing my own dad was dead. Jesus fuck, Jolie.

"I'm sorry," I said, even though I knew it wasn't what anyone wanted to hear. Hell, I'd grown tired of the neighbours saying much of the same about mum, as if she was already in her grave. "That's terrible." God, can I stop being such a fucking idiot? Like can my idiocy take a fucking two minute break, for once?

He 'mmhm'ed.

"Is that's why you don't drink alcohol?" I said.

His eyes flickered to me, a moment of surprise swirling within them. "Picked up on that, hm?" He didn't need a response. "Yes," he answered after a moment. "I don't drink because I don't want to end up like my old man, tearing apart families for what? An extra beer?" He paused. "It's like cyanide to me. A destructive poison." 

I went over what he'd said in my head, over and over until my mind was going in circles. "You mean your dad..?"

"Was the drunk driver, yes."

***

All around us was shrouded in darkness. Headlights and occasional lampposts were the only grasp of light as we sat, a brisk silence entombing us.

The car slows to settle behind another.

I try to count the snowflakes being littered all over the ground, before I give up. Anything to distract myself, to resist asking question after question about Archer. The whole 'know no more than necessary' clause in or agreement seemed to have been shredded along the way.

"How long until we get there?" I asked at last, growing tired and bored of driving, driving, driving, every turn of the road looking just like the last. Even if, now, we were at a standstill, in a line of dozens and dozens and dozens of cars and lorries.

"I doubt we'll be moving for quite a while," he said, eyes on the churning sky. His nimble fingers were working the right side of his head, as if warding away an encroaching migraine.

"What do you mean?"

And just like that, the heavens opened. But it wasn't rain like I was used to. No, it was a torrent of snow, pummelling the cars and road, building quickly around each vehicle.

"I've got supplies in the boot," he said, undoing his seatbelt and reaching for the door.

"Wait wait," I sighed. "I'll get it." I undid my own seatbelt and instead of climbing out of the door, climbed into the back seat and peered over into the boot. "Jesus how long did you think we were staying for?" Besides his luggage, which was unsubstantial, was everything you could possibly ever need if you were stuck in snow... for weeks on end.

I grabbed the blankets and the flasks and other odds and sods.

I slumped back into my seat, tugging at the blanket.